Elena records messages for Ayo because they’re often apart, but he would prefer a simple text or chat on the phone. Is he right to call her out?

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I haven’t got time to listen to 10-minute messages. I’d much prefer a simple text or phone call

On the eve of my 40th birthday, I was doused with cold water at a train station. Before, I would have shrugged it off. But suddenly I realised it was time to assert myself

It was the evening before my 40th birthday – a freezing cold night in March – and I was travelling across London to meet some old school friends for dinner. As I walked down the stairs into the tube station, I spotted a few teens leaning over the balustrade above me. I thought nothing of it; teens hanging about aimlessly is as classic a combination as Archers and lemonade. That was, until they each threw a few KFC paper cups’ worth of icy water over my head.

I noticed it in slow-motion and, at first, kept walking. Then I realised that my hair was wet and so was my back. Without thinking, I ran back up the stairs and followed the teens, who were marching off down the main road. People on the street were watching me, obviously intrigued to see what I was going to do. What was I going to do? A few people looked at me with pity and pointed me in the right direction.

The torture of the inbox is made insufferably worse by the dated cliches at the beginning and end. Enough!

If email were a person, it would be an adult dressed in a teenager’s clothes, desperately trying to stay relevant. Despite being 55 years old and having been surpassed by numerous developments in communication technologies, its functionality remains largely the same as when it was first widely adopted. Unfortunately, so does the etiquette surrounding it.

Whereas other forms of communication have long since dispensed with unnecessary textual tassels, email communication styles still lean closer to telegram than a text. Since I last checked, almost no one relishes receiving a new email – unless it’s informing you of a significant cash windfall that means you can, in fact, now quit your job and stop using it altogether. Yet, for some reason, many people start their responses with “Thank you for your email!” I would put this forward as one of the least convincing sentences in the English language.

Tom Gill is a freelance journalist and consultant from London, based in Melbourne

From microcheating to quiet quitting to weaponised incompetence, new terms to describe relationship failings are abundant. But that doesn’t mean there’s not space for some more ...

Are you committing “attention infidelity”? The New York Times alerted me to this expression, coined by the public opinion researcher Daniel Cox in a new book on the “crisis of human connection”. It’s exactly what you’d expect: failing to focus fully on your partner because you’re indulging in what the NYT calls, rather judgily, “the banal distraction of dead-eyed scrolling”. Who are you calling dead-eyed? This reel of an armadillo in a paddling pool has my animated attention!

Surely we’re all a bit attention-unfaithful – only saints don’t sometimes absent-mindedly thumb through medieval manuscript hedgehog memes while their partner relates a boring anecdote about how they thought they saw a strange bird that turned out to be a plastic bag. What I find more interesting is how we seem now to need a lexicon of relationship bad behaviour.

We hit it off, agreed to meet and suddenly we’re bosom buddies. But oh, the stress of always putting myself in the best possible light

I’ve got a new friend. I’m well aware I sound like a five-year-old reporting that, and this is exactly the point: it turns out making friends as an adult is absolutely excruciating. I like this person so much, and have found the whole business of welcoming someone into my fold quite life-affirming, but it’s almost not worth it for the amount of anxiety it has provoked. This is the closest to dating that boring old smug marrieds like me get, and I have never questioned my every thought, action and WhatsApp message more. Thank God she has her blue ticks on, or I’d probably be having sleepless nights.

I met her, just like the romcoms promise, when I’d stopped looking. Like, stopped decades ago. My roster was full; I didn’t have time to hang out with the friends I already had, let alone complicating matters by adding another to the mix. It happened unexpectedly, accidentally, in a waiting room for a kids’ activity – a conversation started over my head about a celebrity, and she made an off-the-cuff, funny, sweary comment. It was love at first slight.

If something is under $15 and you buy it for me, I will do the same for you next time. This is called trust and this is called reciprocity

Like many women in their 30s, one of my true joys is meeting a friend for a beverage. However, after catching up for a green juice (healthy) with a dear colleague recently, I was on the train home when I got a message saying “Hey! Can you please transfer me $12.50? Thank you!” My response can only be described as … horrified.

