a letter to my children

1. Marry for money. Your children will never forgive you if you marry for love and then complain about school fees and offer up only feeble holidays and shared bedrooms.

2. Boys, you should marry a girl you admire. A girl who is your intellectual equal or superior. A girl who will stand by you when you are a fool – and you will be a fool. All men are fools. A girl who will chivy you out of the blues. A girl who can keep you guessing.

3. Only drink tea in good china.

4. Diamonds must always be worn if there is even the slimmest chance you may drink champagne at breakfast, luncheon Tiffin or supper.

5. Never befriend someone who hasn’t attempted to cultivate a personal style even if it isn’t entirely appealing to you.

6. Wear lashings of pearls and cashmere and expensive scent when going to confession - you will find it softens the blow of the penance.

7. Diamonds fare better in mud than pearls so team your Hunters and Barbour with diamonds when feeding the hens or mucking out the stables.

8. Be extravagant when it comes to knowledge and experience. It never pays to be stingy or penny pinching over books, culture, travel or “the new”.

9. Crocodile shoes and handbags are a must for school visits but alligator is better. It is much easier to ensure the upper hand with teachers and headmistresses in sturdy shiny accessories. Also crocodile shoes have a better chance of surviving the inevitable trudges across fields required on speech days.

10. Only eat oysters in months with an R - the other months are for storing your fur. A light ocelot may be kept on hand for chilly summer evenings.

11. The thank you note is at the heart of good manners. Always take the time to send a thank you note after you have stayed with someone, been taken out or shown a special kindness by another.

12. If a man invites you out on a date and suggests going "dutch" or in any way at all insults your finer feelings with gross behavior, do not look shocked or glare. It shows awfully bad breeding! Stand, gather your belongings elegantly and with extravagant flourish throw his wine stylishly in his face. Nota Bene: This is not an excuse to neglect writing a thank you letter afterwards though perhaps a stern letter of complaint to his mother may also be in order.

13. Never slap a man with red hair across the face as they feel no pain - Edward de Bono told me this repeatedly along with a lot of blonde jokes of which I don't think you or anyone else will benefit.

14. Never raise your voice to anyone. It is for this reason that I encouraged you to cultivate linguistic superiority from an early age.

15. Never strike a child especially your own. Limit yourself to chinese burns or tiny pinches but only if they are very dangerously naughty - and never while angry. Nota Bene: you were never dangerously naughty.

16. Anger is terribly aging, as is self-pity. Besides you are a Catholic, which enables you to gorge yourself on mea culpas and wander proprietarily through luxurious cathedrals so cheer up.

17. In times of crisis when even family seem inadequate your faith will be of great comfort as will your minks and jewels. A few decades of the rosary and you'll inevitably be wrapped in the boon of sleep.

18. People let you down. Don't obsess over this. Put on your nicest attitude and do something selfless for another.

19. Avoid reading the bible - like most books written by bearded men it is part thriller, part horror. Focus on Our Lady a fabulous role model. The Queen of Heaven never sullied herself with he said/he said gospels or nagging letters or warnings not to lead blind men the wrong way across a field or whether or not to stone a rapist. She busied herself chatting to angels and didn't even require sperm to bear a God/Man. No, the bible is for the most part though perfectly suitable for those studying theology or misogyny.

20. When something needs to be said say it. Truth since fine architecture and 4.30 dining has been dying out since Georgian times. Don’t demean yourself with excuses such as “trying not to hurt feelings”. Lies are the wickedest sins of all. Having said that, not everything needs to be said.

Things I Tell My Daughter

A Daughter's Guide To Life

1. Marry for money. Your children will never forgive you if you marry for love and then complain about school fees and offer up only feeble holidays and shared bedrooms.

2. Only drink tea in good china.

3. Diamonds must always be worn if there is even the slimmest chance you may drink champagne at some point in your life; so at breakfast, luncheon tiffin and supper.

