lunedì, giugno 18, 2012

Naming

Yorkshire is what it is, and is a lot nicer when the sun comes out. My grandmother, who is being moved from her house into a residential home in a couple of days, is going to turn 100 in September if she makes it. I expect she will because she just keeps going, although it's hard to see what enjoyment she's getting out of life at this point. A woman with every ingredient for happiness - relatively good health, a loving husband, attentive children, a circle of concerned friends - and yet wth so little happiness. I was named after her. I choose to take that as a pointed warning rather than a legacy.  Her daughters tried hard - naming me was part of that trying.

We've already chosen names for Ren. None of them are family names. That wasn't on purpose - it's just there's no appropriate name from my family that doesn't have fascist associations that isn't the name of someone really awful from the F-word's family. I mean, really awful. Not just aggro-depressive grandmother awful, but should have spent their lives rotting in prison awful. So it wasn't on purpose. But now I'm glad.

In better news, kippers are fucking delicious. Why haven't I been eating them all my life? 33 and never ate a kipper before. And I blame my granny for wasting her life . . .

6 commenti:

e.f. bartlam ha detto...

Benito's off the list then?

There's always Erik or Erika...in case you haven't entirely made your mind up yet.

Dread Pirate Jessica ha detto...

Mussolini is a real cunt for shitting all over a perfectly good name. Adolf was a dead loss from the beginning but Benito's quite nice.

e.f. bartlam ha detto...

There's always Gabriele or d'Annunzio.

I know he was cuntulicious too but somehow I can't bring myself to lump him in with the real thugs.

Baywatch ha detto...

Garibaldi!

bring on the list!

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

I heard a good story about Gabriele d'Annunzio. He was having a constitutional in a forest with a lady friend after a particularly frenzied night of lovemaking and suddenly had a brainwave. He tore of all his clothes and struck a martyrous pose next to a tree. "Saint Sebastian!" she cried, as all his hickeys looked like arrow wounds. One assumes the frenzied lovemaking then resumed.

e.f. bartlam ha detto...

This is what I'm talkin' about...you can't hate the player. Especially a player of that magnitude.