David Hill: Some simple tips for the waiter who wants a tip

With the holiday and end-of-year seasons trundling down on us, a lot of people will be going out to restaurants.

I don't go to restaurants much. I'm not to the menu born. I accept that food is an important part of a balanced diet but I tend to regard it as the stuff you ingest to stop your trousers from slipping off.

Why, the first time I heard of Bearnaise sauce, I thought it was something you ate while wearing shorts.

But I do have my own tastes about tastes, and I know what a restaurant should not do if it wants to make the pages of my Top Tucker Tour.

It won't put us within 5m of a diamond wedding family table. Age, affection and affliction mean that such tables converse at a decibel level liable to bring noise control officers cantering.

It won't put us within 25m of an office Christmas party table.

It won't invade my personal space by spreading a napkin across my lap as I sit. Not unless I've asked for my veges mashed, in a plate with bunnies around the rim.

It won't get staff to recite all the evening's specials. This makes me fret that I may have to sit a test before they let me order.

Anyway, no patron is focused enough to remember the list, or to ask for a replay. And what's wrong with a blackboard?

It will not have Clyde on the keyboard, playing requests.

Neither will it have Les on his piano accordion, moving among the tables. Not unless it wants Les and his piano accordion to have a close encounter of the orifice kind.

It won't have muzak drooling from speakers above our heads. I go to restaurants to absorb calories and conversation. I don't want my eardrums invaded by robots gargling in treacle.

It won't confuse service with servility, by addressing me in the third person. "Would sir like ... ?"

No mate, sir wouldn't, especially when you talk about him as if he isn't there.

It won't whip the menu away as soon as I've ordered. I know it wants its cutlery and napery to be lean, clean and seen, but I like to anticipate or analyse what I'm eating.

It won't allow more than 15-minute delays before or between courses.

If I happen to have a contretemps with the soup du jour, it won't call loudly to a colleague, "Another cloth for table 12, Kylie".

It won't ask halfway through the mains, "Are you enjoying your meal?" This makes you bolt your mouthful, and drives you into cliched fawning.

It won't ever make me wait until the cash desk to find what the bill is. This is a sneaky ploy; nobody likes to argue when they're standing up exposed to public view.

When it brings the bill to my table, that bill will be accompanied by at least one complimentary after-dinner mint per person. Real, round mints like 747 landing wheels, not those meagre wafer things.

It will never charge us for a carafe of water, even if that's all we drink. I'll probably be so guilty at not ordering anything else that I'll leave a tip anyway.

It won't try and help me put my coat on. See bunny-plate ref earlier - plus, my arm may execute an unintended manoeuvre which could lead to an unfortunate misunderstanding.

It won't blow everything at the last moment by telling me as I leave to "Have a nice day".