4. Wear lashings of pearls and cashmere and expensive scent when going to confession - you will find it softens the blow of the penance.

5. Diamonds fare better in mud than pearls so team your Hunters and Barbour with diamonds when feeding the hens or mucking out the stables.

6. Be extravagant when it comes to knowledge and experience. It never pays to be stingy or penny pinching over books.

7. Crocodile shoes and bags are a must for school visits but alligator is better. It is much easier to ensure the upper hand with teachers and headmistresses in sturdy shiny accessories. Also crocodile shoes have a better chance of surviving the inevitable trudges across fields required on speech days.

8. Only eat oysters in months with an R - the other months are for storing your fur although a light ocelot may be kept on hand for chilly summer evenings.

9. The thank you note is the corner stone of good behavior. Always take the time to send a thank you note after you have stayed with someone, been taken out or shown a special kindness by another.

10. If a man invites you out on a date and suggests going "dutch" or in any way at all insults your finer feelings with gross behavior, do not look shocked or glare as it shows awfully bad breeding! Stand up, gather your belongings elegantly and with great flourish throw his wine stylishly in his face. This is not an excuse to neglect writing a thank you letter afterwards though perhaps a stern letter of complaint to his mother may also be in order.

11. Never slap a man with red hair across the face as they feel no pain - Edward de Bono told me this repeatedly along with a lot of blonde jokes of which I don't think you or anyone else will benefit.

12. Never raise your voice to anyone. It is for this reason that I encouraged you to indulge in linguistic superiority from an early age.

13. Never strike a child especially your own. Limit yourself to chinese burns or tiny pinches but only if they are very dangerously naughty - and never while angry. Nota Bene: you were never dangerously naughty.

14. Anger is terribly aging, as is self pity. Besides you are a Catholic which enables you to gorge yourself on mea culpas and wander proprietorially through luxurious cathedrals.

15. In times of crisis when even family seem inadequate your faith will be of great comfort as will your minks and jewels. A few decades of the rosary and you'll inevitably be wrapped in the boon of sleep.

16. People let you down. Don't obsess over this. Put on your nicest attitude and do something selfless for another.

17. Avoid reading the bible - like most books written by bearded men it is part thriller, part horror. Focus on Our Lady - how more fabulous a role model can a girl have than our Queen of Heaven, who never sullied herself with endless gospels or letters or warnings not to lead blind men the wrong way across a field or whether or not to stone a rapist? She busied herself chatting to angels and didn't even require sperm to bear the fruit of a God/Man. No, the bible is for the most part ghastly and unladylike though perfectly suitable for girls studying theology or misogyny.

18. Never kiss a bearded or moustacheod man. They all smell of yesterday's soup.

19. Remain committed to the double air-kiss regardless in social circumstances. Avoid shaking hands with anyone you don't intend to strike a deal with, it is unfriendly and vaguely threatening to thrust a hand at another in any purely social interaction. Handshaking is the preserve of the businessmen and women when going about their business.

20. You will never be alone. I can't help this. Quite apart from my constant obsessive love and admiration, no Catholic can ever be said to be truly alone for we always have the travelling Greek Chorus following us around questioning our actions and our plans. Embrace this as there is no escape even if you take up with another religion or become atheist.

21. Avoid atheists though many of them are charming. Eventually they will want to argue with you about your faith. Faith has nothing to do with fact any more than religion has to do with God as any Buddhist will attest.

22. Do not marry a Protestant. They do not have romantic souls. Nor do they have a conscience so feel no guilt. Lack of guilt tends to make one rather suburban and dull in argument. Their inability to hold their own in debate and attempting to base viewpoints on facts rather than fancies, can make them petty and bigoted. If one is going to have a religion at all it should have some gravitas and a religion based on a hated of Our Lady and a dislike of fine alter dressings and purple robes with gold threads is nuts and misogynistic. Also your father was a Protestant.

