Yesterday while I was blogging about Alan Partridge, it was announced that the new Royal Baby was to be called George Alexander Louis. They are all lovely names but I have to say that I shall always associate the name George with the rather dopey hippo from the children's series 'Rainbow'. The programme had as its main characters three strange puppets, 'George, Zippy and Bungle'. George was the most likeable of the three; as I recall a pale pink, mild mannered hippo. I have no idea what creature Zippy was meant to be, but he was loud mouthed and opinionated, and Bungle, a huge bear would definitely have had his name on some teddy blacklist believe me.
So, what other famous Georges does the new little prince share his name with? Well, there is George Osborne the chancellor, an arrogant, privileged man who has zero idea how much misery he is inflicting on most of the country; or if he does realise, he doesn't care. The only time he has shown any emotion was when he shed a tear at Thatcher's funeral, but that was probably only because he was thinking about the astronomical bill.
Then there is George Michael who can sing quite nicely but can't drive in a straight line and has a penchant for hanging around outside men's toilets.
Next we have George Best who was pretty good at football but unfortunately also rather good at drinking.
Finally, how proud would you be to share your name with that greatest of all men George W Bush? Not very? No, thought not. With parents so unimaginative that they gave you the same name as your father it's not a good start in life is it? Apparently George W doesn't drink but that hasn't stopped him saying and doing stupid things on a monumental, world-wide scale.
So, if you were the young prince looking for a role model which one would you go for? My money's on the hippo.
Showing posts with label Royal Baby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Royal Baby. Show all posts
Thursday, 25 July 2013
Monday, 22 July 2013
The Royal Baby: At Last!
I'm not exactly a massive follower of the Royal Family but I must confess I got quite excited when I heard that Kate was going to be giving birth at the 'Lindor Wing'. My eight year old soon set me straight; apparently it's the 'Lindo Wing' which is much more prosaic and a lot less chocolatey.
So, no name yet, but Kate and William are the proud parents of a baby boy and so the toughest job ever, that of being parents begins for them.
I have to admit that I was a fairly poor parent in the early days of my son's life, but then I was dragged down by post natal depression, the most awful, cruellest of afflictions. A brief moment of being serious (see it as a public health broadcast). If you think you are suffering from PND please, please seek help now. Tell a friend, phone your GP, get in touch with your health visitor (she'll be the one called 'Pam' or possibly 'Carol') but just tell someone.
So, those early weeks pass by in a complete blur induced by a heady combination of hormones, fatigue and an overwhelming feeling of responsibility. I had a baby who wouldn't sleep or feed properly and who never stopped crying. It didn't help that my nephew, born just a couple of months previously appeared to be the model baby. (I know my sister-in-law will be reading this and I'm sure she'll disagree!). The very well-meaning Health Visitor would say to me "You need to relax. He can sense you're tense and that makes him worse". Well thanks for that hugely helpful piece of advice but how am I meant to relax when I feel like sh*t?
Exhaustion can do very strange things to you. Don't forget they use sleep deprivation as a form of torture. A friend of mine was woken in the night by her tiny daughter needing a feed. In the half darkness she reached across to the cot, picked up her little bundle and put her to her breast. After a few moments her husband murmured "The baby's still crying". She looked down and realised that she was trying to suckle a cuddly toy hippo.
The weeks and months pass and eventually you get to that magical day. Baby's first smile? The tell-tale white dot which heralds the arrival of the first tooth? The first time junior eats 'solids' (what a ridiculous name for the slop which is baby porridge). No... your first solid eight hours sleep. You gradually become human again, begin to be a bit less anxious (the pills helped with that!) and get to the point with dummies and feeding implements where you think 'If it hasn't been dropped down the toilet then it's sterile'.
At that point most people decide it's time to start on the whole process all over again but my self-preservation gene kicked in big time at that point and does so every time I find myself feeling a bit broody!
So, no name yet, but Kate and William are the proud parents of a baby boy and so the toughest job ever, that of being parents begins for them.
I have to admit that I was a fairly poor parent in the early days of my son's life, but then I was dragged down by post natal depression, the most awful, cruellest of afflictions. A brief moment of being serious (see it as a public health broadcast). If you think you are suffering from PND please, please seek help now. Tell a friend, phone your GP, get in touch with your health visitor (she'll be the one called 'Pam' or possibly 'Carol') but just tell someone.
