Fifteen-to-One: 13
Thirteen things that will bring you bad luck:

1. Breaking a mirror.
2. Walking under a ladder.
3. Spilling salt.
4. A black cat walking across your path.
5. Giving your credit card details to someone you met over email who purports to be from Nigeria and can give you a percentage of their wealth for only a small initial investment on your part.
6. Approaching Mike Tyson and claiming that he is one of the following:
   • a poor little stress bunny, who's a bunnikins, yes … you are, yes you are.
   • a bit camp, really.
   • a f%$*ing nutter.
7. Wearing your favourite Tottenham Hotspur home shirt while wandering through Highbury.
8. Being a government scientist.
9. Eating yellow ice.
10. Claiming "Bill Gates isn't such a bad chap, really" loudly at Apple Expo.
11. Paying excessive attention to your mobile phone at the expense of other noises.
12. Driving the wrong bus.
13. Thinking of a thirteenth item at work while your line manager wanders past and gets a very clear look at your computer screen.

Fifteen-to-One: 14
Fourteen things I do but I don't know why:

1. Keep cufflinks in my bag even though I've worn short-sleeved shirts for the past two months.
2. Still expect my teddy bear, Edward, to respond one day when I'm talking to him.
3. Keep my Newcastle United shirt neatly on a hanger while my expensive Jermyn Street shirts lay all over the place.
4. Say 'thanks' to someone after I've done them a favour.
5. Forget that my sister isn't just a good mate, she's actually related to me.
6. Push the bridge of my glasses up, even though I'm not wearing them at the time.
7. Drink Guinness out of an Old Speckled Hen glass when this doesn't affect the taste, consistency or temperature of the drink in any way at all.
8. Say I'm rubbish at things even when I know I'm quite good at them.
9. Check the destination of the northbound Northern Line tube trains from Euston, despite the fact that all trains northbound from Euston go to Camden Town regardless of Edgware or High Barnet branch.
10. Add pepper to food before I taste it.
11. Chastise my computer although this has no discernible effect on its operations.
12. Ask "in what sense?" rather than reply to a question, even if I know what is meant by the question.
13. Check the time when I have the entire day free with nothing to do.
14. Apologise. All the time.

Fifteen-to-One: 15
Fifteen things you just never want to hear:

1. I didn't think it was loaded.
2. You're the father.
3. It's the Inland Revenue for you.
4. Actually, I never passed this course at medical school.
5. I'm sure you owe me more than that.
6. We just stopped serving.
7. You were told about the sharks, right?
8. I was positive those security cameras didn't work.
9. What does the word 'terminal' mean?
10. I thought you had the tickets.
11. The strip-searches are surprisingly thorough.
12. They can sense fear, you know.
13. You've got insurance, haven't you?
14. Trust me, I know where we are.
15. Well, that's my flight.

Things Mark thinks are stupid
The third in an occasional series
Heathrow Terminal 4. Because it's a massive pain in the arse to reach, they don't let you stop there for longer than twelve nanoseconds, the trolleys never work properly and driving there will result in you enduring traffic jams in Chiswick, the Hammersmith flyover, the flyover by Royal Oak, around Marylebone station as well as getting into work two hours late and grrr, it makes me mad.

The art of losing
Loss, like elation, desperation or euphoria, is one of the extremes of human emotion. The way in which a person deals with loss is often a good indication of their character. To follow a much-hackneyed quotation:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss

… you'll be a man, my son.

'If' – Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

There many different types of loss, some more serious than others, and our reactions to those different kinds of loss take different shapes and forms but all contribute to others' perceptions of us, and often our perceptions of ourselves. How we believe that we respond to events fashions our furthering attitudes and informs our future actions. And sometimes – only sometimes – we actually learn something about ourselves.

Games
Some of us are good at games, some of us aren't. In England there is very much the culture of the dignified loser. We seem better equipped to laud a player or team who have striven to reach the apex of their sport but have failed at the last hurdle than we are able to celebrate outright success. Think Tim "Choker" Henman. Would the general population be quite so endeared to him if he actually won Wimbledon one day? I'm not sure.

I think this is something to do with the culture of amateurism which has traditionally been key to English life. The notion of the 'gentleman amateur' has persisted from the days of Empire, since chinless wonder blue-bloods were shipped through their public schools, Oxbridge and then sent out to rule the natives in some far-flung country which they had probably never heard of before.

Kazuo Ishiguro sums up the mentality perfectly in The Remains of the Day, through the character of the noble diplomat, Lord Darlington, addressing the professional American congressman:

"Let me say this. What you describe as 'amateurism', sir, is what I think most of us here still prefer to call 'honour'."

And so in sports and games, we must be prepared to lose. Indeed, we are almost coached not only to lose but, if we win, to take as little pleasure as possible from it; we simply mustn't be a bad winner. No gloating, no exultation and certainly no baiting those whom you have defeated. Take the plaudits quietly, mumble something about luck, pay tribute to all competitors and then beat a hasty retreat.

Likewise, we should never be a bad loser. The posture is common: head slightly down, arms either folded high across the chest or hands clasped and held by the waist, face showing disappointment but in a good-natured way. We compliment the winner on his/her triumph, rue our own shortcomings, and then stand to one side while the laurels are distributed. Not for us the hair-wrenching or berserker rampages of other sporty types, no sir. Quiet, pathetic defeat on the sidelines; far more dignified, you know.

Objects
At school, we had a lost property office. By the end of my first term, they had come to know me very, very well, due to my inability to keep any personal items with me for longer than approximately two weeks. It was merciful that we were required to sew name-tags into all our sports kits and school uniform otherwise I could have got through an entire haberdashery within the space of twelve weeks.

Postcards and letters, t-shirts and sweaters, passports and parkas, mobiles and chargers
Two tennis racquets, blue Rizla packets, a new sheepskin jacket, I lost it all
Through my life, there have been many rare and precious things I have tried to call mine
But I just cannot seem to keep hold of anything for more than a short time
Possessions of a sentimental kind: they were mine, now they're not.

'Lost Property' – The Divine Comedy, Regeneration (2001)

Each year in London, 60,000 items of lost property are recovered by passengers and visitors to the capital who have lost their umbrellas, watches, wallets, briefcases and the suchlike. 135,000 items were handed in across the tube network last year to the Lost Property Office in Baker Street, where they keep all the little items that careless people like me lose. Except not all the lost property is exactly run-of-the-mill: a bag full of Australian Aboriginal grubs, a kitchen sink (yes, literally), two funeral urns and a wedding dress feature as some of the more exotic objets manqués.

As a past master of being able to lose things even when they have been surgically grafted onto me, there are several tips I can offer to minimise the danger of being parted from your most valuable keepsakes and chattels:

• Keep your bag tidy; that way you'll realise instantly where everything belongs and when something is missing
• Run through a mental checklist of what you are carrying when you leave your house or workplace, as this helps you to remember what you're carrying
• Keep the same things in the same pockets; you'll familiarise yourself with having certain things in certain places and come to expect them to be there
• If possible, put things in pockets where you will be able to feel their presence, ie a mobile in a trouser pocket or a wallet in an inside jacket pocket; you will be instantly aware when they are not there
• Stop being such a slovenly, careless, featherbrained, slipshod moron.

I hope that these tips will help you become as organised and efficient as I am. In which case, God help you.

Relationships
Breaking up with your partner is one of the most intimate losses than an individual can experience, made all the worse because often you not only lose the other person but their family, their friends, places you've been together, books you've read out to each other on sunny days in the garden, the smell of their hair first thing in the morning while they are still asleep, the feel of their skin when they've stepped out of the shower, the shared jokes and comments which were whispered laughingly behind cupped hands, and all the little details which make a relationship so much more than a friendship.

On the face of it, you have lost your partner. A shared unit is now a solitary unit. A single bed which seemed as cramped as a matchbox now feels the size of an aircraft carrier. A ready meal for two is now slightly too much rather than not quite enough, and they don't steal scraps from your plate while you're not looking any more. The loss you feel in your mind and your heart is made more concrete by the everyday routines which were previously set for two, but which must now adapt back to one.

Everyone deals with such losses in different ways, such as lapsing into solitude and feeling self-pitying by shutting themselves away from the world. Alternatively, others choose to go to the other extreme by becoming the social dervish of their group of friends, always the first for a drink, always at the centre of the dancing. Some swear off relationships for life, unwilling or unable at that time to expose themselves to the emotional pain again. Others, more in need of validation than companionship, immediately seek out a new, replacement partner to rekindle the embers of being in a couple.

Although the memories of relationships past stay in most of our minds and, with time, crystallise into snapshots in our inner photo album, breaking up with someone often makes us lose our affections for other things as well: the restaurant of the first date, the favourite park bench for reading the Sunday newspapers, the rendezvous point outside the tube station after work. All these are lost also, occasionally to flicker back into life when in some years to come, you walk past that restaurant and smile gently to yourself.

And I suppose that's the real art of losing. You can lose anything between a game of chess, a satchel or your girlfriend and you will feel annoyance, irritation, anger, fear, betrayal, jealousy, resentment or heartbreak. But, and there is always a 'but', for the really important things in life, you know that later on down your road, you'll catch a glimpse of the jacket she always wore, or smell his favourite aftershave, or notice the way in which someone moves their hair exactly the way your former partner did, and you'll transport back to your memories. And they are a lot harder to lose than anything else in the world.

Update:

The art of laughing
Laughter is apparently the best medicine; personally, I prefer paracetamol and a shot of Jamesons, but maybe that's just me. In most social gatherings, there is a premium placed on laughter, except of course at funerals, the memorial services of loved ones and stand-up comedy shows featuring Jo Brand.

An afternoon spent at a friend's house, going out to the pub in the evening, or a Sunday lunch – if you're out with friends at any of these or other relaxed, sociable situations, then there will probably be laughter. It's important to be funny, or at least to appreciate funny things and demonstrate that appreciation vocally, by laughing.

Most people tend to divide into one of two categories: they're either the peacock or the hyena:

The peacock
Do you have a compulsive urge to wisecrack in any given situation? Are you powerless before the god of puns? Can you remember jokes easily and tell them well? Can you perform a complete 15 minute stand-up routine about a colander? Is wordplay a close personal friend who comes round to your place often and never forgets your birthday? If your answers to these questions are 'yes', then you are a peacock.

You enjoy showing off to others and getting them to laugh, you are persistent in your dedication to the perfect punchline and relentless in your pursuit of absurdist gaggery. You are the life and soul of the party. You may need to get out more and stop watching all those Eddie Izzard videos on sunny days in your living room with the curtains closed.

The hyena
Do you enjoy listening to other people tell stories? Do you like to be amused? I make you laugh, huh? Do I? What am I, a clown to you? Am I here to amuse you? Do you show your enjoyment of a well-told shaggy dog story or pithy one-liner very loudly? If your answers to these questions (or at least the ones not directly stolen from Goodfellas) are 'yes', then you are a hyena.

Although you are not a joker yourself, you love nothing better than sitting back and listening to a good raconteur tell a funny anecdote. Like as not, you'll be laughing in between the various elements of the joke, setting yourself up for a huge guffaw at the end when the punchline hits. Your laughter scares children and small animals within a radius of five miles from your person.