The reason that it stuck in my craw is because I firmly believe that you should not request repayment for anything under $15. If we are out together and I shout you a coffee I would rather commit seppuku than be bank-transferred $4.50 ($6 if you are in the CBD, $9 if you are a matcha observant). For context, A$15 is roughly US$10, £8, €9, NZ$19 and 1,680 yen. In this (scary) global economy, that doesn’t stretch much further than a small beverage/snack/Boots meal deal.

Whether it’s an A-lister or an old schoolfriend emerging blearily from the spare room, those first moments of the day are tricky

First thing in the morning, that’s the hardest time. Eric Idle told me this. A wise man, is Eric. Actor, comedian, songwriter, musician, screenwriter and playwright and, when it comes to mornings, a man of wisdom.

I interviewed him about his new book, which is a love letter to his house in Provence. He bought it more than half a century ago, before he hit the big time. It didn’t cost him much, because it was tiny, tumbledown and without water or electricity. Slowly, as the money came in from this job or that, he made improvements. By hook or by crook, the water and electricity started to flow, and with them a steady stream of guests coming to stay. These weren’t just any old guests: they were superstars, among them David Bowie, Art Garfunkel, Penny Marshall, Lauren Hutton, Brian Cox (the professor and the actor too, I think, although possibly not at the same time), Paul Simon, Carrie Fisher, Robin Williams and George Harrison. Also Michael Palin and assorted Pythons; Ronnie Wood and assorted Stones. And so on. There are photos of Wood sitting on the floor strumming his guitar; Bowie mooning about clad only in short shorts. Quite something, but all I could think about was how tiring it must have been to have so many guests turning up all the time. Let’s be honest: guests are a bit of an effort. A-lister or Joe Bloggs, a guest’s a guest.

It might seem a perfectly natural thing to do. But, on TikTok, a recruiter has expressed her dismay at gen Zs showing up with a takeout drink – and it’s caused a ruckus

Name: Iced coffee.

Age: Colonial troops in Algeria invented a sweetened cold coffee beverage known as Mazagran in around about 1840. However, in Japan, a cold brew was popular among sailors even earlier, in the 17th century.

My hosting persona is an edgier version of Manuel from Fawlty Towers. Invite me to yours, however, and I am a nonstop delight

My epiphany came between the starter and the main. At a friend’s place for dinner, I sat in awe as she put on a kind of magic show – the first course plates were cleared, but I never noticed her doing it. Delicious food was repeatedly produced with no lengthy disappearing act preceding it, no fuss, no panic. The candles on the table flickered invitingly, the background music was unobtrusive but atmospheric, the wine and chat flowed effortlessly. If I had later discovered she secretly had a full staff – planning, preparing, cooking, cleaning – it would have made perfect sense. But no, it was all her. And then I realised, the world is divided into people who are hosts, and people who are guests. You’re either one, or the other – nobody is both, apart from maybe the Duchess of Sussex. If you aren’t sure which camp you fall into, ask someone close to you if you’re a good host. If they pause for longer than 0.2 seconds before answering, you’re a guest.

As alluded to above, I am a terrible host. When welcoming people into your home, your mood sets the tone for what follows: if you’re relaxed, calm and smiley, they will be too. I am uptight, edgy – and very, very clearly on my last nerve as I open the door to let them in. I’m probably grimacing, I might be close to tears. I will then be so extremely laser focused on them having a nice time, that it will ensure they most definitely do not. I run from room to room. I yelp. I don’t engage in conversation, because even if I can briefly get it together enough to appear to be listening, I’m really thinking about whether I set the oven to the right temperature, and realising I forgot to look at the clock when I put the food in it. I am neither present nor absent, but an infuriating combination of the two. I loiter. I lurk. My energy is that of a surgeon dashing to the operating room, who has just noticed that they’ve forgotten everything they learned at medical school. Or perhaps it’s Manuel from Fawlty Towers. When it comes to hosting, I am a mess.

It was the fastest-growing emoji in 2025 – but if you’re older than 16, it has probably passed you by. Now, just as twentysomethings are catching up, it’s over

In the 2025 hit Netflix show Adolescence, DI Luke Bascombe’s 13-year-old son, Adam, has to explain to his father the way his generation use heart emojis. “Red means love, purple: horny, yellow: ‘I’m interested, are you interested?’, pink: ‘I’m interested but not in sex,’ orange: ‘You’re going to be fine,’” he explains. “It all has a meaning. Everything has a meaning.”

