No names, no pack drills—as the old saying goes.
But it’s all about names, and what’s in a name, huh? A rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet … and a cactus by any other name would still be a big prick (I shall rename my pet cactus after ol’ Jamie, I’m sure they’ll be thrilled).
MY LADY BARBER
named her wee son ‘Reef’. To each her own—in my day he’d have grown up a bonny scrapper, I tell you, but today anything goes.
SO WHEN THE SPOUSE
asked me (inquisitive critturs, Spice) if I could look up what a certain famed UK celebrity TV chef called his new kid, I did so. But first I ventured a wee guess—
“Bonny Bouncing Baby Bunker-Boobs?”
—and would you believe it, I was in the ball park. I think I’m getting old …
“Beam me up please, Scottie.
Scottie, are you there?
Eh, wot, you’ve changed your name? So what do we call you now— oh, I see …
Beam me up please, River Rocket Sardine Can Throgmorton von Scotsmanhoot Doggy Dunnit.
There’s no intelligent life down here, but by gods, they’re all bonny scrappers …”