23. Do not make the mistakes I made. I made many and I did so in the hope that you would learn from them. I did not realise this at the time of making said mistakes but I feel it keenly now.

24. Sadly, families frequently excommunicate other members for letting them down - your father's mother is a case in point - yet the Church barely ever troubles itself to excommunicate Catholics. Once baptized, your free to feel as guilty and confused as your fancy. This is comforting in a world increasingly obsessed with certainties.

25. Start your trousse early, you will find it will help develop discipline in your relationships with boys.

26. Dull marriages are to be avoided but they are not deadly nor necessarily cause for divorce. Knitting, embroidery, needlepoint and crosswords can provide a valuable boon as can a flat on Mount Street.

27. If you are going to quarrel with your lover do it over a game of scrabble.

28. Send your children to boarding school from age 11. Families are not always the happiest of environments for children as anyone who was once a child will attest. You and your offspring will both appreciate one another all the more during holidays, half term breaks and exeat weekends.

29. Cultivate tolerance. It does not do to be judgemental on anyone other than oneself. The bad food, dormitory life and the brutal outdoor sports of boarding school all help develop tolerance.

30. Chose a single sex boarding school. Feelings of inadequacy flourish when boys and girls are housed together during the teenage years and they will see plenty of one another during inter-school activities.

31. You will make mistakes. It is not always important to be right, but it is always important to feel in hindsight that you behaved correctly or at least behaved incorrectly with impeccable manners.

32. It is important to always admit you were wrong, even if it is only within the confines of a confessional to a priest who doesn't speak English or Latin. As the rather handsome Alexander Pope said, "To err is human - to forgive is divine". You darling should always be aiming for divine.

33. The Catholic soul is a poetic soul which can make us a little glutinous when it comes to romance. The bells, the smells the spells the whispered secrets in confessionals, the Songs of Solomon, angels and the virgin birth ensures we are slaves to romance. The romantic soul, if not Catholic, often converts as did Oscar Wilde. I'm not sure this always helps. A girl needs romance to keep her feminine. Don't gorge on it, but ensure you always have enough to sustain you. See guide number 22.

34. Retain your mystery and value your privacy. Do not give too much of yourself or your relationships with those you love away. Though we cannot put a price on privacy, we are all broke and damned without it.

35. Say towhit, and verve and vex frequently. Use all and any words that you note falling from use. Keep your language as alive and vivid as your jewels and memories.

36. Cultivate loyalty. Practice on your friends. You will need it as a mother. All children try to shake their parents. Mothers worry. I suspect I worry more than most. This will be a great burden to you but you will never shake me nor my love.

37. Your Great Grandma told me to believe half of what I see and none of what I hear so I shall pass this bit of Irish wisdom your way to do with as you will.

38. Nancy Mitford said, and I concur: "I think housework is far more tiring and frightening than hunting is, no comparison, and yet after hunting we had eggs for tea and were made to rest for hours, but after housework people expect one to go on just as if nothing special had happened." Someone must do housework but they must be rewarded and treated like conquering heroes. For Quentin Crisp - who you may or may not remember meeting in New York as a child - was quite wrong when he said of dust, "after four years it doesn't get any worse"

39. It is a okay to fuss over and spoil your children but do let them dine with you do not become one of those parents who segregate their families into grownups and children. Take them to restaurants, encourage them to order from the menu. When they can speak, listen to them and include them in conversations though not if their dull or irritating of course - though you my darling never were.

40. Never allow yourself to be induced to dine with anyone who holds their knife and fork incorrectly or uses their fork as a spoon. If they can't press their peas onto the back of their fork they should be avoided.

41. Apart from manners try to keep an open mind. I change my mind all the time so it doesn't behove me to defend my opinions too staunchly. It does looks awfully stern when one upholds one's opinions at the expense of good banter.

42. Yes, it is okay to laugh during sex not that I would know as you and your brothers were all immaculately conceived. It is not seemly for parents to make love, have sex or be libidinous; please do remember this fact when you yourself are a parent.