Whether you are the peacock or the hyena, you will encounter many different forms of laughter upon hearing a joke, seeing some particularly amusing sight gag, or simply watching somebody trying to get out of a canoe and ending up capsizing into the water, losing one of their shoes, grazing their thigh and catching Weil's Disease.

Smirking
Not really a laugh, because the smirk is silent, but it is a stepping stone on the way to real, audible laughter. Smirking is often considered to be related to smutty stories, anecdotes or jokes. Failed chat-up lines are often the most common cause of smirks:

• If I said you had a great body, would you hold it against me?
• How you doin'?
• Is there a mirror in your underwear? Why? Because I can see myself in them.
• How do you like your eggs in the morning?
• Are you legal?

None of these are, per se, funny, so there's no need to laugh. It is only when you discover that someone has tried any of these in real life (with the inevitable crash-and-burn result, one would hope) that you feel the need to laugh, and so the smirking begins. A smirk is often also an indication that you have told a joke and, though not funny, there is a need to acknowledge the fact that something nearly funny nearly occurred: it's a good halfway house.

Tittering
Similarly to smirking, tittering is not quite a full laugh. Tittering is appropriate for risqué humour, stories of inappropriate behaviour, the recounting of failed chat-up lines in a self-effacing manner or just gossip. A main drawback to tittering is that you will definitely be compared to Dick Dastardly's canine companion Muttley, whose tittering has become the stuff of legend to generations of children raised on Hanna-Barbera cartoons.

Tittering can be done in one of two principal ways. Firstly, and most commonly, through the mouth. Air escapes through closed teeth where the lips are slightly open, with the emanating sound resembling a "tss-hss-hss-hss-hss" sound, as though Kaa from the Jungle Book is desperately trying to exhale but Shere Khan has one of his paws resting fairly heavily just below the snake's throat.

The second way to titter is through the nose, with the mouth closed. This noise is more of a "hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm" and sounds similar to the sound of a steam locomotive travelling really quite fast through a canyon area, where the sound of the smoke escaping from the funnel has been echoing through the valley, but you are several miles away and can only just make out that it is a train. Something like that.

Reactions to the titter are not always positive though; often it is taken as an indication that you are only laughing politely while not finding the story humorous in the slightest. You must therefore ensure that you are smiling while you titter, in order to convince the storyteller that you are enjoying his narration. It also helps to (a) look them in the eyes, (b) remember what they say in order that you pinpoint the bit you enjoyed most, should they ask you to retell their tale, (c) take off your headphones while they are talking and (d) be in the same room as them.

Chuckling
A chuckle is a popular form of laughter, both for the peacock and the hyena. The peacock likes to hear a chuckle because it is one of the accepted forms of genuine amusement, indicating that s/he has told their story well. The hyena likes to chuckle because it makes them sound generous in their praise of the joke, as well as making them appear to be generally good-humoured and able to take a joke. Chuckling at a joke is definitely a win-win scenario for all concerned.

Most jokes told receive a chuckle because most jokes told are not superbly funny but amusing enough to prevent you from poking your eyes out with a the corkscrew attachment of a Swiss Army knife. Some (brief) examples of chuckle-worthy humour include:

• Did you hear about the Irish orphanage which had a parents evening?
• How many mice does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Two, but they have to be careful to avoid the filament.
• What's black and white and red all over? A penguin who supports Manchester United.

So none of them are exactly comic gold, but they're old favourites which are fairly likely to get a bit of a chuckle.

Guffawing
This is generally only done by those hyenas who really do love a story, or people with enough lung capacity to inflate a Zeppelin. Upon hearing the punchline, you have to tilt the head back, roll the eyes, thrust your chest forward and let out an short but repeating bellow of laughter, generally at a volume disproportionate to your surroundings; if you are laughing in the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff, this means you will probably need to train as an opera singer before attempting to fill that place with guffaws.

Those who guffaw are most likely to be people unable to moderate the tone of their voice anyway, and may need some time after the laugh to recover their (thin veneer of) poise. This recovery period will be accompanied by wiping tears of mirth from their eyes, holding their stomach to indicate that such prolonged and decibel-heavy laughter has caused their sides to ache, and perhaps noise of an "oh" variety to indicate that while they still want to laugh, they are trying to calm the engine down to allow the teller to begin a fresh story.

Be wary of those who guffaw. Although some guffaw in genuine appreciation, others may be attempting to upstage the joke-teller, to prove that their ability to respond to a joke is superior to the teller's ability to relate the joke. Don't let them steal your limelight. If necessary, begin your next joke while they are still recovering, thus making it impossible for them to wind down in an attention-seeking manner. If they do try to interrupt you, then they will have ruined the set-up of the joke and will be seen as a bad sport. You've got to let them know who's boss.

Shrieking
The high-pitched hellish laughter of the damned, shrieking is the refuge of those who have no self-control whatsoever. If you have a shrieker in the crowd of people you are entertaining, give up. They will simply not bloody stop. Shriekers tend to be (a) drunk, (b) drunk, (c) drunk or (d) girls. Although there are always a few male shriekers in any crowd, men will probably attempt to turn their shriek into a guffaw before the laugh reaches its highest pitch; I think it's something to do with testosterone or their voice breaking or puberty or whatever.

Certain women, however, sacrifice their pleasant chuckling for a more banshee-like primal shriek which scares away any pets in the postcode, has the ability to shatter glass at up to a mile's distance and causes anyone with even a mild cold to grab their ears in an attempt to stop them bleeding. If you are lucky, however, the shrieker will stop after a few minutes to collect themselves. If you are really, really unlucky the shrieking can continue for up to ten minutes, only slightly diminishing in volume, and thus ruining any attempt for a follow-up story.

Seek out shriekers and make sure that you only tell them unfunny jokes; although they will form an opinion of you as a poor raconteur, your cat will thank you for it.

Groaning
And then there is, of course, the groan. Groaning is the companion to laughter; in many ways, it is a form of laughter itself, though in a less complimentary and appreciative way. The groan is most often heard when someone has heard the joke before but doesn't want to stay silent. It is also useful when the joke or the punchline is in poor taste and you wish to register that although you think it's funny, you are still a decent, upright, moral citizen who in no way wishes to make fun of others, ie you want to weasel out of it.

There is a tendency amongst groaners to adopt this laugh as their standard laugh for every story, situation or punchline. This can be a dangerous thing for the groaner because at best, it makes them out to be someone who has heard every joke before and therefore a spectacularly bad audience. At worst, it makes them out to be prudish, puritanical and slightly oversensitive on behalf of others. If the response you receive every time you tell a joke is "You really shouldn't say that, you know", then you are less likely to tell that person any more jokes.

I'm not too sure how possible it is to change your style of laughing. Some people go through the entire range of laughter depending on the situation, whereas others will laugh exactly the same way at almost everything. Some people rarely laugh at all, whereas others will laugh at even the most unfunny things or situations where laughter is incredibly inappropriate. Some people will bellow with mirth at the slightest bon mot, whereas others will remain blank-faced at undisputed comic genius. The only real conclusion is that it's a funny thing, laughing.

The art of lazing
The trouble with being really lazy these days is that it demands such effort. When I was a child, lazing seemed such an easy thing to do, especially at the weekends, in the evenings, and during chemistry lessons. Now, with the work and social pressures of mid-twenties life, lazing is something which you have to put in your calendar or organiser: "8.30pm-8.45pm: Laze. Set reminder for 5 minutes."

There are, of course, ways in which you can maximise your laziness, to make sure that you achieve absolutely nothing during your allotted period of lethargic meandering. There's no point just turning up somewhere and beginning to laze; you might actually get something useful done before you know where you are. It's a slippery slope out there, you know.

At home
Mmm … a lazy day beckons ahead of you. You wake up naturally, without any rude alarm clock interruption, and probably stretch your arms or rub your eyes. Alert: don't get up. Repeat: do not get up. If you are to be lazy today, the last thing you want to do is start actually moving only minutes after waking. Don't be silly; give yourself at least half an hour laying in bed, muttering "Mmm" to yourself, perhaps hugging your duvet appreciatively, maybe even fluffing up your pillows just a little bit more.

When you have decided that to stay in bed any longer would make you resemble Sloth from the film Seven, you can get up and start doing what you would normally do to get ready. This should be influenced by only one thing: slowness. Follow your routine, just make sure that it takes that little bit longer. Do you normally shower in ten minutes? Make it fifteen today. Do you normally gulp down your breakfast before running to the tube? Well, today, you can spend an hour over breakfast while reading the paper.

You are now ready for the challenges of the day ahead. There are two alternatives: it is fair weather or is it horrible weather?

A. Fair weather
Go into your garden or, if you don't have one, your communal garden for your block of flats or housing estate. If you don't even have a communal garden, then go into someone else's garden. The probability is highly weighted in your favour that they will be at work, so you don't have to worry about rude interruptions, irate neighbours or threats of being shot for trespassing. Items you should take with you include:

• a beach towel
• a folding deckchair
• a book/magazine/newspaper
• a notebook and pen/pencil
• a cold beverage, preferably bottled
• a lighter and your cigarettes
• a Walkman/Discman/iPod (with sufficient tapes/discs/MP3s)

You are now ready to spend hours lounging in the sun, drinking your iced tea/real lemonade, smoking cigarettes and generally doing nothing. Should you wish to lie prone, you have your towel. Otherwise, the deckchair will provide you with back comfort. You will probably do absolutely zero but you have diversionary options with the reading and listening material, should you need them. At no point should you try to think serious thoughts; save that for when you are stuck at your desk at work, ie when someone else is paying you.

B. Horrible weather
Go into your living room/drawing room. Light the fire or, if you have no fire, turn up the heating. If you have no heating, then wear as many jumpers and cardigans as you own. Select the most comfortable armchair you have or, if you prefer, the sofa. Drag the armchair/sofa as close to the fire as can be achieved without burning either your furniture or yourself. Items you should have with you include:

• a cup of tea
• some biscuits
• a deck of cards
• a notebook and pen/pencil
• a book/magazine/newspaper
• a lighter and your cigarettes

Just a reminder: in both nice and horrible weather, you should ensure that your mobile phone is most definitely switched off. If it's urgent, they can send a carrier pigeon.

In the park
Park preparation is remarkably similar to being at home in nice weather, except that all the items you take with you must fit into a small bag, and you should be prepared for any items to be (a) soaked by rain or some children having a water fight near you, (b) covered in freshly-mown grass blades or dust, (c) broken when an inconsiderate cyclist slams straight into you, causing you to drop your bag, or (d) stolen, because there are some right thieving bastards out there, eh?

When buying a house, the most important thing is location. Location is equally important when picking your spot in the park: too close to the playground and you'll be overrun by tartrazine-overloaded kiddies using your iPod as a frisbee. Too close to the main gates and you'll be dodging insane cyclists, runaway prams and, well, morons. Too far from the ice cream van and your 99 cone and flake will have melted by the time you get back to your idyllic hideaway. So choose carefully.

