Columnists March 2007
Anna Nicholas urges caution when welcoming friends to stay, while Bill Knott recalls the many uses for an old-fashioned handkerchief and Godfrey Worsdale introduces the UK’s newest art gallery
SPEAKERS’ CORNER
TRADING THE RAT RACE FOR A RURAL RETREAT? LEARN TO SAY “NO” TO THOSE FAIR-WEATHER FRIENDS WHO FANCY A CHEAP HOLIDAY IN THE SUN OR YOU’LL SOON BE RUNNING YOUR OWN B&B, WARNS ANNA NICHOLAS
PICTURE THE SCENE. You’ve decided to sell up in the UK or at least have become what is now termed a “destination commuter”, living and working between two locations. You purchase an idyllic old ruin, ripe for renovation in some atmospheric part of Europe and naively envisage lazy, sunny days with old chums visiting from Blighty to toast your new life. Or maybe not. You see, there’s a catch because certain friends come at a price.
Having headed off to rural Mallorca with my family a couple of years ago to live the dream, commuting between a finca in the mountains and London for work, I was puzzled to find how previously fair-weather friends were suddenly gripped with a frenzy to rekindle old ties. It soon became apparent why. Within a few months of arriving in our cicada-clad, lizard-laced reformed wreck, the requests, or rather, demands began.
First to call was a former client and his wife who just happened to hit on the idea of a week’s break in Mallorca. Well, at our finca, to be precise. They descended on us in a whirl, unloaded their kids, cases and stress, balked at the unfinished pool and took to the sun loungers. Like an unstoppable squid, the family extended tentacles to every inch of the home, leaving us no space and gasping for air. We cleaned, cooked and entertained 24/7 as they lay basking in the sun, too overcome with fatigue to lift a finger in the kitchen or do a shopping stint at the local supermercado. Then there was the precious macrobiotic fashionista journalist who insisted on tea in bed every morning, and caused a tidal wave of damage when she turned her bathroom taps so hard they blew right off.
That was just the beginning. “Friends” from long-abandoned address books would pop up like unwelcome moles, stridently informing us that they were coming to see us.
If we faltered, they’d petulantly say: “But we heard you had the Roberts to stay!”, as if to imply that we valued the formers’ friendship over theirs.
At first we weakly gave in, welcoming all and sundry to our fast-developing B&B in the sun until something snapped. We weren’t retired and we weren’t rich and yet these parasites would assume that we’d fund their stay, pick up restaurant tabs and ferry them around. So we rebelled. We said we were busy – for the foreseeable future. We were working and had to keep up the mortgage payments just like them. The calls dribbled away, the so-called friendships ended. We found ourselves picking up the phone to the people we actually wanted to see and urging them to visit but to accept our lifestyle, warts and all. And they did. Some lawyer friends visit each year, don aprons and take over our kitchen, serving up delectable grub and cruising the local markets for delicacies and wines for our consumption. We don’t see them by day because they accept that we’re working.
According to a friend in London, visitor abuse happens just as much in the UK. Since buying a weekend cottage in Suffolk, she and her partner have been deluged with calls from would-be friends clamouring for a slice of country life at their expense.
No doubt with an estimated 300,000 Britons abandoning the UK each year for sunnier climes, there will be many vying for the tag of 
Expat Host with the Most, offering guests everything from scuba diving to sunset sails. Inevitably, a vulgar one-upmanship will begin back home with the immortal words: “We’re spending summer with our pals in Marbella. Their infinity pool is to die for… So, what are your plans?”
A Lizard in My Luggage: Mayfair to Mallorca in One Easy Move by Anna Nicholas,
Summersdale (£7.99)
Photography: iStockphoto
FLYING THE FLAG
BILL KNOTT SHEDS A TEAR FOR THE OLD-FASHIONED HANDKERCHIEF
WHEN I WAS a boy, there was one thing that separated my favourite uncle from all the other common-or-garden uncles who came to stay. With a tremendous flourish, Uncle Lewis would reach into the breast pocket of his tweed jacket and pull out a white handkerchief. A few minutes later, after a baffling series of rolls and folds and knots, the handkerchief had been transformed into a white mouse.
He would then hold the mouse in his cupped left hand, stroke it gently with his right hand and it would jump inexplicably, magically, up his arm. Catching it, he would do the same thing until I was bored – actually, until he was bored, since I never tired of it.
In our disposable age, of course, the handkerchief is all but extinct. Derided as unhygienic, it has been supplanted by its tawdry, irritant offspring: the paper tissue. Even Uncle Lewis, gifted as he was, would have had trouble fashioning a mouse from a Kleenex.
A gentleman would always have a spare handkerchief for comforting any distressed damsel he might chance upon. In quieter moments, it could earn its keep by brightening up the breast pocket. I doubt Uncle Lewis ever tied knots in each corner and wore it on his head at the beach – he had a perfectly serviceable Panama for that – but the knotted hanky undoubtedly saved many balding holidaymakers from the perils of a melanoma. The handkerchief used to express a man’s character and eccentricities in much the same way as a cravat, a bow tie or a quirky pair of cufflinks. Nowadays, alas, the handkerchief (or “pocket square”, as it may also be called) is seldom spotted. Or, for that matter, striped.
CULTURE VULTURE
GODFREY WORSDALE INTRODUCES THE UK’S NEWEST ART GALLERY
AT THE BEGINNING of this year an arresting new building designed by Erick van Egeraat Associated Architects became the home of mima, the UK’s new gallery of modern and contemporary art.
Based in Middlesbrough, in the north east of England, the £19.2m gallery opened with an exhibition called Draw. The idea behind it was to team seven modern masters recognised for their contribution to 20th-century art with seven living artists. The decision to pair Picasso with Chantal Joffe, Matisse with Chris Ofili, Duchamp with Ceal Floyer, Pollock with DJ Simpson, Bacon with Damien Hirst, Warhol with Gavin Turk and Beuys with David Musgrave was threefold.
Firstly, we wanted to establish mima at the outset as an institution that focused on both modern and contemporary art, with a collection and exhibition policy that focuses on art from 1900 to the present day. As we’ve seen from the success of Tate Modern, this has a lot of scope.
Secondly, we wanted to begin to establish mima’s profile as an institution strongly linked with the subject of drawing. This is partly due to the legacy of the Cleveland International Drawing Biennale (1973 to 1996) but also through the significant collection of drawings most recently added to by acquisitions made possible through the support of the Contemporary Art Society, purchased by Arts Council England with funding from the National Lottery.
And finally, my ambition was also to develop an audience for modern and contemporary art which gave a sense of its history and also to create an important institution in this part of the country.
There are always going to be challenges facing new institutions such as ours but since opening we have not only welcomed thousands of people from across the UK through our doors, but also from around the world. Middlesbrough has lacked a strong cultural presence in the past so hopefully this is a big asset to the local community as well as the international art world.
Draw, Conversations around the Legacy of Drawing until 22 April; +44 (0)1642 726720; www.visitmima.com
