Silver streaks, caviar and canapés

The art of being sophisticated

Sophistication isn’t something for which the British are well known. It might be to do with our reputation for football hooliganism and being sick on nights out.

Sophistication is more often associated with stylish French women wearing glasses or slick and suave suited Italians with a hint of grey hair. No surprise then, that with my feminine looks and silver streaks, I manage to pull it off.

You’ve got to be cool, cultured, clever, distinguished and debonair, dipping Ferrero Rochers in your brew as you flick through a copy of Woman’s Own or Men and Motors on your antique carved ming coffee table.

Crucially, to be sophisticated, you have to believe that you are. It comes with an air of arrogance. You don’t doubt yourself, why would you? You’re educated and worldly wise. You can order an ice-cream on your holidays in Spain without shouting.

Developing sophisticated tastes is something you’ll have to work at because caviar is disgusting the first twenty times you try it. Before long, you’ll be drinking red wine costing more than £4 a bottle and not just so you can get hammered. You may also find youself eating a Bounty in an overflowing bath while making witty and cutting comments to an imaginary butler in between mouthfuls.

When your partner bursts in and screams that you’ve flooded the front room below, I’d recommend you treat them to a nonchalant and knowing shrug as you announce, “Je ne ce quis.”

It doesn’t matter if you’re not sure what it means.

Things to avoid are chewing gum and picking your nose, especially at the same time.

If you think you can manage that, it might be worth giving sophistication a whirl.

I’d say the best place to start is with canapés. For me they are almost the definition of sophistication.

Decadent and cosmopolitan, yet mysterious and ridiculous, the whole point is that you can’t tell what they are from looking at them.

With the first one you’ll have little nibble but once you realise they just crumble everywhere when you do that you’ll start shoving them in whole.

Etiquette demands you only take one at a time but there’s nothing to stop you following the waiter around.

My wife and I tend to have them every Sunday evening. When it’s just us, we have to take turns walking round the front room with the tray.


Next week: The Art of Swimming