Once you have located the perfect place, ensure that your towel/rug is placed on an entirely grass area; it is this writer's experience that few things are quite so surprising as plonking yourself down for a pleasant afternoon reading in the park to find that directly under your rear, hidden among the blades of grass, is a surprisingly sharp stone. So surprising in fact that I added a whole new invective layer to my spoken vocabulary (for 'spoken', read 'semi-screamed').

Using your rucksack as a headrest, lie back on your rug, ensuring that any items which are not heavier than an elephant sitting on a Boeing 747 are secured either to your bag, to your person, or to a rather large and instinctively mistrustful Doberman which you have trained since he was a young whelp and who has come to regard you as both mother and father. The following items are particularly valuable and you don't want some spotty criminal making off with them while you are basking in a balmy summer's afternoon:

• your wallet
• your camera
• your keys
• your cigarettes
• your lighter
• your clothes
• your private parts

One essential to bring to the park is your sunglasses. These are important because they will enable you to avoid being blinded by the sun's reflection off expensive silvery wristwatches which joggers wear ostentiously while doing their nineteenth circuit of Regent's Park to prove that not only are they richer than you, but they're also healthier and fitter. Gits. Also, gentlemen, sunglasses allow you to look at pretty girls while avoiding any of those awkward eye contact, strained body language or substantially large boyfriend problems.

Just a reminder: in the park, you should ensure that your mobile phone is most definitely switched off. If it's urgent, they can send a helicopter.

On holiday
Whether you are holidaying in the UK or abroad, the best places to go to laze are the beach and by the hotel swimming pool. This is because all the active people who have gone on holiday with you will be placated by the range of options of things to do, leaving you free to ignore them completely and get some shut-eye. If they insist on plaguing you with their ridiculously unreasonable demands, such as "Let's play volleyball", "Let's go up to the top diving board" or "Give me my room key, I need my medication", then you can claim with some justification that the recommended course of action for them is to sod off.

In a hot climate, you may well find that you wake up earlier than usual. Only those devoid of backbone would consider this to be an instruction to get up. Do you want to laze or don't you? If the answer is yes, then you should immediately take steps to get back to sleep, ie lie there until you fall asleep. You're on holiday, there's no need to rise before 11.00am. Then, when awake and breakfasted, you can pack your small rucksack and head for the pool, the beach, a sandy little isolated cove near the bay, a quiet bank by the river or anywhere else where (a) there are no people or (b) there are no people worth talking to.

Lazing in the sunshine can very easily be ruined by one element: sunburn. There is one very easy way of ensuring you don't get burned: do not step into direct sunlight, never mind stay there for longer than twelve picoseconds. This is, however, not necessarily practical for all holidaymakers. Other recommended options are to wear light, airy clothing which will protect you, such as cotton t-shirts or shorts over your swimwear, covering yourself with sunblock or tanning lotion, or alternating periods of sunbathing with swimming in cool water such as the sea or your swimming pool. Staying away from the damned sun might still be safest, though.

On no account should you involve yourself in any form of activity holiday unless you have brought along with you a butler, valet or gullible friend, ie someone to do all the work for you. Camping, whitewater rafting, skiing, paragliding … well, quite obviously, none of these are going to allow to laze around doing zero work. You shouldn't even be thinking about them, you fool.

Just a reminder: on holiday, you should ensure that your mobile phone is most definitely switched off. If it's urgent, they can arrange for you to be extradited.

At work
This is a bit trickier. One way of lazing at work is to play on the internet; this is not pure lazing because your eyes and your mouse finger are actually moving, but it is certainly more lazy than doing what you're paid to do. An even more advanced way of lazing is to return to the same sites each workday and provide some feedback on the words they have written. If you're going to be really, really lazy and workshy, though, you could try and write something daily yourself for your own little area of the superinterhighwebnetway, some kind of log of your life on the web. Not sure what you'd call it though.

Just a reminder: at work, you should ensure that your mobile phone is most definitely switched off. If it's urgent, they can get someone else to do it.

So, these are just a few ways of honing your skills at the art of lazing. As you can see, though, I need to practice a bit more myself. If I were truly a master of lazing, I'd never have been bothered to write this far.

Thank you, good night
Well, I'm sure we'd all like to thank my guest Kate for livening up the blog during the week, so your offers of bouquets, chocolates and expensive jewellery (or just appreciation) can be placed in the comments below. You're back to just me, so get used to it. ('The art of …' will conclude this week.)

Touch
Shut your eyes, plug your ears, hold your nose, close your mouth. In a limited way, you'll still be able to see, hear, smell, and taste. But you can't even try to impose limits on the sense of touch. We can't purposefully turn off or even mute the receptors that force us to recognise the way something feels against our skin. Feel -- that passive counterpart to touch -- never switches off.

Our sense of touch is constantly on alert. The number of physical feelings we can register at once is amazing. Right now I feel smooth keys against my fingertips, the hard sticky surface of the countertop on which my wrists rest, the prickly upholstery of this chair scratching the backs of my legs, the pressure of the back of the chair against my spine, the smooth rubber of my flip flops, the weight of my purse on my lap, the tiny itch of a displaced eyelash that's landed beside my nose, the dampness of the unmoving air around me, the light touch of my ponytail against the skin between my shoulder blades, the pull on my neck of the halter tie, my own skin against itself where limbs are touching. And that's just while sitting down and typing a post.

Favourite things to touch: Clean, cool bedsheets. Some flower petals. Soft hair. Stickshift. Fountain pen. The hollow of a cheek. Own just-shaved legs. Martini glass. New carpet. Sand. Lips.

What are yours?

Touch
When I was very little, my parents would take me on holiday to Dartmouth, on the South coast of Devon. My godfather lived in a flat there, with a fantastic view over the River Dart and out to the sea. The town itself was beautiful, a few miles in from Dartmouth Castle, and with a small square-shaped dock area for locals' boats. This was known as the 'Boat Float'.

Most days we would go to see some of the local sights: Dartmouth Castle, the steam railway from Kingswear to Paignton, the wild ponies on Exmoor, the shingle beach at Slapton Sands, there were always plenty of things to do and, in the years following when we went there most summers, I would never tire of seeing the same things again because there was always something new to discover. When my sister was born and was old enough, we would visit them all over again for her, and I had the bonus of a companion to play with.

Our mornings, however, followed a roughly similar pattern regardless of the varied delights which the afternoon might bring. We would rise, breakfast in the morning room (so called because it had windows only along one side, facing the sun as it rose), get ready and then go into town to buy our food. From the flat, there is a steep hill called Mount Boone which takes the walker directly into the town centre, just by the market. It takes 5 minutes to walk down and 15 minutes to walk up.

My favourite shop in town when I was a child was the fishmongers. We would get there relatively late, around 10.00am, to see row upon row of all kinds of fishes packed onto the ice counters. On the left hand side wall was a massive poster showing the pictures and names of all the fish which could be caught in the British Isles and, if there weren't too many customers, the lady behind the counter would come round and point out which fish they had in that day for me on the poster map.

While mum and dad debated between herring, mackerel, salmon, prawns, crabs, cockles, mussels, winkles, trout or any other of the delicious creatures laid out before us, I would stare at the fish, their colour and texture intriguing me so much that I still pause at the fish counter by my local Sainsbury's, somehow still remembering the tiny fish shop at the corner of Dartmouth Market.

After buying our fish and stopping at the bakery, the delicatessen, the dairy and whatever other shops my parents had to visit, I would be allowed to go to the boat float and throw crumbs for the seagulls and the ducks. My mum would bring down any stale bread in a paper wrapper, and I would mash and crumble the ends of days-old loaves with my fingers and then throw them out onto the water between the boats, where the gulls would swoop in and start to argue between themselves as to who would be first to feast.

There was a series of short steps down to the waterside of the boat float and providing my mother, father or godfather went with me, I could go down closer so I could see the birds better. There is still a photo of me, aged about five years old, wearing a blue-and-white striped t-shirt and faded red shorts, happily holding out some crumbs over the stone side of the boat float to some hungry seagulls, with a look of utter wonder and rejoice on my face: I'm feeding the birds, there can't be anything better than this!

The boat float was not restricted to seagulls and ducks, however, it was also home to some swans. These swans, though elegant and regal as all swans are, also possessed their race's rather sharp temper; a sharpness of temper which matched the sharpness of their beaks. While feeding the ducks, whose hard but gentle bills were careful only to nuzzle my hand when I fed them scraps of bread, the swans would glide into the boat float and immediately make for the herded ducks, intent on sharing their meal.

Being young and trusting the ducks, I attempted to feed the swans directly also. After all, weren't they just larger, more pretty versions of the ducks that had been so placid and content to eat out of my hand? Unfortunately not and upon my first attempt to hold out some bread for one of the swans, it quickly grabbed the crumbs and nipped my finger sharply enough to draw a tiny amount of blood. I don't remember crying, I only remember moving away from the float with this little sense of astonishment that the small duck-like creatures could be so nice to touch, but the big, cloud-coloured creatures could be so nasty at touching me back.

It never stopped me feeding the ducks and swans again – from a distance – but, as I grew old enough, the sense of wonder and enjoyment at feeding them faded away to a childhood memory.

Taste
You taste more than just food, you know. On any given day you might also taste toothpaste, water, coffee, cigarettes, your own saliva, excess lip gloss, the air around you. And yet, when we think of taste, we seem automatically to think of culinary matters.

THAT IS BECAUSE FOOD IS A WONDERFUL, WONDERFUL THING.

Anyone who has known me for at least two hours can attest to my near-constant desire to eat. In truth, it's probably traceable to a psychological glitch whereby I am unable to recognise my own stomach's fullness, but I'd prefer to attribute it to an insatiable capacity for taste. Whereas my stomach can physically accommodate only so much food, my taste buds are essentially tireless. I can enjoy more than I can store. I can bite off more than I can chew. I can start more than I

Although I may not have the world's most learned tongue, I certainly have an appreciative one. So I can't tell the difference between certain wines or name every spice in a meal -- if it tastes good, who cares? (Besides, it makes me an easygoing dinner guest. While everyone else mulls over the quality of the post-meal brandy, I'll be sitting off to the side exclaiming "This is damn good!" à la Sam Jackson enjoying the cheeseburger in Pulp Fiction, except without the subsequent slaughter and bloodshed.)

The problem with my infinite hunger is that indulging it is the only way to satisfy it, but down that road lie overstuffedness, sickness, and blowinguplikeaballoonness.

Naturally, I ignore this. Why let worries about personal well being interfere with a good meal?

I looked up 'taste' on Dictionary.com. It lists several definitions, including:

The sense that distinguishes the sweet, sour, salty, and bitter qualities of dissolved substances in contact with the taste buds on the tongue.

Substitute 'loves' for 'distinguishes'; that's what taste is to me.

Taste
This is a difficult issue, because how one defines what is and what is not good taste depends on many things: upbringing, cultural reference points, exposure to art, literature and 'high culture', friends, experiences, travel … the list goes on and on. I think that, ultimately, the definition of good taste is: it's whatever you want it to be.

Let's look at some evidence. I like wine. Wine is nice. Wine is good. Wine is your friend. Now, apparently, it's bad taste to drink red wine with fish; you're supposed to drink white wine. Pshaw, I say. Tchah, I also say. If you have a nice bit of salmon in front of you and a cheeky little glass of St Emilion ready and waiting, then it would be practically criminal to refuse either fish or wine due to some archaic convention that you don't really believe in anyway. Tuck in, nosher.