Dropsy drops in for Semolina and whotnot

I have swollen glands and a sore throat. My doctor is calling it glandular fever. I am calling it dropsy. I have no idea what dropsy is. Its one of those old illnesses that fell out of favour like pox. Illness like manners are so faddish. No one seems to suffer from dropsy anymore so I felt as I was going to be ill and moping about doing nothing useful I should jolly well roll my sleeves up and do my bit for tradition. Having a cause is good for ones health and mind, even if it is a rather ironic cause of sorts.

As a result of my dropsy I am unable to care for myself in the normal fashion of going to the cafe up the road for a fortifying freshly squeezed juice and a ruinously strong late. Nor am I meeting friends to peck at morsals and sip at cocktails. Instead dropsy has driven me to eating semolina. I found it in the cupboard of the South African chap I'm renting rooms from in Sydney. It which sounds like something that grows on old eggs and hens but is actually a sort of nursery food. Just the thing when dropsy's got the better of you. I boil milk, add a thin stream of semolina powder and take the pot off the heat. After transporting the contents of the pot to a bowl, I repair to bed with a suger pot where I eat it with a runsible spoon. This carry on has lasted three days.Then I ran out of pots, spoons and bowls. Today I listlessly looked at the contents of the sink, poked them hopefully but alas I didn't have the courage to do what needed to be done. Instead I went to bed with an improving book - The Secret History by Donna Tartlette.

Housework is largely a fools errand according to Quentin Crisp and others who have attempted a life of hoopla. For some I fear it is merely a task faute de mieux. For me it is a terribly exhausting and life changing terror. I classify it as taxing as driving a car or swimming neither of which I have ever had the courage to attempt.

Nancy Mitford as ever summed it up beautifully when she wrote:

"I think housework is far more tiring and frightening than hunting is, no comparison, and yet after hunting we had eggs for tea and were made to rest for hours, but after housework people expect one to go on just as if nothing special had happened."

This is why I have left my dishes to soak until someone made of sterner stouter stuff comes to visit. Dropsy or no dropsy I can hardly tackle those pots and just go on living as if nothing remarkable had happened. I just don't have that sort of resilience.

Death by Chanel Rouge Noir & Expensive pots of beautifying cream

The book is not going well. My Greek Chorus are right with their Cassandra prophesies. "We said as much," they nag. But maybe they are write and my nice supportive Inner Gran is wrong? What if my blockbuster with film deal wrapped in is never written?

The bank were very unfriendly about the £8,000 bauble as they insist on referring to my ring and flabbergasted by the £700 shoes. I have been threatened with a CCJ which is not a Circus Carnival for Juveniles as you’d imagine but a nasty mark on your file that stains your good name and means no one will ever lend me money again. 'You will be a blight on your children’s life!' The Greek Chorus wail.

My ex-husbands will feel jolly righteous because I’ll have to come clean to them about my incomprehensible behaviour in the Burlington Arcade. This whole episode will be another black mark against my name. See why I don’t like getting out of bed? It only costs me money and I always end up in the soup. Much better to stay in bed. I know how to that. I am safe in bed.

And as ever I will make it all sound far worse than it is. I always do. Catholics love nothing more than a good shriving of the soul. Although admittedly what I have done is pretty bad. It is my nature to highlight my mistakes and flaws to the ex-husbands. They are my confessional since the church brought in “reconciliation” to replace the confessional box. Now they want you to have a face to face with them. I always said, the day they stopped sung Latin mass was the thin edge of the wedge. So I shall confess all to my ex-husbands. My penance will be harsh. It will take courage and for that I best stay in bed to restore my spirits.

