When did graciousness take a turn for the worse?

I can't remember when 'you're welcome' and 'it's a pleasure' slipped away, but I know that now when I hear them, they are music to my ears.

How and when did 'we' adopt 'not a problem'? When did buying a service from people who are being paid to do it start to feel like an imposition?

For most of my life it didn't occur to me that shopping or ordering in a restaurant could create such universal difficulty.

'I'll have the orange socks, thanks'

'Not a problem.'

There I am, buying socks with legal currency. I could have brought my Monopoly money with me, which could create a problem. Orange socks could be a figment of my imagination, which could create a problem.

'I'll have the pizza margherita, thank you.'

'Not a problem.'

I could have said, 'I'll have the pizza margherita with the base on the side.'

Believe me, I can come up with any number of problems if I want to.

Maybe the waitstaff look at me (or not) and think of their high-maintenance customers. The ones who send their coffee back to make it hotter and less flavoursome, or the ones who object to the snails in their salad. Maybe they are reassuring me that my presence hasn't been a huge inconvenience.

It bubbles away and I say to myself I should adopt a more relaxed approach. What's wrong with 'no worries' and 'she'll be right mate'. It's that 'don't get your knickers in a knot' attitude.

And then I turn on the national broadcaster and the correspondent signs off her live cross with the ubiquitous 'not a problem'.

What can I say? Hakuna matata.

Always look on the bright side of life

While my classmates were undoubtedly doing their homework, I'd sit with my father on school nights roaring with laughter while we watched Monty Python's Flying Circus.

It may have been my initiation into oh so silly British humour, but he was an old hand. I don't need to dig deep for memories of my parents glued to The Goon Show.

Or for family excursions to see Jacques Tati films. The only thing that upstaged them in my father's eyes was the time my mother was engulfed in the claret curtain so popular in cinemas in those days. In the gloom we hadn't noticed we'd lost her until we heard the bat-bat of her small hands beating against the heavy fabric.

While life isn't necessarily a barrel of laughs, I learnt at an early age that you could quickstep into absurdity. And what better example than 'Always Look on the Bright Side of Life'? The crucifixion scene turned into a song and dance act.