'Tasteful' in commonplace English is often a substitute for 'appropriate' or 'suitable'. The word will be used by, for example, the church group going to an art exhibition: "Well, it's done very tastefully". This does not mean: "My goodness, that really is done rather well". It more likely means: "Well, that's hardly likely to offend anyone". And it's a short step from there to pure blandness.

Likewise there is taste in stories and jokes: my friend Tim is a specialist in tasteless jokes; the kind that make you feel slightly guilty at laughing at others' misfortunes, yet you laugh nonetheless. The laughter is partly at the joke, and partly that anyone has the gall actually to say it. You don't really need me to run through a list of them, suffice to say that they are of the "What's better than winning the Paralympics?" ilk.

There is also taste in partners. Let's assume you are a man. You are standing with another man, a friend, outside a café or bar. A pretty girl walks past. Your friend nudges you, clearly attracted to her but when you gaze at her, you feel no romantic stirrings. Although this is the basis for the "she is/isn't my type" school of thought, it is essentially because she is not to your taste.

Placebo's 'Taste in Men' springs to mind here:

Come back to me awhile, change your style again, come back to me awhile, change your taste in men.

Which, I think, says it all (though in a very nothingy way).

Smell
Inland urban heat, though not necessarily crippling, is the most stifling kind. Held in like air inside a plastic bag, without the forgiving openness of the countryside or the ocean breeze of the coastline to mitigate its thick, heavy feeling, inland urban heat tends to permeate every pore of a city over which it settles. Things change in the heat; surfaces are sticky and skin glistens and, if it's hot enough, that distinctive glimmering haze rises up from the pavements.

And everything smells a little different.

Adding heat to smell is like adding butter to food. It becomes thicker, greasier, more intensely flavoured; and you sometimes get the impression that your arteries are being clogged. This isn't necessarily bad. Oceans smell much better in the heat, as do other summer 'accessories', so to speak, like sunscreen and barbeques. I personally like the smell of a volleyball game played outside in the hot sun, whereas a winter game in the confines of a gymnasium just stinks of unseasonal sweat.

Other smells are simply ghastly when combined with heat. Some examples can be found in spaces that are crowded to the point of discomfort (large queues, shows, the Tube), places that lack ventilation (telephone booths, fitting rooms, the Tube), and anyplace dirty (bathrooms, city streets, the Tube). It's in places like this that the more delicate may find themselves putting their hands or newspapers discreetly in front of their noses.

Most interestingly, though, people smell different in the heat. Or, rather: people smell more in the heat. High temperatures and stuffy atmospheres coax out our normally subdued odours from underneath their perfumed disguises. The pretty girl stops smelling of flowers and starts smelling of sweat. The slick-looking guy stops smelling trendy and starts smelling seedy. The stinky woman smells, well, the same, but more potent.

For many of us, an automatic reaction to noticing our own scent is to attempt to cover it up. But doing so is tricky. Cologne is fairly pointless, I think, because if it's not sweated out completely it's at least blended with perspiration, and who wants to smell like a combination of musk and armpit? The only artificial scents I don't mind wafting into my nasal cavity are the ones designed to block unpleasant odours, or light fragrances that seem to cool everything around them, like some citrus smells. Invariably, though, many people go on eau de toilette spraying sprees so that they don't have to smell themselves, resulting in groups that smell several times more (and, often, several times worse) than they would in cooler weather.

My favourite hot weather smells are the ones I named above: the ocean; sunscreen; barbeques. When the heat isn't an inconvenience, neither are the scents that come with it. I even like the smell of sweat, sometimes. Go ahead and say I'm disgusting, but I don't mind it when it follows an afternoon of laying in the sun or a night of -- um, nevermind. No, seriously.

Smell
There are times when you can sympathise with Agent Smith:

"I'm going to be honest with you. I hate this place, this zoo, this prison, this reality, whatever you want to call it. I can't stand it any longer. It's the smell. If there is such a thing. I feel … saturated by it. I can taste your stink. And every time I do, I feel I have somehow been infected by it; it's repulsive. I must get out of here."

Camden Town is probably an aromatherapist's nightmare or heaven, depending on how much they're charging you at the time. From the market stalls where you can buy incense, fragrant soaps and joss sticks, all the way through to faint smell of marijuana on Inverness Street, the building works by Mornington Crescent or the smell of what can only be described as 'kebabness' by Britannia Junction, Camden is (ironically, for some of its residents) an interesting place to have an unblocked nose.

The minute you arrive there, however, and alight from your bus or ascend from the platforms at the tube station, Camden smells like anywhere else in Central London: oily, dirty, smoky and with the unmistakeable aroma of litter.

It's when you start to move around the place that you can get a better idea: wandering through the noodle bars by the Lock, the smell of freshly mown grass in Regent's Park, all the coffee shops on Parkway with their deep java perfumes, even the faintly fetid smell of Regents Canal by the bridge on Kentish Town Road.

It may be grimy, dirty, busy, loud, abrasive and intrusive, but there is absolutely no substitute for stopping somewhere quiet, closing your eyes and, just for a second, breathing in.

Hear
My friend Dave has numerous compilation tapes and CDs which he has lovingly crafted, each cassette or disc crammed to the gills with top music. There are a series of them, all with different volume numbers, and with the best title ever to grace a compilation: 'Music To Listen To With Your Ears, Volume 1'.

And so, channelling the spirit which some of you may remember as Radio Free Londonmark, here's some of the tunes rattling around my head at the moment:

1. English Summer Rain / Placebo
2. Goodnight Jack / St Etienne
3. Take My Hand / Dido
4. Growing On Me / The Darkness
5. Blindfold / Morcheeba
6. Clocks / Coldplay
7. Just Because / Jane's Addiction
8. Time Is Running Out / Muse
9. Sugar Coated Iceberg / The Lightning Seeds
10. Crystal / New Order

What tune is making you jump around right now?

Hear
Recently heard or overheard:

• "You look very swell, ma'am." -- strange man, to me, along the canal in Camden this morning
• "What can I do besides pledge my life to you? What can I do besides tell you I love you?" -- man on mobile, Tottenham Court Road
• "For God's sake, go outside! You look like a glass of water!" -- a mother, to her pale son, as quoted by her daughter
• "It's not on." -- girl in internet cafe, half to the blank screen and half to the attendant, who then pointedly touched the mouse and woke up the monitor
• "$150." -- a rich friend, answering my inquiry into the cost of his Gay Pride belt
• "Would you like to say that in proper English?" -- someone apparently under the impression that it's original to make fun of my American accent
• "I am guessing that you are from California. Please, when you go back, tell your people that you met an Iraqi man who thinks you are very nice and that your president is a fascist. Good luck in your life." -- a man serving me food
• "What's better than being Stephen Hawking?" -- teller of offensive jokes
• "I'm never drinking again." -- Mark
• "I say that all the time." -- Mark, in the pub, over a Guinness, referring to the above

See
When you set out for a holiday overseas, although everyone obviously wants you to have a good time and meet nice people, mainly they just want you to see The Sights. When you return, they will mostly ask about The Sights. "Did you visit the houses of parliament?" they will say. "Did you ride on that giant ferris wheel? Did you see Stonehenge?" If you missed any of The Sights, they will be gravely disappointed. You will explain that, no, you didn't have the time to make it to Stonehenge or the inclination to venture into Westminster Abbey or the money to dash over to Paris and see the Eiffel Tower. You will note that you were just as happy, if not happier, to hole up in a pub with your new friends, drinking yourselves silly one day and nursing hangovers the next, and they will feign agreement. "Yes, that's true. It's good that you made friends." A pause will follow, after which they will add -- because they simply can't help it -- "But you can find friends anywhere. This was your only chance to see Stonehenge."

There are only two ways around this exchange: actually see The Sights, or Google your way out of it (meaning, do some research, find some images and fake the experience). You will opt for the former unless you are even more tightly tethered to the internet than I am -- and I'm blogging during my holiday. On two blogs.

So you're going to have to see The Sights. Not just The Sights you want to see, but additionally, all The Sights everyone you know back home would see if they could. And you're going to have to take pictures (or Google it, but you're not a lying cheater, are you?), because the pictures are the most important part. Basically, the value that your loved ones at home will put on your holiday can be calculated with the following formula:

Value of Holiday = (Number of Sights seen) x (Number of pictures taken of The Sights) + 1/(Number of friends made)

Since I'm on holiday in London right now, I've been trying to capture and stockpile as many images of The Sights as I possibly can, for display upon inevitable request once I arrive back home. The problem is, as much as I love the architectural wonder that is Big Ben and the history-rich appeal of the British Museum and the grand view from the bank of the Thames, I can't help but be distracted by the ordinary beauty of a shadow or a concrete path or a couple of boys on swings. Those sights are enough for me.

See
When I was in New York nearly ten years ago with my friends Mike and Richard, we did the usual touristy things, one of which was a trip to the Empire State Building. The three of us went up to the Observatory and gazed over the fantastic view of New York, pointing out buildings and trying to work out where everything was in relation to everything else.

I can't remember which one of us started it – though all three of us were (and still are) childish enough that it could have been anyone – but we decided that this would be the ideal place to play 'I Spy'. Previous 'I Spy' games had been played at Richard's house where questions had included:

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with … S A P."
"Is it sub-atomic particles?"
Pause.
"How the hell did you get that?"
"I know what you're like."

Another notable 'I Spy' moment was "I spy something beginning with … D." After many unsuccessful guesses the answer was revealed to be: dromedary. There followed a fifteen minute heated debate as to whether the stuffed toy on Richard's shelves was in fact a dromedary or whether it was a camel. Don't ask; it was late and we were all, obviously, drunk.

So, at the top of the Empire State Building, we decided that this was the game for us. It began with the usual kinds of things: B for building, A for another building, Y for yet another building, etc, etc. Eventually, we got through to P for pigeon. Another P became a policepigeon, W became a wpolicepigeon and G became … yes, you guessed it: gwpolicepigeon.

Now, almost a decade on, I would like to apologise to New York on behalf of myself and my two compatriots for looking over your beautiful city and only pointing out the gwpolicepigeons. What a shame I haven't really grown up since then.

Serial
We will be interrupting your current programme for the next week. 'The art of …' will be returning to conclude in August, but next week sees not only a new one-week-only series but also, shock horror, a guest blogger. The less observant among you may amuse yourselves by guessing the guest's identity. Those of you with eyes will probably already know. So, stay tuned.

The art of preparing
I don't know where I heard this but apparently the UK military teach their cadets something called the six Ps: prior preparation prevents piss-poor performance. And you know what? They're right. Preparation is crucial when executing any plan, from making sure that you get to Tottenham Court Road station on time to devising a fiendish scheme for world domination, preferably from some underground bunker. Underground bunkers don't just build themselves, you know; you must prepare.

