When the Hoover Comes Out, Go Home.

The Swimming Club Anti-Handbook for guests who need help recognising when a perfectly pleasant evening is definitely over.

By Manfred & Martin, from the Swimming Club.

There are many complicated questions in life. When should a guest leave somebody’s house should not be one of them.

Unfortunately, it is.

The Swimming Club therefore decided to solve the problem in the traditional manner: by creating an unnecessarily elaborate system involving rules, quality control, traffic lights, white lies, takeaway coffee and, eventually, a guard dog.

Rule 1: Never announce that the evening is over.

Martin began with the only completely reliable system: the host says it is time to leave the building.

Manfred preferred a more traditional signal: yawning.

Unfortunately, neither system survives contact with an interesting conversation. The host may be halfway through the first yawn when somebody suddenly says, “Have you heard…?” Or, even more dangerous: “I just have to quickly tell you…”

A completely new subject has entered the room. The clock has been reset.

This is the first problem with guest departure rules. The evening may officially be finished, but the conversation has not received the memo.

Rule 2: Subtlety is useless.

There are many respectable ways to indicate that guests should leave. You can look at the clock. Clear the plates. Stand up. Mention tomorrow morning.

Martin suggested yawning.

Then he improved the system considerably: start hoovering.

Manfred had another unmistakable signal. The host begins putting the glasses back into the cupboard. There is nothing left to drink. Surely everybody understands what that means.

Not necessarily Manfred.

He remembered being told by his wife on the way home from an evening, “Didn’t you know they wanted to go to bed?”

Apparently not.

“I need clear instructions. Subtlety is not my thing.”

This introduces an important Anti-Handbook principle: a hint only works if the person receiving it notices that it is a hint.

Martin’s preferred solution is therefore considerably safer.

Clear orders.

“Go home!”

Alternatively, mysterious objects could begin appearing around the guest. The exact objects have not yet been standardised.

Rule 3: Coffee is dangerous.

Coffee looks innocent. It is not.

Is coffee an invitation to stay or an eviction notice?

With Martin, offering coffee could backfire badly because he likes coffee. A second cup is not a warning. It is another cup of coffee.

The solution is the one-for-the-road coffee.

This should arrive in a plastic or cardboard takeaway cup, ideally with confirmation that there is a suitable cupholder in the guest’s car.

Manfred is harder to influence. Coffee signals pass him by completely. He decides for himself how late it is and then decides whether the answer is yes or no.

The Anti-Handbook therefore concludes that beverages are an unreliable departure technology.

Rule 4: Domestic activity may begin.

At some point the host must be allowed to stop hosting and resume normal life.

The table can be cleared. The dishwasher can be loaded. Teeth can be brushed. Tomorrow’s breakfast can begin appearing in the kitchen.

Martin considers clearing the table while he is still eating a reasonably strong signal.

Manfred agrees that these are unmistakable signs.

At least they should be.

If he nevertheless fails to detect them, he has a backup system: his “controller”, usually sitting to his left or right, begins inflicting pain, accompanied by a hiss along the lines of: can’t you see it’s time to go?

For guests without access to such specialist equipment, visual awareness remains recommended.

Rule 5: Some offences have no appeal.

What behaviour deserves a lifetime ban?

Manfred did not immediately have a candidate, although taboo subjects can destroy both an evening and, potentially, a friendship. Politics is particularly capable of doing the job.

Martin’s position was easier to administer.

People who hate the band “Garbage.”

Is there an appeal process?

No.

Rule 6: Sensible rules are often the most dangerous.

Consider the birthday invitation that says: Don’t bring any presents.

A perfectly clear instruction.

Until another guest ignores it and arrives carrying something beautiful while you stand there proudly obeying the rules with absolutely nothing.

The same danger applies to, “Can I bring anything to eat?”

And punctuality is not necessarily safer.

Martin pointed out that if everybody arrives exactly on time, everybody arrives together.

This is good for clocks.

Possibly less good for the host.

At this point, the Anti-Handbook had accumulated enough rules to require professional regulation.