And those meanings are constantly evolving. Take the skull (), for example, which has come to be used as a reaction for finding something funny – a visual shorthand for the slang phrase: “I’m dead.” Or the wilting rose () which was, according to Google data analysed by the New York Times, the fastest-growing emoji in terms of popularity in 2025 – and was the 93rd most used. That the previously obscure wilting rose is now in the top 100 emojis is thanks to generation Alpha (those born between 2010 and 2024), who use it in place of the broken heart emoji () to signify sadness, or ironically, to suggest mock-heartbreak.

Would you hand in your phone at the door in exchange for a free bottle of wine? One restaurateur has tried that – and there are now many other gambits that are encouraging us to connect

Name: Phone bans.

Age: Their provenance is considerable; their time is now.

Conversations are supposed to be two-sided – but all too often we come up against someone who’s passionately, exclusively in love with the sound of their own voice. Time to fight back …

When I was in my early teens, I was often invited round to a schoolfriend’s house for dinner. Her family struck me as wildly progressive: they were Danish and indulged in all sorts of “out-there” activities – fondues, candle-making and, most terrifying of all, the talking stick.

Before the meal was served, someone would retrieve the sacred broom handle and it would be passed around the table. You could speak only if you had possession of the stick. Despite it being the most stressful thing ever (it meant being in the spotlight, and then remembering to keep quiet the rest of the time), I now frequently yearn for a more convenient version of that stick.

For example, I met a friend recently who I see infrequently but keep up with via voice notes. No sooner had we sat down than he launched into a long discourse about his new marathon training food plan. He only broke the flow to order an omelette: “Four egg whites, two yolks, is that possible?” (We were in my local greasy spoon, so the request was greeted with mirth.) When we left, 90 minutes later, he finally had the grace to turn to me and ask: “And how are things with you?”

Walking home, I felt a mixture of disappointment and irritation. Had he always been so self-absorbed? So uninterested in anyone else? I couldn’t help wondering if our one-sided virtual updates had played a part in the problem.

There is a name for this type of egocentric behaviour – “conversational narcissism”. Although it was coined by the sociologist Charles Derber in his 1979 book The Pursuit of Attention, the term seems more relevant than ever. “WhatsApp communication and voice notes are really a series of monologues,” says Charlotte Fox Weber, a psychotherapist. “In face-to-face situations, people are forgetting how to pause naturally, to make space to hear and listen. And people are chatting on the phone – an activity that at least requires turn-taking in a defined way – much less often.”

A lot of our communication online can feel weirdly transactional, focused on logistics or niche WhatsApp groups. According to Tamu Thomas, a life coach and author, this has damaged the art of improvised conversation. “People have less capacity for meandering conversations that don’t have a purpose,” she says. “A good dialogue is a back-and-forth between two people discovering new things about each other, even if they have known each other for years. Because there are now so many different channels available to stay in touch, some people are confusing communication with connection.”

Knowledge is power, though. If you can recognise the five types of common conversation hogger, it will be much easier to handle them.

If you’re called by an unidentified number, the advice is to remain silent until you’re sure there’s a human being on the line. Is this the end of an era?

Name: Hello.

Age: 200 years old.

Service charges used to be a matter of choice, but now consumers feel obliged to pay them for even a cup of coffee. How do we navigate this minefield and who is really profiting?

In a London pub, Greg Double was brutally confronted with the reality of Britain’s evolving tipping culture. “I was annoyed about the pint being eight quid, but then when you put service on top, it’s absolutely criminal,” he says. In the past, you might have told the bar staff to keep the change or have a “drink” on you, but since when did we routinely tip in pubs? Or coffee shops? Or, worst of all, at self-service machines? Tip creep is happening.

Tipping was awkward enough in the UK when the general rule was 10% at a restaurant, plus anxiety about whether you should tip the hairdresser, babysitter or food-delivery driver. Now, with tipping suggested ever more frequently, US-style, it has become a minefield to Britons. The amounts edge higher – in fancier London restaurants, a 15% service charge is relatively commonplace. And it’s often asked for – in coffee shops for example, when you pay – before any service is delivered.