Preparing for work
Wake up, stretch, stop your cat from perforating vital areas of your groin with its claws, roll over and throw your alarm clock through the closest open window. It's morning. You have work to do: you'd better get ready. This preparation has four key stages:

A. Cleaning
Brush your teeth carefully and gargle with mouthwash, wash your face, shower, brush your hair nicely. If you are a girl reader, you may have approximately 17 cleansing products which you will apply to your face after you have washed. If you are a boy reader, you may be mystified as to how putting a bit of water over your cheeks can take 34 minutes, and just use soap.

If you are a girl reader, you may want to put on some make-up, you may not. If you are a boy reader then the application of make-up is strictly optional unless you are a member of the Kiss road crew, in which case it is mandatory. Similar rules apply to jewellery, although you should take care if you work in a place which has increased its security measures. Explaining to your boss why parts of you make the metal detector beep when they really shouldn't is going to be a case study in fast talking.

B. Dressing
Office work demands smart clothes unless you are (a) part of the maintenance team, thus permitting you to wear jeans, (b) part of a failed new economy/new media outfit, thus permitting you to wear geeky t-shirts, or (c) me, thus permitting me to wear what the hell I want to (but no jeans).

Some of you may deeply regret the fact that you have to dress at all. A clichéd interview technique is to imagine your interviewers naked, thus putting you in a position of superiority over them and allowing you to calm down when they are asking you personal questions, such as whether HMP Broadmoor is an appropriate choice of answer under the entry "University qualifications".

However, do you really want to see your colleagues naked? No. You don't. Depending on the attractiveness of your co-workers, you may very much want to see one or two of them naked, but not all of them. And by leaving the house sans vêtements, you are opening the floodgates to corporate nudity. It will all be your fault, so get dressed quickly.

C. Eating
Breakfast in an ideal world is leisurely and healthy, with real coffee in fine china, plenty of fresh fruit and maybe kippers and scrambled eggs. In the real world, it often involves a cup of instant coffee that could fell a mastodon, half a slice of underdone toast spread with what the knife had on it before and, let's face it, a cigarette. Last night's pizza also makes a fabulous brekkie while on the run.

Knocking back the remainder of a bottle of vodka and cough medicine, trotting out a few lines of your preferred white powdery substance and then emitting a primal scream may be fun, but it does not qualify as 'breakfast'. You have been warned.

D. Leaving
In order to have left, you must leave. It stands to reason.

Of course, any of these four stages can be missed out if you are really in a hurry, except leaving.

Preparing for a date
Nervy? Tense? Butterflies in your stomach? You're going out on a date. Arranging a romantic liaision is the emotional equivalent to crawling through a barbed-wire infested minefield dressed only in a pair of socks and a wristwatch which doesn't work anymore. The line between pain and elation is very, very thin. If you get it right, you will probably get sex. If you get it wrong, you will probably get slapped (or sued).

Choose a decent restaurant. If the restaurant is cheap, then your date will assume that you are also. If the restaurant is overly expensive then they will assume that you are attempting to make up for your lack of intelligence, wit, charm or grace by paying way over the odds for posh food. Pick just the right price range, ie slightly more than you'd normally pay.

Dress appropriately. A t-shirt with a speech bubble reading "Down boy" and a big arrow pointing to your crotch is not the way to convince a lady that you are her knight in shining armour. Ladies, elegance is the key word here. You may be the most intelligent and caring woman in the world but if you dress like a lady of the night then you will be dumped quicker than toxic waste.

Be considerate. Is your dining companion vegetarian? Lactose intolerant? Allergic to nuts? (And don't make any smutty jokes about the last one if she is actually allergic to nuts. She will have (a) heard them all before, and (b) hate you with all her being.) Make sure that you know about this and arrange things accordingly.

Think ahead. Prepare for one of the four eventualities of the evening:

1. You never see each other ever again.
2. You take her to her house, arrange to meet again at another date, then go to your home.
3. You take her to yours.
4. She takes you to hers.

Of these choices, Option 4 is obviously the most preferable as it requires you to do nothing but be charming and you get sex. Though you will have to be the world's greatest lover (sorry, should have mentioned that). No pressure, lads. Option 2 is also good because you don't have to do anything until next time. Option 1 is okay but not so good if you actually liked the girl.

Also part of thinking ahead with Option 4 are matters of a more (ahem) personal nature. Ladies, please skip to the next paragraph. Gentlemen, I'll write one sentence and leave it at that: make sure you wear clean underwear, don't drink too much and you know exactly why, put your socks in your shoes otherwise you'll never find them if you need to do a runner, check out her place initially for signs of boiled bunnies or psycho husbands, and remember foreplay, ie to do some.

Option 3 is the nightmare scenario because at some point you will have to leave her to her own devices in your flat. However clean and tidy you are, however pure your mind, body and soul, however upright and morally correct you are, there is always something incriminating in everyone's house. And the minute you leave the woman you are about to try and become intimate with, they will find that one item that condemns you. Game over.

Preparing to go out
Visiting a top nightspot or dining in rarefied and elegant surroundings will require you to prepare properly. Barging into the Manoir aux Quat' Saisons in a Hawaiian shirt and jogging shorts will result in your immediate ejection from the establishment, probably with some kind of head or facial injury. Likewise, attempting to dance the night away at Annabel's will be made more possible if you have remembered to bring along a few basic things: cash, clothes, your partner … that sort of thing.

Do:

• work out where you are going. You will not gain instant, enduring popularity by guiding people erroneously around Soho for hours and hours, bleating "It's around here somewhere".
• dress appropriately. White tie and tails is not appropriate garb if you are going to a rave. Think about it, eh?
• bring enough money. There is nothing more bowel-churningly irritating than travelling for three hours to get to a particularly fine restaurant or happening club, only to find that one of your group has left their wallet at home and you'll have to pay for them all night.
• be reasonable, polite and friendly to any waiting staff, bar staff or other attendants. If you are excessively rude or obnoxious to them then your spaghetti carbonara may come to your table slightly different from the original recipe.

Don't:

• start a fight in the middle of a garden party. At least don't start it until all the free drinks have been served.
• decide that a restaurant with three Michelin stars is the best place to start talking loudly about urinary disorders.
• persist in slapping the waitress' bottom, claiming that "she loves it".
• pass out because you're too drunk. Remember: always be the second most drunk person there, never the most drunk. You'll benefit from the comparison.

The are other areas of discussion within the art of preparing such as preparing a cadaver for dissection, preparing to enter into mortal combat with an alien race, preparing to accept a major award or honour, preparing to assassinate Paul Hogan … the list goes on and on. The one common thread throughout all preparation is that you must build in one tiny flaw, so that if it all goes wrong, you have an escape clause.

The art of smoking
It seems pretty simple, doesn't it? You take a cigarette out of its packet, put the filter in your mouth, light the other end and then inhale gratefully. Sure, that method works, but there is a whole realm of artistry and etiquette surrounding smoking which only the foolhardy would ignore.

The history of tobacco, though fascinating to the smoker and non-smoker alike, is largely irrelevant when we look at modern-day smokers. Also beyond the remit of this post are the health issues. I'll make it clear now: if you are not a smoker, don't start. If you are a smoker, get information about quitting. Now that's done, let's move on.

Restaurants
Most restaurants have smoking and non-smoking sections. Only very cruel smokers will deliberately pick the non-smoking section and then pull out a Havana cigar after the dessert. Be considerate to your fellow diners: offer them a Havana as well. If they are going to be wreathed in the sweet, musky aroma of fine Cuban tobacco, let them enjoy it fully.

Often non-smokers will complain to the waiter or the manager. Don't worry; they're not complaining about the odour, they're complaining that more people haven't been as generous with their cigar as you have. If the waiter does come over, then generally a five pound note tucked discreetly into his hand, as well as murmured threats about Cuban revolutionary forces, will hasten his departure.

If you're in the smoking section, then you are safe. You are with like-minded compatriots who are doing their bit for the global economy by pushing up the Philip Morris share price. Wha? Erm, well, never mind. What could be finer for your soul than to finish a rich pudding, stretch back in your chair, wave a brandy glass about a bit recklessly, and light up a delicious Chesterfield or Tor Oriental?

Key points to watch out for:

• Ashtrays: Unless watched with the vigilance of a recently-divorced parent at a co-ed camping weekend, waiters and waitresses will whip away any available ashtrays with the speed of a hummingbird that's addicted to Red Bull. You've got to keep your eyes open for them otherwise, before you know it, your entire lap is covered in ash and you're asking where the volcano is.
• Matches: Quality restaurants (ie anything more expensive than Subway) will generally have a book or box of matches with the establishment's details printed on the cover. It is your required duty as a patron of this gastrodrome to steal as many of these handy little firestarters as possible. It makes the table cleaner for the waiting staff.
• Tablecloths: These are every fire warden's nightmare. You should pay attention to your cigarette, particularly when holding the lit end (that's the bit burning, just in case you hadn't noticed) near to something flammable like a paper napkin or the tablecloth. If you insist on puncturing holes in the napkin with your cigarette, make sure that you do so safely. Here the word "safe" means "As far away from Mark as is humanly possible, preferably involving some sort of emigration".

Pubs and bars
Firstly a quick word about international relations: Americans, turn away now.

What the hell is all this rubbish about the fact that you can't smoke in a bloody pub in the States? I mean, what? What? You're joking, right? No, come on, really. Really? For fu… … okay, okay, I'll just pop outside with my beer and have a quick fag. No, that's what we call them in the UK, Mr Comedian. I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I can't drink on the street? So I can't smoke inside or drink outside? Are you trying to kill me?

Transatlantic confrères, you may return. In Her Britannic Majesty's pubs and bars, smoking in public places is not illegal. In fact, in some of the pubs I've been to, it's practically compulsory. You have to be careful, though. If you're sat at a table, with a pint and the crossword in front of you and a pack of cigarettes prominently displayed, you will be asked for a cigarette by approximately nine different people before the hour is up.

There is often a common bond between smokers, other than lung cancer. Most of us are the most shameless moochers the world has ever seen. "Can I borrow a cigarette?" is rapidly becoming the nation's most-uttered phrase, other than "Oh my God, you're married", "It's not you, it's me", "I'm sure it happens to a lot of men" or "There were delays on the Northern line".

Even more annoying that being asked if they can "borrow" a cigarette is when people, invariably beggars, ask if they can "buy" a cigarette. Let's do some elementary maths: a pack of twenty Marlboro Mediums costs about £4.60 from Sainsbury's. Therefore each cigarette costs precisely 23p. That doesn't sound too unreasonable. Except that they don't bloody well sell them individually, do they? You can't go up to the counter and ask for 14 cigarettes. You buy them in packs of ten, packs of twenty or not at all. Now sod off.

There is absolutely no fear induced in any English pub that the bar staff will steal the ashtray from you. In most places, it's easier to sell your soul to Satan than it is to get them to clear out the ashtray. Likewise, you may be wondering why your shoes are crunching along the floor when you go from your table to the bar. That's all the cigarette butts underfoot; you'll get used to it. Eventually.

Again, there are a few rules and recommendations for smoking in pubs:

• Don't blow smoke into your opponent's face when playing pool.
• Hold onto your lighter like it was the treasure of the Sierra Madre.
• Make sure you know which pack on the table is yours.
• Don't ash into your/someone else's drink.
• Don't burn a hole in the arm of a really expensive sweater which a close friend bought you ages ago and which has tremendous sentimental value, because you'll feel like the biggest monkey-boy in the postcode.