I haven’t left the flat for four days. I have been living off an old tub of yogurt, espressos from my Gaggia, some out of date vitamin pills, and the last of my Valium script. On the up side I have lost 2.3 kilos whatever that is in old money. I preferred pounds. Stones and pounds were solid and satisfying. When people ring up I mute the television or music or dvd and talk my life up. I make out I am having the most luxurious pampering relaxing “me” time. “All curled up with books and magazines and doing a bit of internet shopping while my face pack sets,” I tell them. “Are you writing?” they ask. “Like a Trojan,” I assure them.

I tell no one that I am sans credit cards, sans credit rating and by day four sans yogurt. All that’s left in my refrigerator now are some Chanel Noir nail varnish and lots of pots of expensive face cream that make me red, spotty and peely. Yet despite the Health and safety warnings on them none of them is likely to lead to a successful overdose. Shame, I would look so pretty spread out in my peignoir, a few pearls strewn about, the new diamond ring and Louboutins. And with my literary skills think of the note!

Then I think of the note and I think knowing my luck it will be a bestseller that is turned into a film with a big star like Angelina Jolie attached. And I think it would look rather glamorous having “Death by Chanel and Expensive pots of beautifying cream” read out at my inquest. That would up the anti on my suicide note sales too. They’d probably auction it off for my charity that I have begun setting up. At the moment ACCESS ALL AREAS is just a mass of meetings, forms, brick walls, indifference and endless chats with branding experts but it’s heading in a generally forward-ish direction. The point it my suicide note could really be the lift my children’s charity needs - if only I had managed to launch the charity. As it is my death will mean nothing but a headline. Then I think, I bet my agent would be delighted once I’m dead. Her commission dreams will be realised. I suddenly find a will to live. Paradoxically the will comes from my suicide note.

Then I remember that I am due to have dinner at the Wolseley with Gillian in an hour, followed by drinks at the Arts club on Dover Street with Claire, Gillian and Man of Bronze as Husband Number 3 likes to be referred to and then we are all of to a burlesque show at the Met bar on Park Lane. I find some coins and one of those vintage £5 notes you see so rarely around London now. Cab drivers love them.

I find this cheering and life affirming after all my doldrums and rouse myself out of bed.

WANTED: ONE LUXURY LIFESTYLE SOUGHT BY REFINED GIRL HIT BY DISTRESSED CIRCUMSTANCES – all assistance welcome. Please respond

A Greek chorus have followed me around all my life. They give me commentary on my life, my dreams, my thoughts and my actions. I am never free of them. My Greek chorus is currently wailing – “you are poor, in debt, twice divorced – and yours were not the successful divorces you jealously read about.” They cry out in a gloatey sort of wail, “ She is no gay divorcee living off lorry loads of alimony!” They nag, “You have no viable means of support apart from writing books which you make a quarter of a cent on. And since you took a tangent from writing moderately successful novels to writing the screenplay you’ve earned NO money.” And finally they broadcast, “Tyne O’Connell is broke.”

I shush them! The guy in the Burlington Arcade jewellery shop who was already a bit miffed by me looks askance.

My Greek chorus never have a kind or encouraging word. The nuns who brought me up told me my Greek chorus was my conscious. People have a lot to say about mean nuns but mine were darlings with strong Irish brogues or incomprehensible Flemish accents. And honestly there is nothing more edifying than watching little nuns in full length habit playing tennis or kicking a football. If I’d been brought up by New York psychiatrists they might have put me on heavy meds for admitting to these voices in my head.

My gran used to tell me that inside every little old lady there lives an antique little girl and inside every little girl there lives a little gran, who’s always on your side. I was quite thrilled by the idea of having an Inner Gran as a little girl. My Inner Gran was always on my side. But now my son has married I have accepted that one day not too far away I will be an actual granny. But for now I rely on my Inner Gran. A sweet old dear who reassures me that I will write many more successful books.

The Greek Chorus start up again, “Or Not! There is every chance you will never sell another book again! You’re children who are now all older than you were when you started having them age 18, all earn more than you. You live in a flat smaller than your youngest son’s travelling trunk. Your days of wealth, health and freedom to splurge on luxury items are over are over. You will never see forty again and your bank manager has threatened to unleash the dark dogs of hell onto you. Now is not the time to splash out on a large diamond ring.”

