The Nomenclature Game

We think, punkolingo, with a scant 30 some days to go, that we may have actually nailed down your name. Names.

First names, middle names and surnames. All present and accounted for.

I'm not going to divulge them here, people who are anxious to find out can surely stay tuned for the next four or so weeks and read your birth certificate.

But there's something I need to tell you. Something I'm going to need to get off my chest. Something that you're probably going to be unhappy about.

Let me begin by telling you about your friend Olivia. Olivia is lovely, and beautiful and gorgeous. We haven't seen her for a while, but you're going to get to hang around with her a bit when you get here. The thing about Olivia is that her dad is a fairly... forthright fellow. He decided, when she was still inside her mum, that he didn't mind so much what her name was, because he had his own name for her. He decided, about six months into the pregnancy, that he was going to call her "Turbo".

So that's her name. What's on her birth certificate is immaterial, and for the rest of her life she's going to be placed in the same position as I am on a regular basis, of saying things like "yeah my real name's Olivia but everyone calls me Turbo", whenever she has to fill out a form or apply for a mortgage or get arrested (not that she'll ever get arrested and neither should you pumpkin unless it's for a Very Good Reason).

So in the spirit of giving, I have a made up name that I'm going to give you when you arrive, regardless of what's on your birth certificate.

But pumpkin, here's where I apologise, in advance, for all of the administrative hoops you're going to have to jump through. Here's where I apologise, in advance, for making you repeat yourself everytime someone asks you what your name is. Here's where I tell you that, yes, it's a stupid name, but beleive me when I tell you that you'll thank me for it one day. At least I hope you will.

And no, it's not Pumpkin.


Love you.