Attitude
The smoking of a cigarette can express many things about you which coiffure, dress sense or mere words could never approach. The way in which you hold, light and smoke your chosen nicotine tube is a very bold statement about you as a person. Here are some of the main offenders:

The concealer:
Cigarette held between thumb and forefinger, with lit end pointing back at the wrist. This is the posture of a shifty person. They will probably try to sell you fake Swiss watches or pick your pocket. Avoid at all costs.

The waggler:
Cigarette held incredibly loosely between the tips of the forefinger and middle finger, lit end being thrown all over the shop while they gesticulate wildly. This is the posture of a drunk or an inveterate attention-seeker. They will probably try to tell you their life story and con you into buying them expensive drinks.

The maquis:
Cigarette held similarly to the waggler, but this is a specific subset due to the positioning of the rest of the body. They will lean back in their chair, legs crossed with one ankle high on the other thigh, cigarette arm outstretched while the other holds a tattered book of Baudelaire's poems. This is the posture of someone who believes themselves to be a member of the French resistance. They will attempt to engage you in conversation about art, beauty, poetry and feelings. What this means is that they'd really like to have sex with pretty girls but can only approach them by being a poseur.

The worrier:
Cigarette clenched tightly near the knuckles of the forefinger and middle finger. You don't really get to see the lit end very much because it takes the worrier approximately 0.00296 seconds to smoke an entire king-size cigarette. This is the posture of someone who lives for smoking. They won't speak to you, though. They haven't actually spoken to anyone socially since 1974 and that was about the runners at the 2.40 at Sandown.

The drooper:
Cigarette loosely attached to the corner of the mouth, occasionally being raised when smoke is inhaled. This is the posture of the serial gambler. Whether with cards, darts or the buttons of a fruit machines, they are far too busy to use their hands to deal with a cigarette. This is the posture of someone who will spend 10 minutes looking you up and down very closely and then approach you to have a "friendly" game of pool. Halfway through, they'll ask if you want to make it more "interesting". Don't.

So there you have a very brief introduction into the murky (well, foggy anyway) art of smoking.

The art of guessing
If you're anything like me, and let's hope for your sake that you're not, then you spend a lot of your time in a state of ignorance. Trends pass you by, the latest news is a blank sheet, what's hot and what's not are contrivances of a sort which take one quick look at you and run crying to their mother.

It's not stupidity, more a certain detachment from the rest of world, much like a hermit crab only without the sideways scuttling and hardened carapace. Hence, you'll have to master the art of guessing.

A key element to all guessing is your face. Facial gestures and expressions will convey that you are worldly, knowledgeable, educated, intelligent and au courant with key issues. Of course, if you were that good, you wouldn't have to guess, but you should present this impression to others in the hope that they will not expose you as the dunderhead you really are.

A slight furrow of the brow reinforces the impression that you are thinking, rolling your eyes slightly up and to the left indicates that you are searching the vast repository of knowledge in your brain, cherry-picking all those compelling facts until you find the right one. Then you need to make the guess. And, depending on the situation, it had better be good.

Guessing games
This falls into two principal categories: games which involve knowledge which you don't have, and the more psychological aspect whereby you are attempting to mine someone for information of a sensitive, personal or secretive nature.

The first category is easy to deal with. Pick three possible answers to any given trivia question, mull over them, say them out loud in a meandering and faltering way, and then pick one at random. You could be right; you probably aren't, but it gives the impression that your gargantuan brain simply has too much in it to be able to select the right answer at that point in time. True, you're wrong, but you're knowledgeably wrong.

Pure guessing games are an entirely different barrel of fish. This is when subtle hints are dropped, coyly and with vital pieces of information missing. Your job is to try and drive out the truth, or their perception of the truth at any rate, without coming straight out and asking. Two highly-regarded techniques here are (1) the yes/no dialogue, and (2) hypotheticals.

1. The Yes/No Dialogue
   I want some information from you and you want to tell me, but for certain reasons you can't come out and say it. Fine, no problem. If I ask you a series of questions, can you just say whether I'm right or wrong, yes or no. Sure. Excellent.
   
   If you have managed to get someone as far as agreeing to do this, then the information is 90% in your hands. Good starting questions are: Is it about a boy/girl? Is it someone I know? Is it someone you know? Has he been caught covered in marmalade molesting a lemur? Again? This dialogue will almost always result in you getting hold of the gossip that you want. In case it fails, however, there's always…
    
2. Hypotheticals
   I want some information from you and you want to tell me, but for certain reasons you can't come out and say it. Fine, no problem. If, hypothetically speaking, someone we know also called Mark asked you hypothetically whether that rumour I heard was true, would you be able, strictly hypothetically of course, to tell me what you know? Sure. Excellent.
   
   Just as inserting the word 'allegedly' may allow to circumvent those pesky libel laws, so too will 'hypothetically' allow you to scamper tentatively around silly little things like betraying trust and personal morality.

Guessing badly
Now, guessing isn't just a matter of throwing out the first word that pops into your undercrammed cranium. Your guess when asked "Have you heard who Kylie's new boyfriend is?" should not be "Erm, Real Madrid?". This is incorrect because:

• you have confused two popular news items
• it is the wrong guess to the right question (or right guess to a different question, depending on how skewed and perverted your perspective)
• perhaps most seriously, it can be potentially libellous to suggest that the diminutive Australian chanteuse is currently enjoying sexual congress with approximately 24 footballers, most of which are married.

Poor guesswork can mean other things than your innate inanity. It can mean that you weren't listening in the first place, it can mean that the question bores you so much that you would rather eat your shoe than answer it, or it could mean that the questioner is so tedious and objectionable that thirty days spent as Bernard Manning's love slave would be preferable to seeing that person ever again. You must learn to adopt your own strategy of bad guessing.

Guessing wrongly
There are consequences to your guesswork, ladies and gentlemen, so beware. Assumption: you are trying to guess at something ostensibly forbidden. Congratulations are due immediately – what's the point of guessing at something that everyone knows or that you don't care about? Get a grip, man.

Second assumption: you have guessed at this juicy, fresh, gossipy morsel. Well done again. You've got to buy a ticket if you want to win the raffle. Getting in there with the guesswork indicates that you are a rounded human being, caring deeply about others' lives. And yes, that previous sentence does mean that you are a nosy old meddler, but pshaw. Is interfering voyeurism a crime? Oh.

Third assumption: you have failed in your mission to guess correctly. You are now covered in confusion, shame, ignominy and some of those other long words that people put in to make themselves look clever. Slugs look at you patronisingly. Your local neighbourhood monkeys point their tails at you, pretend to make phone calls on a banana and fall about hysterically. A leopard passing by on the number 27 bus laughs his spots off at your ignorance.

You now have to extricate yourself from this situation. Several options present themselves:

• Get really drunk really quickly. You will be so embarrassingly plastered that everyone will forget your earlier faux pas, preferring to concentrate on how much you are humiliating yourself right now. This should only be done by people with no self-esteem.
• Get really angry really quickly. Stand up, preferably knocking your chair backwards for greater effect, make expansive hand gestures (imagine a footballer protesting his innocence at a red card, or a dwarf attempting to hug a chubby polar bear), then storm out of the room shouting. This should only be done by people with a fuse shorter than an eight year old's attention span.
• Get really chummy really quickly. Join the fun: laugh at your own ineptitude with plenty of eye-rolling, fake stomach holding to indicate precisely how amusing the whole situation is, and preferably a little bit of back-slapping just to demonstrate bonhomie. All this can be done while hating someone's guts, which is handy. This should only be done by people without a backbone.

Guessing rightly
Oh, no no no. You'll have to work out that one for yourselves, people. I suppose you need me to tie your shoelaces as well, eh?

The art of choosing
As we go through our everyday lives, we are confronted each second by choices. Should I get up now or hit the snooze button? Do I have enough time for a full shower and shave or will I have to go into work looking like a homeless elk again? Should I charge towards the tube station like a cheetah on Pro Plus or just walk there and arrive to work late (again)? And these are mainly the trivial issues.

Depending on your life and your work, the choices to be made get more and more important. For me, deciding whether or not to have a second cup of coffee is a very small (and easy) decision: yes, please. For the President of the United States while on a state visit to Colombia, that beverage choice will have a more nuanced effect.

Choosing is not just an issue of picking one of any number of available and isolated options. Choices have their own effects: sometimes they cause joy, sometimes pain. Sometimes the choices we make affect other people's perceptions of us. By choosing that second cup of coffee, my colleagues will further confirm that I am a hopeless caffeine addict who would rather loiter by the drinks machine than do any productive work. If the President takes a second cup of Colombian extra-special brew, onlookers may conclude that it might not be sugar he's stirring into that espresso.

Either/Or
It's the most basic of choices. Do you want A or B? Many of these either/or choices can be quite quick to decide: would you like to lie in a sun-lounger in St. Tropez being fed cocktails by a scantily-clad Miss August or would you prefer to be coated in honey and thrown into a swimming pool containing fourteen grizzly bears, all of whom have bad toothache? For people with IQs above their collar size, this is not a difficult choice to make.

However, some either/or choices are not so easy to make. Their effects may be undesirable, their effects may be equivalent, or you may just want to do both but are forced to pick one. Emmanuelle Beart or Isabelle Adjani? Brad Pitt or Mel Gibson? Wine or more wine? All of these, depending on your sexual preference and degree of alcoholism, are tough choices to make because either outcome will be equivalently good.

Should I rescue my teddy bear or my photo album when my house is on fire? A difficult choice to make because you want both but are forced to make a value judgement instantly about which is more important: an old bit of fabric with wonky stitching and some of the stuffing falling out (sorry Edward), or those ridiculous snaps from when you were seventeen and your so-called friends fed you cider until you threw up, then photographed the event for posterity. Mmm, tough call.

Fortunately for those of us with mild DMD (Decision Making Disorder), there is an easy way to make such choices without resorting to imposing your own, sometimes uncertain, value system on objects or people: flipping a coin. My personal recommendation is to choose a two pence piece. They are heavy enough that you are convinced you are getting a good, weighty decision when it lands heads or tails. Top tip: remember which side of the coin corresponds to which choice.

Should I take Alice or Jane to the school disco? Well, heads is Alice and tails is Jane. Flip the 2p high into the air with the thumb of your favourite arm. Down it comes … oh, it's spinning, it's landed … wait, wait … it's … tails. Jane. And what a lovely bit of tail Jane is, indeed. Without having to put yourself through the stress of making complex and, let's face it, often uninformed and knee-jerk either/or choices, you can make decision after decision with the benefit of a coin whose economic value is absolutely tiny (in case it rolls under the sofa).

Multiple choice
Do you want A or B or C? Where's my coin? What do you mean there's only heads or tails, what about the side bit? Oh, I see. More complex questons and issues often demand far more complex approaches to choosing. I have £2.50. Do I want a pint of Guinness, a pint of Dry Blackthorn or a pint of Kronenbourg? Actually this may not be such a productive example as, considering the way bar prices have rocketed, £2.50 probably wouldn't buy you any of these. But at least you can look at their pretty labels while you're dying of thirst.

