Is there a better way to start a Monday than with a bit of Simon and Garfunkel with Cecilia?
Okay, so the girl’s a tramp and she has someone new in bed by the time Paul or Art (or both?) get back from washing their face (unless they’re very OCD and it takes them a very long time) but it’s still a bit of happy-clappy jubilation to start off the working week.
I profess I have a ridiculous name. It has caused me no end of grief. From being Emily or Emma-Lee or Emily Milly-Lily or Emma Bed or Emma Reads, you wouldn’t think so few letters could give so much trouble. Lucky for me I didn’t end up as Isabella Mintball. That was going to be my other name. Isabella. Although my Nana thought people would call me Isabella Mintball. I don’t know why. The only references to that phrase on the entire Internet are on this blog. In fact, were I to choose an author pseudonym, that would be it. Nobody else is called Isabella Mintball.
However, I am very thankful I am not called Cecilia or Caroline or Diana or Angie just because you’d have to put up with drunk men singing it to you all the time.
Point in case: when I worked in a pub, I used to tell the sex-pest drunkards I was called Caroline. I don’t know why. I think I thought they would find me less approachable. However, I was often regaled by a chorus of drunken “Sweet Caroline”s every time it got to last orders.
Lucky for me, the only song dedicated to me is the Hot Chocolate ‘classic’ of Emma. It has an unfortunate chorus with Emmeline that is just a little too much like my full name, but it’s not such a hit that most people think to sing it to me when they’re drunk. I’d like to think that I was young enough when the song came out that my parents could have renamed me as Justine or something that doesn’t really have a song or a connotation at all. It’s not like I’m a dog and I need the name for recall purposes. At a push, Pink Floyd’s See Emily Play can also be a bit of a grievance.
You don’t really think to say thank you to your parents for giving you a fairly sensible name. Or thank you to the media who don’t come up with something ridiculous after your birth that tars your name for ever. Isn’t that right, Verity Treacle?
Imagine being Dirty Diana all your life?! Or Roxanne?
My neighbour’s dog is called Roxanne. Every time I see it, I sing the song in my head. That’s what happens. It’s alright if it’s a nice song, like Lovely Rita, but nobody wants people going ‘you don’t have to put on the red light’ every time someone says your name. Strangely, I have taught two Jolenes in my life (okay, one Jolene and one Joleen) and I feel obliged to ask the question: what parent would do this to a child?
It’s tantamount to child abuse.
In France, it used to be the case that you couldn’t name your baby a certain thing if the mayor didn’t think it was a good name. As the central government tried to stamp out regionalism and separatism, they forbade certain regional names and thus your maire, who signs the paperwork, could decide yay or nay. One of my friends here is from the Pyrenees and she wanted to call her daughter Quitterie, a regional name. She had to get special dispensation to do so because the baby was born in Paris. The dispensation only arrived in the nick of time. I still have visions that a mayor might decide a name is inappropriate and call the child Claud or something on a whim. I bet that’s happened. There is this interesting post about the name – you can see that it was not at all popular from 1900-1950. Emma, par contre, is enjoying a resurgence in France – as in England – and it begs the question about why so many French people look at me with suspicion when I tell them my name, as if it is some whimsical English or Welsh name like Gwendolyn or Doreen.
Anyway, I have Much Love for not being called Diana or Angie. That’s always a bonus. I got to quite like Caroline after all the singing, so I could live with that.
So, for what else do I have Much Monday Love?
For the laughter of friends. I had a moment where I got all hysterical about fabric last Friday and I’m thankful nobody walked out and left me. It wasn’t even anything particularly funny to be laughing at.
For finding many people who I can safely say I wouldn’t mind living in a small village with, though I don’t think much work would get done if we all lived near each other.
For warm fires. It’s nippy this week. And yes, Colin, I am wearing my thermals.
For electric blankets and hot water bottles. Yes, it’s that time of year.
For Mexican bean soup. Top marks, Mr BBC Food, Top marks.
Not much love for my inability to finish a project off. Would you believe I’ve started two craft projects and not finished them. On Friday, I thought about starting another. I’m rubbish at anything other than initial enthusiasm. It’s my aim this week to finish at least one of them off. I’m back to the to-do lists and order!