My Name Is Legion

Some people with peculiar names want to be my friends on Facething. There's a Mrs Hosting Click, a Mr Plumbing Register, Mr Chester Blinds (who I am convinced is a stand-up comedian, unless I am mixing him up with Mr Nosmo King, whose promotional signs are simply EVERYWHERE..), and the rather compelling Ms Tic Llandudno, to name but several.Now you may think I am being mauve about this, as any fool would realise that these monickers belong to ruthless thrusting businesses, rather than unusually-named punters. But the thing is I actually DO have friends with strange names. Many of them are cabaret and Burlesque performers, and although I know that they do have ordinary names; I always think of them as Dina Mite and Sheree Trifle, because I have e-mails (and invoices) from them using those very titles.

I have always been a fan of the silly name. There was a girl at my school called Frances Tambourine, and at University, I knew a Charles Lovitt-Standing. When I was infanticipating, I felt a strong tug towards naming the innocent babe Original Bug, or Praise-God Barebones, genuine names recorded in  parish registers, albeit a wee while ago. He got off lightly, really,did my Zarububl. If you want your child to stand out from the herd of Kai's,and to develop quick reflexes, why not look in the Bible? It is full of tremendous names;  Abishag, Uriah, Neginah, Semiramis..Zut.

Although the British do seem to exhibit a kind of wayward genius for  hilarious names without recourse to the Good Book. A few of my favourites include Zilpher Spittle,Strangeways Pigg Strangeways, and the divinely-named Miss Horsey de Horsey. She was the mistress of Lord Cardigan, who was once discovered banging on her bedroom door, bellowing, "My dearest, she's dead!", (referring to her late Ladyship), "Let's get married at once!" She declined, no doubt wishing to preserve her magnificent appellation.

America has a few impressive entries in the whacky catalogue. They can boast Gaston J. Feeblebunny, (a perfect Groucho Marx character name if I ever I heard of one), exotic-yet-homely Mary Malouf Teabaggy, and the glorious Mary Louse Pantzeroff. Well done you,ess-ay.But the winner,for my money, is the son of our own Brit, the Parliamentarian Praisegod Barebones. He was named If-Jesus-Christ-Had-Not-Died-For-Thee-Thou-Hadst-Been-Damned Barebones. I would have loved to have been party to the conversation between Praisegod and MRS Barebones,on the night before the christening. The infant survived, against heavy odds, to be a man, and to establish the first fire insurance office in Britain, after briskly changing his name to Nicholas Barbon. He was the Carolingian Zowie Bowie, poor child. Parents really ought to think twice before saddling the fruit of their loins (do women have loins? I don't know where mine are.They do sound like a boy thing,don't they?) with a name which will cause future generations to double up in churchyards.Unseemly mirth when inspecting tombstones is socially ungracious. In my own family, where, as regular readers may have noticed, eccentricity is positively encouraged, were two cousins of my Grandmother Sweetman. One was called Trafalgar, and the other Valentine,as they were born on those celebratory days. I cannot tell you how I have regretted the non-existent Sweetman who should have popped out on Shrove Tuesday, and would have been christened,with a terrible inevitability, Pancake. So I may reconsider my position, and welcome Ms Heavenly Baths and Mr Kevin Keen-Deals, to my "Friends" list. They may simply be the blameless victims of parental whimsy,and have suffered enough.

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