Let's try cakes. You are only allowed one cake and there is a plate of delicious patisserie sitting in front of you. How do you choose between all of this sugary pastry deliciousness? Simple. Pick the biggest cake and stuff it in your mouth before anyone can see that you've eaten it. (Right, just wipe the corner of your mouth a bit, okay, good, yes it's gone now.) You are now only allowed one cake and there is a slightly less well-stocked plate of delicious patisserie sitting in front of you. Pick the biggest … I think you know how this goes.

Again, there is an aid for DMD sufferers: drawing lots. Scribble down all your options on separate bits of paper, chuck them into a hat, a cup, your pocket or your partner's underwear. Shuffle them around a bit, then draw one piece of paper out. This is now officially the choice you are making. Not so difficult, eh?

Friends
Now that we're more comfortable with the underlying concepts behind the art of choosing, we can examine some of the harder choice areas. How do you choose your friends. Flipping a coin or drawing lots may work for dates and cakes, but friends are neither buttery and moreish nor do they get dumped after the disco because they started crying when the English teacher they had a crush on started dancing with that new Home Economics teacher. So, what are the qualities that will influence your choice of friends?

• Attractiveness: everyone wants to be seen as attractive. Well, if you're not, you might as well hang around with attractive people. It might rub off.
• Humour: will they laugh at your jokes? Will they understand your jokes? God, you people are a tough crowd.
• Likes: there should be enough in common that you don't just walk around with your friends in silence all the time, but not so much that they won't bloody well shut up and let you speak.
• Social status: because, if we're honest, you don't want to end up with the losers, do you? Faint heart ne'er won fair lady, and so hanging around with the social equivalent of SARS is hardly going to win you respect and admiration.
• Trust: you have to be able to trust your friends implicitly, especially with secrets. That way you can ask Jane out without even speaking to her; a quiet word with a friend, followed by "but you can't tell her, right?" will do all that arduous romantic legwork for you.
• Wealth: in case you need to borrow some money. Case closed.
• Car: in case you need to borrow their car. Case again closed.
• Leverage: you've got to know something about them so shameful and embarrassing that they will never betray you for fear of your retaliatory exposés. This may sound a bit KGB. Because it is. Get used to it.

Some friends cannot be chosen. By the time you hit between eighteen and twenty-one years of age, there are some friends that you just can't get rid of, no matter how hard you try, how far you travel or how many times you try to get them arrested for treason. They always find you. You're pretty much stuck with these people. You can choose to abandon them, but they might not choose to be avoided, so if I were you I'd just get used to it. Sorry about that.

Partners
If you thought that choosing your friends was difficult, then choosing a partner is going to be a nightmare. Of course, love may have something to do with it, but let's get real here, people. The chances are that you will choose your partner based on several criteria, in addition to your 'friendship' qualities:

• Can you introduce them to your friends?
• Can you introduce them to your family?
• Can you introduce them to new experiences?
• Can you introduce them to a joint bank account where only you have the cash card?
• Can you introduce them to the idea that beer isn't a luxury, it's a necessity?
• Can you introduce them to a third person, with a certain amount of sexual optimism?

Or you could just get drunk, sleep with them and find out the next morning that they look good both when you're drunk and when you're sober. Well done. This is generally the point where you start to rally round, make coffee and make sure that your teeth are clean. First impressions matter, remember, especially you're both laying there naked, hungover, and neither of you knows why.

This is only the first step. You have successfully met with someone who does not feel the urge to emigrate every time you speak to them. Now you must choose whether to continue seeing them, whether to escalate the relationship or whether to run for the hills, screaming. Good luck with that one; let me know how you get on.

The art of choosing is tricky, difficult, hard, complex and other synonyms. Also, there is no way of avoiding it. You have already made several choices just reading through this post. Your next choice could be to write something very nice about me in the comments box below. Or you could decide to close this window and regard the day you first stumbled across this drivel as accursed. It's your choice. I can lend you 2p if you need it.

The art of drinking
The equation is quite simple: if we don't drink, we die. And everybody drinks. Unless they wish to die. It really is very easy to understand, isn't it? However, just because you have to drink doesn't mean that you should ignore the precepts of style. Or you may simply want to avoid embarrassment caused by an unfortunate 'red wine meets white trousers' incident. Whatever the reason, there is most definitely an art to imbibing.

On the move
You're busy, I'm busy, we're all busy; let's get a takeaway coffee and get to that meeting on time. Firstly, don't. There is no way on earth that you will be able to navigate successfully around London, for example, trying to sip what is in effect a paper cup full of scalding potential. Most coffee shop chains produce cups which bear the small legend: "Moron, this is damned hot. Spill it and welcome to pain". Obey them.

The quickest way to avoid spilling this coffee (which you inevitably will) is to avoid buying it in the first place. If you're in such a hurry, you probably shouldn't be buying coffee anyway, because once you get to the meeting, you'll be jumping around like a meerkat on PCP. Think of your central nervous system, think of caffeine-induced hallucinations, think of the embarrassing wet, brown stain which is currently ruining your best suit and burning into your skin: put the latte down and take two steps away with your hands in the air.

At work
The golden rule here is: don't be the one that drinks the last of the coffee, because you'll have to make the next pot. Although there is no intrinsic problem in being the coffee-maker, you will immediately be saddled with one of two reputations:

A. That guy makes great coffee. He should make the coffee all the time, this is really tasty; or
B. He can't even make decent coffee. What a git.

You have been labelled either as their personal caffeine slave or someone who needs immediate, professional psychiatric attention. Neither will shout "Promote me!" to your boss.

During business meetings, there are a few rules of etiquette to bear in mind when weighing up the beverage options:

• More than three cups of coffee means that you will have to go to the bathroom many, many times during your meeting. I don't know what they put in corporate coffee, but clients will not be compelled by your incontinence.
• Your coffee order ("Black", "White", "Sweet", "Strong", "Straight up") should never be followed with any attempted witticism, especially not: " … like my men". No-one will laugh.
• Unless the coffee is actually reheated nuclear waste, don't compare it to Nescafé. People will take offence. Likewise, "You call this coffee?" is hardly guaranteed to endear.

It's not strictly part of the art of drinking, but in smaller offices and workplaces, there is the curse of the mug. Everyone has their own mug with badly-drawn cats, a leafy scene or an amusing slogan emblazoned on the side. In the cup cupboard, there are always a few spare cups left by people who have been fired. The handle on one of these mugs is just about to break, any day now. Everyone knows it will, but no-one quite knows when.

Do not use this mug. If you have to, drink coffee out of your cupped hands before using this mug, because on the day of the most important meeting of your professional career, the mug will break and your expensive report and nice shirt will be covered in cheap coffee and porcelain shards. And yes, your colleagues will laugh, mainly out of relief that they avoided it.

At home
There are only a few points to make here because you are probably thinking, "Who the devil does this chap think he is, telling me how I should drink in my own home? An Englishman's home is his castle, you impertinent young pup". All quite true. So I shall just make a recommendation. If you find yourself at home, alone, feeling a little thirsty, I recommend any of the following combinations:

• Earl Grey tea, a slice of lemon, no milk + macaroons + Mozart's Fourth + The Remains Of The Day
• A glass of claret (Sainsbury's £4.99 Calvet is scrummy) + some nice cheese + Young Frankenstein on DVD
• Bottled Belgian lager + the first Bjork album + Trivial Pursuits
• Strong, black cafétière coffee + Resolve + paracetamol + sunglasses + curtains drawn + silence
• Gin and tonic + a sunny day + your garden + Melody AM

You can, naturally, mix and match to provide your own perfect experience.

Alcohol
The first edict when drinking alcohol is: make sure you have always had one more drink than whoever you are with. This guarantees that they are charming, witty, considerate and attractive, and that you are drunk. If they have had one more drink than you, then they are boring, repetitive and smell like a tramp – why are you talking to them?

As we all know, white wine should be chilled, red wine should be room temperature and port should be plentiful. There are a number of ways in which to drink alcohol:

• Red wine should be drunk with red meat or a particularly robust vegetarian meal
• White wine should be drunk with white meat, fish, salads or light vegetarian meals
• Port should be drunk with stilton or with someone who will appreciate it and not try to add ice
• Brandy should be drunk when someone else is paying for it
• Whisky should be drunk when you are drunk
• Gin should be drunk as much as you can get away with
• Vodka should be drunk loudly or when you're trying to get someone else drunk
• Pimm's should be drunk only in places where there is the off-chance you might drown
• Lager should be drunk while ruining someone else's evening
• Alcopops should be drunk and not heard

When drinking alcohol, one should be considerate to fellow drinkers. If you order a double brandy and coke when everyone else is buying mineral water, your friends may start to feel as though you are exploiting the 'round' system. Addressing the bar staff as "wench" is also a poor choice. Demonstrating a golf shot by knocking all the drinks on your table to the ground and then blaming someone else is not the best way to make new acquaintances. All it takes is a little consideration, a little moderation and someone there to tell you when you're being a twat.

Of course, drinking alcohol to excess, just as drinking coffee to excess, can lead to embarrassing situations. Some of these effects are the same: stuttering, drooling, slurring, uncontrollable shaking, injudicious offers of marriage, the list is nearly endless. The key point is that if you can't avoid getting blind drunk or wired on caffeine, make sure that you are with someone else who is more of an idiot. That way, you'll still seem fine to everyone else and they won't mention the stain on your trousers which has been there since you tried to drink a double-shot cappuccino on the tube this morning.

The art of meeting
There's no point getting yourself all het up about waiting outside a train station in the rain if you then muck up the moment when you meet someone. So, we turn our attention to that first meeting. Meetings can be formal or informal, but if it's the first time then you'd have to be a real moron not to realise that the pressure's on.

It's not what you know, it's not even who you know, it's the firmness of your handshake. If you can't even break one of the bones in their hand, then they will regard you as a callow individual. Do you really want small children to point and shout 'Callow' at you as you cross the street? Of course not. So read on.

A business meeting
If you have seen and identified with Glengarry Glen Ross, then you want to be the Alec Baldwin character. If you have seen and identified with Swimming With Sharks, you want to be the Kevin Spacey character. If you have seen and identified with Wall Street, you want to lend me money. Business meetings, whether with clients outside your company or with 'colleagues' (ie people within your company, but calling them 'co-workers' or 'friends' would be barefaced lying), are generally regarded as the modern-day evolution of Cardinal Ximenes' inquisition tactics.

Here's some quick business-style action-oriented bullet points:

• The gents should wear a smart suit and tie, the ladies should wear a smart suit and probably one of those nice scarves from Liberty's that I try to buy my mother for Christmas but then realise that they're too expensive and have to find a differently-coloured pashmina than last year's present. But I digress.
• Clean teeth. Not a problem for non-smokers and horses, but if you are a smoker then you should make sure that you have some chewing gum. You can then offer this chewing gum to the other people in the meeting, as the minty-fresh taste in their mouths will probably overpower the stale tobacco odour pervading your entire being.
• Shiny shoes. This applies even if they are made of suede. Just clean 'em.
• A professional demeanour. This includes a thorough preparation of the relevant issues and a good awareness of the surrounding field of knowledge. This does not include any limericks which begin "There was a young lady from Dorking" nor does it include any sentence which starts "Do you want to see my impression of an elephant?".
• Posture. Standing rigidly to attention, chest out and shoulders back, is fine if you are a member of the Household Cavalry but probably slightly inappropriate in the new project kick-off meeting. When standing, you should be casual but attentive. When seated, body language will reveal more about your attitude to the topic than anything you say, hence you should close your eyes and lie back as far in your chair as possible. Occasional gentle snoring noises will only enhance your reputation as an expert. Tipping the chair backwards and falling head over heels will only enhance your reputation as a monkey.

