Never mess with the family from The Laurels

People who live in houses named The Laurels tend to have a dark family secret, possibly involving an unsolved murder. (If those gravel drives could speak, what a tale they would tell.) And, by the way, most female poisoners are to be found residing at Rose Cottage.

My research shows that the name of the property you move into can affect your character. It is somewhat like, but more interesting than, the findings reported in the Journal of Personality and Social Psycholog y on the “Dorian Gray effect”. This suggests that we grow to look like our first names, so Bobs tend to be rounder in the face and jollier than Tims. It’s a matter of stereotypes.

According to my research, a detective investigating a suspicious death at The Laurels would be well advised to go and see the people at The Beeches, who know all about unusual activities because they spend a lot of time looking out of their tall ground floor windows.

While the Rose Cottage ladies choose poison, murderers in The Laurels favour bludgeoning. In Honeysuckle Cottage, they are concerned with bank robbery, not poison. My full research appears in the next issue of Estate Agent

Psychology Today, but I can give some highlights here. After living in the Old Forge for some time, you may feel the urge to smoke a pipe and research your family history. You will defer to the people in the Old Bakery, because their spacious fireplace commands universal respect. (They will add gravitas to the campaign against the withdrawal of the local bus service.)

If you occupy a house called Waverley or Glenalmond, you may be affected by what I call “seaside landlady syndrome”, which means that your central heating thermostat is set three degrees lower than anyone else’s and you have the urge to go to bed earlier. Occupants of Greenacres have bad backs, because the name of their house forces them to do more gardening than they would otherwise wish to do. I have also identified an affliction called “Old Rectory angst” – an abiding fear that everyone suspects you are involved in “goings on”.

The one great truth I’ve learnt in my life is this: all milk, when sniffed, smells “off ”. The second great truth is that when someone says, “Does this mayonnaise look funny to you?” it is a question expecting the answer “Yes”. The campaign against food waste, Wrap, urges us to ignore the “use by” dates on milk and rely instead on the sniff test. I’m afraid it’s just not going to work. It could actually mean than even more milk is wastefully poured away.

While I am sharing my wisdom, I would advise against anyone leaning too closely over a newly decapitated boiled egg. There is always a certain niff that will remind you of the tactful curate who said that the egg served to him was “good in parts”. Furthermore, it is fatal to inhale raw liver, and you should never stick your nose near the parson’s nose of the chicken before putting it in the oven.

My two other rules of life are: the avocado that feels as though it has reached the perfect state of ripeness when you give it a tender squeeze will contain three off-putting brown blotches when you cut it in half. And: however carefully you spread the soft cheese, the cracker will always snap in two. The one piece of advice I intend to pass on to my grandchildren is this: never trust a pop-up toaster.

All this may sound pessimistic, but I would just say that the first time you see those sinister white specks bobbing on the surface of your cup of white coffee or tea, it changes your outlook for ever.

This column’s Bumper Christmas Quiz last year was a huge success. More than 300 readers took part and we received 49 all-correct entries. In January, the celebrity, Mario Umami – known as “the chiropodist to the stars” – kindly agreed to draw the winner’s name out of a hat and the prize of a half Stilton cheese went to Mrs E. L. Thrice, of Nuneaton.

It now appears that there was a glitch. It turns out that there were, in fact, two hats and Mario Umami drew from the wrong one. Mrs Thrice’s name came from the waterproof Barbour sports hat, which was being kept as a “reserve”, while the correct hat was a panama. The actual winner was Mr Les Stickler, of Melksham, Wilts. I would now like to invite Mrs Thrice to return what is left of the half Stilton so that I can forward it to Mr Stickler. Thank you.