Name and address withheld

Cut his hair yourself? Pay for him to go the the smartest local clipper and trimmer? Buy dark glasses? Tell him (gently) he’s had a terrible haircut? Is he proud of it? We have to play these things by ear. But there are worse faults in a husband than terrible haircuts. His hair could all fall out. He could do a Bobby Charlton and comb strands of surviving hair over his bald pate. Be grateful for small tresses.

I hate shellfish. What is the polite response when offered scallops at a dinner party?

M. J. H., Ealing

Faint? Feed them to the cat? Quietly slip them into your bag? Screw your courage to the sticking point, and swallow the slimy little chaps? Hide their remains under the mashed potato? Refuse them quietly, while trying not to cause an uproar about substitutes from the hostess? You have to play this by ear, on the seat of your pants. There are no fixed rules in the slippery sea of taste and manners. But the generous guest tries to make a show of eating what she is served without exhibiting distaste.

What is the polite response to a deliberately sarcastic remark?

A. G., Edinburgh

Selective deafness. A witty rather than an angry reply, if you can think of one on the spur of the insult. Most of us think of it only when it is it too late. This is known as “l’esprit d’escalier”, the stinging retort that comes to mind only when you are on the staircase going away from the sarcasm. But why waste time in windy warfare? Life is too short.

Can I wear a cravat with my dinner suit?

Peter Abbott
Tooting, London SW17