A date
Similar rules apply here. Wear something smart, though the tie/scarf/underwear could probably be dispensed with. If you are a gentleman, then make sure that you walk on the road-side of the pavement, always open the door for the lady, light her cigarette and cover her with your umbrella, if raining. If you are a lady, you should try not to swear too much, remember to reapply makeup at semi-regular intervals, and don't mention the word 'thrush' even in an bird-watching context; men are jumpy like that.

Despite earlier advice, a light handshake is probably in order when you first meet, unless you wish to spend the entire date in the local A&E department. A quick, light kiss on the cheek is acceptable from the lady, whereas anything further, up to and including full intercourse, might be regarded as somewhat forward. Also, the other commuters at Liverpool Street station could get slightly uncomfortable.

Meeting friends
Ah, who cares? If they are real friends then you can probably get away with insulting them about their clothes, their appearance, their stupid new goatee beard … almost anything. They won't complain because they will be doing this as well. Expect about a few minutes of mutual denigration – all done in a jokey, mock ironic way, naturally – before you get this overly matey section of meeting over with.

Once all the unpleasantries are out of the way, you can then settle into a few minutes' mindless chat about their girlfriends/boyfriends. Hint: try and sound even vaguely interested, though you probably don't give a damn that their girlfriend's cousin's nine year old daughter's dog has had to go the vet. Pushing your face within two inches of theirs and yawning very loudly is unacceptable in this situation.

Meeting 'their' parents
This is often regarded as a unique experience: the moment when any relationship gets validated in the eyes of a boy or girl's closest family and when a new person is welcomed into a loving clan. In other words, Hell on toast. Ways to minimise the pain, anguish, mental torture and erosion of self-respect are:

• Try to arrange the meeting on neutral ground: you don't want your boyfriend's mother barging in you while you're lying in his bed, puffing away on a cigarette and shouting "Get me vodka, you twat".
• Don't be overfamiliar to their parents: "Pleased to meet you, Mr Smith" is always preferable to "Well, **** me, how the **** have you ****ing ****-****ing ****ers been?" This will not earn you respect for your command of the English language.
• Wear nice clothes: the predicate of this is obviously that you are wearing clothes. The first time you meet their parents you should not be au naturel. This is seen as embarrassing, untimely or, at worst, showing off. The clothes you choose should be clean, fashionable but not cutting-edge couture, complementary to what your partner is wearing, and should protect all vital organs from the elements or from sudden, unwanted parental attack.
• Consider appropriate topics of conversation: if her father is a Conservative politician, then preceding every sentence with the word 'Comrade' may be unwise.
• Don't drink very much: on the balance of probability, even your partner has a hard time with you when you're drunk. Your partner's parents will be even less impressed. An anecdote should never begin with "So, I was off my face, right, and …".

Meeting God
Don't speak until He/She has spoken to you, be very polite and think pure thoughts. You're going to Hell anyway, but you might as well seem respectful … you might only get a spell in Purgatory if it looks as though you're listening closely. You never know.

So, the art of meeting. The etiquette of first acquainting yourself with another person is hard to get right, and even harder to perfect, but follow just a few of these rules and you stand a chance of impressing. One final tip: the word 'dog' should never be used in a first encounter.

The art of waiting
I have no idea how much time the average human adult spends waiting for things, but I am prepared to wager a small amount that it is a substantial part of his/her life. In any given interaction between two or more people which requires them to be in a specific place at a specific time, waiting will form a key part. At the tube station, in the coffee shop, outside the cinema – even behind the bike sheds when you were younger – there is always waiting.

The first thing to remember about waiting is that it is invariably someone else's fault. You wouldn't be waiting if they had decided to stop being useless, selfish, time-wasting morons who don't really deserve to be going to the concert/film/play/meal with you in the first place. Also, they are sufficiently annoying that they are keeping you waiting. As any fool can see, you are the person who should be keeping them waiting. We hold this to be self-evident.

So, if you're stuck trying to count the number of times you can see the word 'the' on posters in Victoria tube station while waiting for someone, you're doing this because whoever you're meeting believes themselves to be more important than you. Wrong. And don't believe all that "there were delays" nonsense, either.

Another good thing to remember about waiting is that it gives you an opportunity to take a few moments out of your busy day to enjoy some peaceful contemplation of yourself or the burning issues of the day. Examples include:

• "Where the hell are they?"
• "What time do you call this?"
• "How long have I been waiting here now?"
• "Is that guy Alan Rickman or does he just look a lot like him?"
• "Is she looking at me?"
• "Where the bloody hell are they?"

And other such important global economic and social issues.

Body language and facial expressions are one of the keys to waiting. Depending on how close the person is to you, and how long you have known them, your body language and your face define how immensely irritated you are at standing around doing sod all. My personal favourite is leaning against a pillar, arms folded high across the chest, legs crossed lightly at the ankles, head slightly tilted downwards, aiming an unmistakeable glower of malevolence directly at the late arriver, preferably just over the top of your glasses, forcing them to remember a once-hated schoolteacher who did something similar. Of course, you should try out a few enraged poses of your own to see which suits you best.

Waiting in line
It's the post office or the bank. You are in a long queue waiting to see one of the cashiers. This is the ideal chance to … do absolutely nothing. You could read a book, but then you might miss out on people trying to queue-jump and that's the quickest way to alienate everyone else waiting in line. You can listen to your portable music device, but then you might miss the bell, buzzer or 'Cashier Number Five' pre-recorded announcement which tells you where the hell to go.

So, you have to just stand there, waiting, occasionally shuffling your shoes and checking over your clothes. If there's a mirror, you have the option to (a) sneakily check your hair/makeup/stubble, (b) look at other people's hair/makeup/stubble surreptitiously, (c) try to read posters backwards because you are that bored, (d) make funny faces at other people's children in the hope that they start crying.

If there is no mirror, you are reduced to reading the brochures. For those of a dextrous nature, origami should now be your best friend. How better to amuse the bank manager than by presenting his own mortgage flyer to him in the shape of an ocelot? Imagine the delight on the postmistress' face when you show her your giro book transformed into a three metre long stream of paper monkeys holding each other's tails.

Unless suicidal, however, you should avoid the brochures. This is invariably your kick-off point for daydreaming. Dreaming about being a bank robber is probably both the most common and the most ill-advised option here. Especially if you start pointing your mobile phone in a provocative way at the cashier. Apparently, they don't like it.

Waiting for someone
There are two important distinctions to make immediately: waiting for people you know, and waiting for people you don't know. The most obvious difference is that you must remain on best behaviour while waiting for people you don't know, whereas people you know don't really care how long you've been waiting, so you can slouch around and do what you like, because they'll come and find you.

With people you don't know, you must create a good impression, as they could arrive at any moment. Good things to do include: be seen to give money to a charity collector, be seen reading 'A la recherche du temps perdu', be seen to help an old lady up/down some steps. Bad things to do include: be seen to scratch your privates, be seen to flirt with other commuters, be seen to shout incoherently at the Big Issue vendor and/or stab him with your umbrella.

With people you don't know, you should not use your 'enraged pose'. Instead you should seem attentive, politely brush off any apologies they may offer and immediately direct them along to your meeting/appointment. All this should be done while you quietly seethe and wish ill upon their descendants.

Waiting for an event
The term 'event' is a very loose one. It could be a phone call, an email, the sudden and painful death of Lord Archer, a letter, the beginning of a film, a blood-curdling scream, … anything. You are still waiting. If the event is a performance of some kind, then you will probably have a programme to read. This will lower your intense aggravation at having to wait. If you are in a cinema and are waiting for the trailers, they thoughtfully pipe in that really annoying music so you can lean across to your friend and bitch about it for a bit. This will reduce your bad mood also.

Waiting for a train is a slightly different proposition as, thanks to rail privatisation, there is no guarantee that the train will actually arrive before either (a) your great-grandchildren receive their old age pension or (b) Hell suddenly becomes a little bit chilly and Satan decides it might be time to wrap up warm. So, you should take precautions when waiting for a train, the first of which is: get a taxi. You will find that this almost completely removes all the irritations of waiting for the train.

So, the art of waiting. There are many different styles, movements and schools of waiting. Some prefer the 'martyr' approach, whereby when the late person arrives you embark on a massive guilt trip, thus hoping to make them spend out on the rest of the evening. Some prefer the 'berserker' line of thought, whereby you shout at the other person for about five minutes and then forgot the whole thing and settle down to have a fun time. A further option is the 'simmer' whereby you never refer to the lateness directly, but make snide, underhand remarks and analogies about it for the next, say, fifty years. The choice is, as always, yours.

Things Mark thinks are stupid
The second in an occasional series
I've just received an email from someone in our Training department. They want me to train them. While I acknowledge the 'quis custodiet ipsos custodes' argument, I still want to email them back with an annoying irony/stupidity alert. But I won't, I'll just agree. Because: yes, I am that weak.

Joyeux anniversaire
In other news, neveratossBlog is the ripe old age of six months today. Why not pop over and wish him a happy half-year birthday?

Leave well enough alone
I think that this may be one spin-off too far. Despite making crazy money, the Friends cast are quitting at the end of the series, so NBC is deciding whether to launch Joey as a spin-off on his own. Hmmm. No. Please God, no.

Things Mark thinks are stupid
The first in an occasional series
Including a line of Darth Vader dialogue from The Empire Strikes Back in a business publication just so you can say something like "and businesses also have their dark sides".

Football crazy, football mad
Explaining football/soccer and its grip in the UK is no easy matter. Especially when you compare the 88 league teams across the Premiership and Divisions 1, 2 and 3 with the 10 teams in America's Major League, which they divide into an Eastern and a Western Conference of 5 teams each, rather sweetly. That's also ignoring the 22 non-league teams in the Conference, as well as other non-league divisions such as Dr Martens, Unibond and Rymans.

It's a bit of a shame that we don't have quite as fun names as the American teams: San José Earthquakes, MetroStars and New England Revolution are all pretty good but my favourite name has to be Dallas Burn. Fantastic. I want Newcastle United to change their name now: Newcastle Magpies are the obvious choice, but I'd like something a little more silly.

So there's an awful lot of football for our small island, and it doesn't stop there. When not playing Sunday league or kicking a ball about in the park (though I didn't hurt myself in any way this time, aha!), the UK footie fan likes to watch his or her team take on the best of Europe or embark on lucrative tours further afield. And, of course, some people just wish that people like me would stop banging on about football and hush down. Which is fair enough.

1pm update: A (sadly now defunct) MLS team with a fantastic name? Tampa Bay Mutiny. Also, here's an interesting article about football in the US.