Whether it’s paying for dinner, going on holiday or sharing a taxi, friendships can be fraught with financial frustrations, which are very rarely aired. Here’s how to break the taboo

Summer is the season of socialising, from alfresco drinks to weddings to group holidays. It can get expensive – and suddenly you start noticing those friends who don’t pay their way. Or the ones who splash the cash and make you feel cheap. In fact, there are a host of annoying money-related habits that can cause tension among friends. Here are 20 common sources of financial frustration – and how to resolve them.

Public displays of affection are widely mocked online and off, but they have a positive side – and now science has proved it

Name: Kissing in public.

Age: Kissing is 17m-21m years old – probably older than the notion of privacy.

Domestic dramas, bodily fluids, drink, drugs, rudeness and worse … ushers and box office staff have seen it all. So much for the myth of the ‘genteel’ theatregoer

‘Theatre still has a sheen of respectability, so people feel they can behave badly because where they are cancels out how dreadful they are being,” says John, who has been a box office manager for 15 years. From my early 20s to my mid-30s, I too worked in the box office, at some of London’s top theatres. During my decade in the job, I witnessed audience behaviour ranging from the odd and the outrageous to the outright belligerent. If you are under any illusion that theatre audiences are classy, allow my former colleagues to disabuse you of that notion.

The misuse of phones is one of the most common offences. In April, Cynthia Erivo stopped her one-woman West End production of Dracula mid-performance to urge an audience member to stop filming. Former Love Island winner Amber Davies, starring in a tour of Legally Blonde, last month asked staff to kick out an audience member who was filming the performance from the front row of a Dublin theatre. And in May, Rosamund Pike spotted an audience member texting during the climax of her performance in Inter Alia. After the curtain call, Pike returned to the stage and shamed the behaviour, without singling out the culprit. Part of me hoped that, like a teacher, she would make the individual in question read their texts out to the rest of the theatre.

The time-honoured tradition of standing up with a drink, gossiping and putting the world to rights is under threat. If councillors ban it, we’ll all lose out

It is unbelievable: unconscionable. Westminster Council is moving against “vertical drinking” in pubs, starting with Soho. It claims drinking standing up is noisy and disruptive. It makes pubs, the council says, boisterous places where customers crowd round bars, get drunk and become pains in the neck in the street outside.

Westminster’s new draft licences would require pubs to be only for seating, to have “table service in place of open bar space”. Pub users should, presumably, sit down, shut up and wait to be served, like decent Westminster people who use wine bars.

Simon Jenkins is a Guardian columnist

It’s easy to lose your cool when you’re crammed into a train, bus or plane with a bunch of strangers and one of them is playing music without headphones or fighting you for the armrest. Here are the rules everyone should be following

Public transport can be a hot, noisy, cramped and stressful environment – and that’s before you add in people with pungent food, questionable hygiene and giant backpacks. Most of us know the general rules – though we don’t all follow them – about letting people off first, not putting bags on seats, where to stand on escalators and offering your seat to others. But what about the vaguer conventions? How can you avoid chatty passengers? Or manspreaders? Is it sometimes OK to put your feet on the seats? (Spoiler: it’s not.) Here, three etiquette experts show us the way to public transport propriety.

Social media has supposedly ramped up our impulse to judge each other on the most trivial grounds – but is this really a new thing?

‘Are we living in an “era of microsnobberies”? Writing in the Washington Post last week, the lifestyle influencer Victoria Wolff asserted that we are, claiming that the fragmentation of American taste facilitated by, and expressed through, social media had created a new phenomenon of “hundreds of tribes” judging each other on highly specific sets of status signifiers.

Wolff cited a few – “your children’s lunch boxes, whether your roses are native and if your olive oil has a story” – that left me feeling like a grubby little peasant with my narratively inadequate oil, but also relieved not to live in Amagansett in the Hamptons, as she does. It sounds like a Nancy Meyers meets Edith Wharton hellscape. Indeed, I was reminded of reading earlier this year about the tiny-batch $80 (£60) fruit pies you’re supposed to bring as a “hostess gift” in those parts (etiquette specialists advise Hobnobs remain an acceptable hostess gift in the eastern suburbs of York).