What’s In A Name?

Ripper bewdy, it’s official, the fresh prince of Kensington Palace, little George Robbo Stevo Brian Thommo Hyphen Double Barrelled Windsor has been named. He may well become a pants man. The name George has hints of suave, George Clooney and George Hamilton come to mind. Georgie Porgie kissed the girls and made them cry.

“What’s in a name? that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” said William Shakespeare. Call me superficial but like the British TV presenter who didn’t want her kids playing with children who had Bogan-sounding monikers, names tell me a lot. When I was nine years old I found a Kelpie cross stray on our street and I talked my mum into letting me keep him. My eldest brother was a big fan of The Aunty Jack Show at the time so we decided to call our pooch Kevin, or Kev Kavanagh Kelpie to give him his full name. Our family used our dog to gauge someone’s sense of humour, if they chuckled at our dog’s name we knew we’d get on well with our new friend. Kevin the Kelpie was not so judgemental, he only had a problem with men who jogged in shorts. He would snarl and bark and go crazy apeshit mental. I have the same reaction when I hear pretentious names.

Our current Prime Minister is called Kevin, and apart from boning Jules, our first female Prime Minister I don’t think I can vote for a man called Kevin. I think my Kelpie would have barked at Kevin Rudd. But he would have snarled at Tony Abbott’s budgie smugglers too. Bring on our next female Prime Minister, I hope her name isn’t Kylie.