Admittedly, you cannot choose the name you are born with. Whether you like it or not, you are going to be stuck with it for atleast sixteen years of your life – and yes, you can change it when you marry, or via deed poll, but come on, you will still always be known by your original name to those who knew you prior to the new nametag.
Some names are genuinely unlucky – I have known both a Richard Smears, and a Richard Seaman…think about it. There we go; poor guys never stood a chance really. Then you get unfortunate names like Ethel, Gertrude and Englebert. My bestie’s brother works with someone called Artilla – I guess that caused some problems in the playground too.
I always think of a Michael McIntyre sketch, when he is talking about taking his sons to the park. He was asked by an old lady what his youngest was called, and he replied ‘Hitler’. It always makes me smile; not because I condone Hitler, or would name anything after him, but it’s the sheer point of the matter. When people have mini-sprogs, they must be regularly asked what they are called (why I have no idea – people must be at a loss for any other source of conversation), the enquirer can hardly turn round and say ‘Poor little mini-sprog. Why would you inflict such a ridiculous name on him/her’.
So what do these poorly named unfortunates do?
Well, they buy haulage companies and plaster their names across their fleet of lorries, so that they can spread the joy across the country and give sad people like me something to giggle at.
For example, Norbert Dessentrangle. Norbert – your life can’t have been easy, your parents can’t have thought things through too well, but why did you decide to plaster your name on bright red lorries? Was it not bad enough that you are called such an unfortunate name, that you decided to inflict it on your workforce as well?
No comments:
Post a Comment