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Choosing a baby name that isn’t an identity crisis in waiting is a tough gig — even if you’re not a royal

Ellen E Jones
Ellen E Jones

Philip, Arthur, Albert, James…all perfectly acceptable names for the fifth in line to the throne . Not quite as good, though, as the name I’d picked out for the royal family’s newest member: Prince. Not only does this pay respectful tribute to the pop genius, it has a pleasingly voguish, Kardashian-West vibe to it, and would also be a real space-saver when it comes to form-filling. This, I’m reliably informed, is a genuine issue for today’s multi-titled, multi-hyphenated aristocrats.

But then naming babies, especially second and subsequent babies, is never easy, whatever one’s social status. A name is the first and most important gift a parent gives their child, and that makes it almost impossible to get right. There’s family tradition to consider, not to mention family politics. Woe betide the new parents who honour one side of the family and overlook the other.

That’s before we even get into matters of personal taste, and those protracted negotiations with a partner (whose taste — let’s face it — is bound to be inferior). Plus, if you put any store in nominative determinism — that is the psychological theory that people are unconsciously drawn into professions that fit their names — then you must also contend with the awesome responsibility of dictating your child’s future career choices.

Most parents would be satisfied just to find middle ground between a name so ordinary it’s an identity crisis in waiting (see Ellen Jones), and a name so original it’s a life-long burden. Easier said than done when the naming zeitgeist has a way of infiltrating your decision-making process without you even noticing.

I’m sure every parent thinks they’ve nailed it, until they turn up on the first day of school and discover their unique little Noah/Nora/Oliver/Olivia is actually one of three in the year group.

There are other potential pitfalls: You’d need a mind like a stadium sewer on match day to predict all the ways in which initials or combination of names will be corrupted by future classmates. Fortunately, I have such a mind and thus narrowly avoided giving our daughter the middle initials “BJ” with a last-minute switcheroo at the birth registrar’s office.

Many are not so blessed, which explains the 200-plus Michael Hunts in the phone book. Maybe one or two had parents with a particularly cruel sense of humour, but the rest were born to blameless innocents. None of this provides me with much reassurance now it’s come time to choose a name for baby number two.

Instead, I reach for my trusty copy of Potty, Fartwell & Knob, an invaluable 2007 publication in which author Russell Ash lists the oddly, badly and madly named Brits of history, sourced from public records.

Let the (absolutely real) likes of Fanny Titsworth, Iva Longbottom, Emma Royds, Harry Muff, Jack Hoff and Florence May Pee serve as a solemn reminder that the vagaries of slang and linguistics can turn today’s most innocuous names into tomorrow’s smutty joke.

So… Zaphnathpaaneah Dandelion Spacerocket Jones it is, then.

Melania keeps her hands to herself

I’m with with Melania: hand-holding is the most revolting PDA of all. Interpretations differ regarding the wide-brimmed hat that Melania Trump wore during the Macrons’ White House visit. Was it a symbol of moral purity as in the western films of old? A sartorial hat-tip to Beyoncé’s post-infidelity Formation headgear? Or perhaps just to avoid any unwanted cheek-kissing with the French?

First Lady Melania Trump
First Lady Melania Trump

The meaning of Melania’s apparent reluctance to hold her husband’s hand, however, requires neither body-language expert nor marriage counsellor to discern. After all, it’s not the first time President Trump has been observed reaching for his wife’s hand only to be rebuffed. We assume it’s a sign of marital troubles, but maybe FLOTUS is making a bigger statement still?

Public hand-holding is the most revolting PDA of all. It’s about smugly projecting one’s power couple status to the world. Witness Trump’s aggressive hand-holding with practically every head of state he’s encountered while in office. So give me teenage love birds full-on pashing in a Tesco carpark any day. It’s just so much more dignified.

* You can tell a lot about a person from their favourite Queer Eye expert. Antoni Porowski’s upcoming Gay Times cover is very early Take That.

Apt because I haven’t felt so compelled to judge people based on their preferred pin-up since those heady days of Nineties boy band fandom.

And who is your favourite Queer Eye expert, anyway? Acceptable answers include a) “Jonathan, because he has the hair of a mermaid cameoing in a L’Oréal ad” and b) “Tan, because he’s from Doncaster”.

Unacceptable answers include a) Antoni, the fit one (so bait) and b) “I’m a straight man who’s never seen this show of which you speak.”

Get thee to a Netflix streaming platform immediately.