At the end of last year there were articles in the Italian papers about a couple in northern Italy who wanted to name their baby son Venerdi (”Friday” in Italian), but who were prevented from doing so by a court of appeal. It turns out that in Italy there is a law whereby you can prevent a child being given a certain name if you expect that it will cause the child to be ridiculed. They’ve had to call him Gregorio instead, after the patron saint of his birth date. Fair enough if you ask me, after all, Venerdi sounds like a girl’s name.
There’s certainly no law like that in the UK of course where you can call your kids pretty much what the hell you you like. We would probably consider it to be a disgraceful attack on our civil rights by those barmy bureaucrats of the EC if we weren’t allowed to call our children Pocahontas, Peaches, Fifi Trixabelle or Darren, even if the story about the Scotch child named Pocahontas turned out be an urban myth. When I was living in Brighton (naturally, Brighton), there was a woman living up the road who had named her son Aslan. You know, after the lion in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe? You would hear her calling him in for his tea: “Aslan! Aslan will you get in here now!”
Still there seems to be one law for the rich etc, as the footballer Francesco Totti and his wife have named their daughter Chanel, which, when you combine it with the fact that her elder brother is called Christian, seems to illustrate the points of reference of her parents (I’m not sure whether they’re being named after designers or the fragrances named after the designers, but if the next child is named Hai Karate that should settle the matter).
Typical bloody middle classes and their arty farty Guardian reading ways. As soon as some ned calls their wean Buckwina, Burberry or Dirtyfenianbastardsmustdie they get all airy fairy, bleating aboot the pair wee soul. Then they turn round and call their retarded offspring fucking Aslan. Shootings too good etc.
It’s all to do with points of reference, isn’t it? Pushy middle class parents will name their kids Cordelia or Dante to show that they know about the big books, while footballers’ and their wives will name their kids after fashion designers. Based on that, it’s only fair that Glaswegian schoolkids should be able to name their kids after Disney films. what’s good for the goose etc.
There was a woman in town t’other day whose kids were called Teagan, Willow and Royal. I was shaking my head in disgust, as you do, when I became aware of a strange whirring sound beneath my feet. It took me a minute to work out what the noise was, but when I did, I wasn’t surprised. It was the Duke of Wellington spinning in his grave, all the way down in that there London.
Imagine being called Royal. I like how in Garrison Keillor’s “Lake Wobegon Days” the narrator has an uncle called Senator.
Do you think it works for pets, too? Do posh folks give their dogs names like Tobias or Cerberus?
Royal was the boy. He already had ‘Property of HMP Doncaster’ tattooed on his arm, and he was only eight.
I had a friend from Doncaster when I was at college. He said they built the prison next to the Train Station. Smart thinking, that.
It wasn’t until I started at primary school when I realised my birth name wasn’t actually ‘Little Bastard’