Nearly 40 years ago I was introduced to a builder called Ambrose in a very dodgy pub in Birmingham. The moment has remained with me partly because Ambrose struck me as an unusual name for a builder, but mainly because his handshake was so fierce it felt as if there wasn’t an unbroken bone left in my hand. I didn’t yelp out loud – it wasn’t a place for yelping – but my eyes were definitely watering. I had to lift my pint to my lips left-handed.
How firm should your grip be? I’ve been grappling with this question ever since I started shaking hands with people. When was that, I wonder. At what age do you begin shaking hands? There must be a moment when someone decides the time has come. This could be a parent, perhaps, who might see it as a rite of passage akin to teaching you to tie your own shoelaces, or tie a tie, or ride a bike, or open a bank account, or go to a pub for a pint. Come on, son, you’re a big lad now – it’s time you started shaking people’s hands when you say hello. Or, more likely, some time in your early teens an uncertain adult, unsure how to greet you, offers you an outstretched hand. Astonished, you freeze, leaving them hanging. And then you realise you have no choice but to take the hand and submit to yours being squeezed and possibly pumped up and down as well.
