Last week, at a cocktail party on British diplomatic premises somewhere in North America, a question reared itself in my head--oh, for the thousandth time since I began to be aware of it. After all these years of stoical endurance, I can see no reason not to go public in search of an answer: Why are the Brits--no, not you Philip, Daisy, Marcus and Matthew, dear friends all, and generous spirits--such appalling, skinflint hosts?Midway down his lament, there is this book mention:
Now, I suspect Mr. Varadarajan's problem is less with the British, per se, and more with the sorts of people with whom he socializes, but that's just a wild guess. And it's also something of a commonplace that people who inherit castles rarely inherit enough money to keep them up, isn't it? He has thrown the matter open to public comment, however, if you happen to know more about this than I do and care to contribute to the discussion. Use the title link to go to the article. A "Respond to this Article" option is at the bottom of the page.In an attractive little book called "The Duchess Who Wouldn't Sit Down: An Informal History of Hospitality," Jesse Browner discusses the paradox of hospitality--that "we are incomplete alone and compromised in company." Yet more than any other species, the Briton actually feels complete alone. In fact, so entrenched is his sense of private space--one's home as one's castle and all that--that mere admittance through the front door is seen as privilege enough. A friend recalls for me a time when he was invited to a Scottish castle. Upon arrival by overnight express from London, "said castle-residing hosts greeted us to announce that the whole group would go straight from the train to Fort William supermarket to jointly buy supplies for the weekend, including teabags."
The Duchess Who Wouldn't Sit Down: An Informal History of Hospitality
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