No 10 illustrates the perilous art of the seating plan

 
25 July 2012
WEST END FINAL

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David Cameron doubtless needed a cool towel around the head last night having hosting that Number 10 lunch for all living former prime ministers and the the Queen. The food was salmon, duck and trifle, Her Majesty and Mrs Cameron wore summery blue and the smiles were radiant (any ex-PM who looked grumpy would be declared the loser. Gordon Brown thus looked positively blissful).

Even for the power-hungry classes, this is a cheese-induced dream in which socially wholly unsuited people are all gathered at your invitation. The last time it happened was the Golden Jubilee, anniversary, when Lord Callaghan and Ted Heath were still alive, and the Olympian placement challenge was to keep Baroness Thatcher away from her arch Tory foe.

This year, Nick Clegg and Jeremy Heywood, the cabinet secretary and cheery Mrs Durantes-Clegg, provided buffer zones in the seating plan. Mr Clegg and Mr Brown don’t get on and as Gordon and Tony’s relationship counselling broke down decades ago.

Privately Mr Cameron has been joking that sorting this out is thankfully not his job. He has been at pains to point out that he gets on well with everyone. I take this as code for, “If the Labour lot want to grimace at each over, let them get on with it.” Cherie has stayed out of the way, which means at least she doesn’t have to pretend to be thrilled to see Mr Brown.

In his well-brought up bones, though, Mr Cameron must know the host never escapes blame when the placement goes awry or leaves someone feeling put-out. Similarly, experienced veterans of the art know exactly where their place on the table puts them and how they’ve been graded. Next to the host is flattery or a sign you are going to be asked to be a god-parent.

For the truly well off, the honour often comes with a lurking threat that they’re about to be tapped up for a few million to sponsor a city academy or some such. I recently encountered an outspoken City philanthropist who turned to the adoring host after the introductions and said, “So how much do you want?” Even in less elevated circles, seating people is a treacherous business because it shows who you think they are and sometimes, what they consider out limitations.

The queen of the art is a rare and gifted creature. I know, I make an assumption but in the many years of observing London men approaching domestic viability, I have never once seen the chap determine the sitting plan. Like ancient water divining, it is thought to be a female gig.

Those of us who live in fear of getting placements wrong do complex geometric diagrams days in advance only to lose them just before everyone sits down. “Just one thing,” whispered some unfortunate victim at our house recently, “Don’t sit me next to X: we’ve had a bit of a row.” Duly a child was dispatched to rejig the diagram. A pity they don’t teach them to read joined-up writing until they’re ready to leave school. Our dear frenemies were locked in uncosy proximity for the next hour and a half.

In my time, I have sat next to one another a male and female friend, only to find later that she had just seduced his girlfriend, someone who was set to take the job of their neighbour the next day and an unadmiring politician who finding me on his right moaned, “Here we are again”. I sympathise with Mr Cameron and Her Majesty. Protocol is best served cold —and preferably by someone else.

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