Unfortunately, it had never been tested.

The Standards Department.

Martin was appointed Head of Guest Departure Standards.

His task was simple: develop a system that allows the host to end an evening without ever saying that the evening is ending.

His proposal relied on tomorrow.

The host announces that an early start is required the next morning. Perhaps it is Sunday and there is church. The statement should then be reinforced through physical evidence: prepare for the next day, arrange the breakfast tray, organise the kitchen and, if necessary, return to the table while brushing your teeth.

The system was passed to Manfred in Testing and Certification.

He immediately found problems.

Does the host really have to get up early? Does the story fit the day? Does the story fit the person? If somebody is retired, claiming an urgent early journey to work may require further investigation.

His verdict: there was room for improvement.

A statement alone was insufficient. It needed backup.

A believable reason was essential.

A white lie, however, was acceptable.

If the guest still refused to understand, pressure could be increased gradually.

Start harmlessly.

Then hoover.

Quality Gate: Traffic Lights.

The Standards Department eventually concluded that ordinary guests could not be expected to understand such a complicated system.

Traffic lights were required.

GREEN — Stay

Opening another bottle: definitely green.

The host sitting down again: also promising.

A completely new subject beginning: definitely green.

Food reappearing is more complicated. Cake could be hospitality, or the host could be offering a slice for tomorrow morning.

Cigars and whisky, however, are difficult to interpret as an eviction notice.

Dating requires additional caution. During the first few dates, neither person necessarily understands the other well enough to read the signals correctly. The Swimming Club therefore considered whether people should simply provide instructions explaining how they work.

A personal user manual may lack romance, but it could prevent several hours of confusion.

AMBER — Prepare to leave

Amber is where civilisation begins to collapse.

The host looks at the watch.

Does this mean please leave?

Or do they merely want to know the time?

The host says, “I have a busy day tomorrow.”

A disastrous guest may respond, “Really? Lucky you. What have you got planned?”

A completely new conversation has now begun.

An even more dangerous guest might say, “I’m sorry for you. I can have a lie-in tomorrow.”

The host has been destroyed by their own signal.

Another drink can also become amber when accompanied by carefully selected background music whose lyrics contain the actual message.

A doggy bag is stronger.

The host accompanies you to the car and hands over food for tomorrow.

At this stage, further interpretation is probably unnecessary.

RED — Leave now

The glasses disappear.

The candles are blown out.

The chair you are sitting on begins to move.

Other chairs are placed upside down on tables, restaurant style.

The host points towards the door, purely for orientation purposes.

Manfred approved the traffic-light system, with one important modification: there should really only be two colours.

Green and red.

Anything amber is green.

Martin added the premium safety feature.

When red really means red, release the guard dog.

Naturally, the dog only wants to play.

When all systems fail.

There will always be a tiny percentage of guests who survive every quality gate.

The drinks have gone. The dishwasher is running. Breakfast has been prepared. The hoover is out. The chairs are on the tables. The dog is taking an increasingly professional interest in the situation.

At that point, politeness has completed its work.

The evening is over.

Pack up and go home.

And the dog may no longer merely want to play.

The rule that breaks the Anti-Handbook.

There is, however, one final problem.

What is the difference between somebody who stays too long and somebody you do not mind staying?

Suddenly the entire handbook becomes less reliable.

If the guest has been invited to stay in the spare bedroom, there is no particular reason for everybody to go to bed at the same time. Sit there. Keep talking. Go to sleep when you want.

On a date, admittedly, the same arrangement may acquire additional interpretations and should be handled with care.

But the larger problem remains: the right person can break the rules.

Sometimes the evening should have finished, but somebody suggests another bar.

Sometimes the conversation becomes unexpectedly personal or existential.

Sometimes something spontaneous happens that nobody planned.

And then the yawning, the coffee, the clock, the dishwasher and the traffic lights become temporarily irrelevant.

Which may be the only completely reliable rule in the Anti-Handbook:

The wrong guest needs a red light.

The right guest may not need a light at all.