| Why a Cad Doesn't Tell |
| Written by David Devereux | |
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in his blog. Repeatedly. After a couple of weeks of this, during which his joy was indulged by all present (including, erroneously, myself) a lady friend of his pointed out that while she was very happy for him it might be nice if he didn’t mention every single episode of canoodling. Peter was a little surprised, I think, to have been pulled up so, and the conversation developed to the point where his belle joined in and pointed out that she too wouldn’t exactly be unhappy to see less mention made of what she and he were up to. As a result of this overall exchange Peter now mentions visiting his lady, but omits the part about them being at it like crazed weasels at every possible opportunity. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and now things have returned to a comfortable equilibrium. In the same way, one doesn’t really mention the occasions where one’s friends have possibly had a martini or two too many. It might have been amusing at the time to watch Bob slur his words a little and if it’s too regular a habit of his a little light ribbing might help him realise that easing back on the throttle might be a good idea, but who really likes to be embarrassed like that? Do you? Do you really want your friends to talk about that night at Alex’s party where you were found passed out, face down the toilet and a trace of something nasty on your lapel? You might put up with it among the boys once or twice, but what about in mixed company? Gossip is a horrible thing which has ruined countless reputations over the years, and frankly it’s unfitting for anyone who would like to think of themselves as a gentleman to involve themselves with it. I know that this organ is named The Cad rather than The Gentleman, but I’m going to make the same point I keep making: Cads should be Gentlemen – or at least be able to fake it. Because the truth is this: once you have a reputation as an ass it’s difficult to shake, and once you have a reputation for being indiscreet it’s even worse. People talk to one another, and when the word gets around that you blab about anything and everything nobody’s going to trust you. The gorgeous woman with whom you’ve been flirting all night? The one who’s thinking about sharing a taxi home with you? Once her friends warn her about your flapping mouth (and they will, make no mistake about that) your chances are shot. Gone. Kaput. The nifty deal that your friend might cut you in on, but it needs to stay hush-hush? You’re the last person he’ll tell. And if what happens on tour doesn’t stay on tour, you won’t go touring again. You’ll be the sort who people are vaguely happy to see, but underlying that will be the sure and certain knowledge that you can’t be trusted. As reputations go, that’s not the best one on offer. Even those who have reputations as lovers, charmers and suchlike know better than to detail their conquests – lest they come back to bite him in future. Even in this modern world of cheque-book journalism and the most private details of celebrities’ lives being paraded openly for all to see, people with class keep their lips zipped, and long may that continue to be the case. Keep your sins under wraps, people; it’s the right thing to do. Besides, a twitch of the eyebrow and “Nothing happened.” can say an awful lot more.
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