“Will you be quiet for one minute and let me think!” I blurt.

Huffy shop guy flounces off.

I try and listen to the little encouraging voice of Inner Gran as she reminds me I am refined glamorous mother of three wonderfully educated healthy successful children. My Inner Gran says supportively, “if anyone deserves a little treat its you dear. You’ve been a marvellous mother. A faultless wife and if you ask me, your next blockbuster book is just about to be sold to a major studio for development with a big star like that Angelinia Jolie attached.’

The Greek Chorus starts up. “What blockbuster? She hasn’t written a book in a year!”

Inner Gran comes the rescue. “She’s had a lot on her plate. She needs inspiration”

And then it comes to me. Inspiration. This where the diamond is so crucial because while money can’t buy a girl love or indeed credit is inspirational. Offering as it does the sort of commitment neither man nor agent can offer. That sparkler will stick with me through thick and thin. It won’t leave me like men and children and agents. In hard times I will look at it winking at me on my finger reminding me, “it’s alright darling, the good times are just around the corner for you and me.”

That was when it all began to take shape this idea that my blockbuster book that was soon to be a blockbuster film with major star attached would only get written once I had the security of this diamond snugly nestled on my finger.

“I’ll take it!” I declare to the Huffy Shop Guy in the tones of those imperious women wrapped in sable and mink in forties films. These voices just come jerking out of me. I don’t know why. I’d love to add “send it to my hotel and bill it to my husband’s account.” But apart from the attitude of the guy behind the counter who would no doubt sneer and roll his eyes, I do not live in a hotel, I do not have a husband and even when I did he never had an account I could charge anything to.

I slip him my platinum American express and pray that that diamond does its work before Amex attempts to take the money from my account next month. I say a Hail Mary and make a pledge to get Ex-husband number 1 onto saying a novena for my next book deal. Its not that I can’t pray for myself but he is Italian and his grandmother was bbf with Saint Pia and left millions to the Vatican so I figure god will sit up and take notice when he hears the Santospirito plea. As ex-husbands go SP is as good as they get. He is the best kept secret in the ex-husband fraternity. We lived together for over 12 years after we were divorced he was such a good ex-husband. We even stayed together during my marriage. When he eventually left so did my husband. Maybe that was the magic formula to those halcyon years. If you really want a marriage to work keep your husband close and your ex-husband even closer.

Ex-husband 2 has his good points too. He’s just a bit of a hysteric. He’s one of life’s flouncers, a man who probably should have been an opera singer. Our marriage would have been so much more successful if he could have sung all his histrionic tantrums to me.

But it will all be fine. I’m back at home the ring is on my middle finger and now it’s teamed with a pair incredible ballet pink Louboutin’s which I couldn’t abandon once I’d spotted them gazing at me with puppy dog eyes from the window of the Louboutin boutique on Mount Street. Louboutins being the Aston Martin of Girl World they were a snip at £670 odd pounds. What man would walk past a pristine Aston Martin at that price? Not a one that’s how many and yet they have the temerity to raise an eyebrow when we behave in perfectly sensible equivalent ways. The world is full of hypocrisy but so what, I am drunk on inner beauty. I look amazing. All my flaws compensated for by my ring and shoes. I want to show the world. Me and my ring and my shoes. The invincible team. We rock. I climb into bed and cuddle up with my laptop focusing on the three weeks before Amex starts to demand the £7,900 payment from my woefully overdrawn account. Plenty of time to get down the bones of my blockbuster. These little purchases really were all the lift I needed. Why could my Ex-husbands (not to mention The Greek Chorus) never understand this about me? My creative juices are really flowing now. Maybe just a nice cup of tea to get me started…

Five hours later. I have typed a mere seven words of the book that will save me from life on the street.

“Oh my giddy aunt what have I done?”