Beware invited guests
ALL families have code words that outsiders won’t know or understand. This isn’t necessarily because the family is paranoid or members of MI5, but because the code is known only to them.
Our family has the ‘Boardman invitation’. (I’ve altered the name for diplomacy’s sake.) The Boardman is an invitation that is meant sincerely, but is never followed up. You’ve been at a party or a family gathering and got on well with a guest who says, as you part: ‘You must come over and see me sometime. Promise me you will.’ Then you hear no more. It would be wrong of me to say this is rude or, at least, a breach of protocol because we’ve all been given Boardman invitations and, I suspect, we’ve all given them. It’s a sort of token of friendship without a three-course meal involved.
Our saying comes from a rich and sociable bachelor, who lived in a Scottish castle and, therefore, had neither the excuse of being hard up nor of not having enough room to put us up. He merely wanted to make friendly noises without making the effort.
The Anstruther invitation is a corollary of the Boardman. This is when people invite themselves to visit you, without waiting for the Boardman. ‘I’m passing quite near you,’ they write, ‘and would love to drop in to see you again.’ The Anstruther is even more annoying because a) it’s harder to get out of and b) it causes you extra work for no extra credit.
I can’t remember that I’ve ever done an Anstruther, but that’s because I don’t particularly like calling on people who haven’t invited me. It’s surprising how many people feel they can, however.
Then there’s the Mckenzie. The Mckenzie is the real thing. Here we have another Scottish laird with a castle who, having issued the Boardman, immediately makes it good. Hardly has she left—it’s a woman, of course —than a real invitation comes through the post, complete with suggested dates and, of course, you must go.
From time to time, curious non-family members ask what these gnomic titles mean and you explain them. It doesn’t seem to make any impression, however: even having had the meanings explained, it doesn’t stop them issuing the invitations or turning up uninvited.
This all goes to show what a minefield social behaviour is in Britain because there’s a further complication in that you, on the receiving end of a Boardman or an Anstruther, may not want to partake.
You can’t say to the Boardman inviter, ‘I’d rather not come’, however much you’d like to. And how to get out of the determined Anstruther? You could invent a long stay in Fiji, but this may mean living at home with all the lights turned off in case they drive by to suss out if your Fijian break has ended.
You could also just not reply— effective, but rude. Perhaps I’m being cynical, after a summer of Boardmans and Anstruthers but no Mckenzies. It is, of course, worse in summer because people have more free time and the weather may be better. Social behaviour flourishes in sunlight when you can dream of long, delicious meals under an umbrella, served by others.
Now that autumn’s here, the selfie invitation may temporarily fall into decline. I’m hoping for a few lonely weekends during which I can serve ready meals from Waitrose or Tesco without guilt, and when I can get up late and read a bad thriller in silence.
I’d soon get bored, though, and be longing for a coded invitation. I didn’t say the Boardman or Anstruther issuers were dull.
‘The Boardman is an invitation meant sincerely, but never followed up