So, those early weeks pass by in a complete blur induced by a heady combination of hormones, fatigue and an overwhelming feeling of responsibility. I had a baby who wouldn't sleep or feed properly and who never stopped crying. It didn't help that my nephew, born just a couple of months previously appeared to be the model baby. (I know my sister-in-law will be reading this and I'm sure she'll disagree!). The very well-meaning Health Visitor would say to me "You need to relax. He can sense you're tense and that makes him worse". Well thanks for that hugely helpful piece of advice but how am I meant to relax when I feel like sh*t?
Exhaustion can do very strange things to you. Don't forget they use sleep deprivation as a form of torture. A friend of mine was woken in the night by her tiny daughter needing a feed. In the half darkness she reached across to the cot, picked up her little bundle and put her to her breast. After a few moments her husband murmured "The baby's still crying". She looked down and realised that she was trying to suckle a cuddly toy hippo.
The weeks and months pass and eventually you get to that magical day. Baby's first smile? The tell-tale white dot which heralds the arrival of the first tooth? The first time junior eats 'solids' (what a ridiculous name for the slop which is baby porridge). No... your first solid eight hours sleep. You gradually become human again, begin to be a bit less anxious (the pills helped with that!) and get to the point with dummies and feeding implements where you think 'If it hasn't been dropped down the toilet then it's sterile'.
At that point most people decide it's time to start on the whole process all over again but my self-preservation gene kicked in big time at that point and does so every time I find myself feeling a bit broody!
The Great Kate Wait
So, apparently the Duchess of Cambridge is in labour. The coverage on Sky is hilarious as they scramble around trying to get a comment from just about anyone who has ever been a midwife/given birth/been born and as I write someone just said the word 'vaginal' on the BBC. Dear God, what is this world coming to? Anyway, good luck to Kate as to any woman giving birth today. Just have any drugs they offer you love and PUUUUUSH!
Monday, 15 July 2013
The Royal Baby
- Kate didn't see at least fifteen different midwives/doctors/health visitors during her pregnancy/delivery/post natal care. By the way, can anyone tell me if you have to be called 'Pam' to be a health visitor? It's just that all the ones I know have been.
- I bet her delivery midwife was not called 'Sarah Goodenough'. Not a name to inspire confidence. Sorry Sarah love but you weren't (good enough). You looked about 14 and nearly let me die. Be grateful I didn't sue you. I still could. (I'm not bitter. I'm totally over this, honest)
- I don't suppose William will take a snap of his wife post-partum with her legs in stirrups (yes girls, stirrups) and post it on facebook. (OK the fb bit probably isn't strictly accurate but it did get taken out of the 'Our Baby' album pretty darn quickly)
- The midwife will not be heard to exclaim 'How bloody big did you think this baby was going to be?' as she dresses him in age 0-3 month clothes with at lest 4 inches dangling off his arms and legs. Ok, I didn't know you were meant to get 'newborn' did I? He grew into them didn't he?
- Neither do I suppose that William will go to Boots in search of 'disposable knickers' and get removed by security. This happened to the husband of a friend of mine. We can only think that the assistant thought he meant 'edible knickers' and took offence.
- The lovely Kate will not slob around for at least 4 months in a dressing gown, watching Homes under the Hammer, crying, smelling of baby sick and shouting at her husband.
Saturday, 13 July 2013
What's in a name?
Apparently the most likely names for the new Royal Baby are Alexandra for a girl, or George if it's a boy. The only reason I would be remotely interested in William and Kate's choice of name for their first-born would be if I had placed a hefty bet on it. I haven't, so I'm not.
Nevertheless, names do mean so much, don't they? I'm not sure how this works in other cultures and I would be most interested to hear from any overseas readers on this topic, but here in good old Blighty, you can definitely tell a thing or two about a chap (or chapess) from the name they have.
When we were choosing names for our first (and last) born my choice was definitely limited due to having been a teacher for so long. Every name seemed to have some sort of memory associated with it and more often than not it was a negative one. One of Geof's suggestions was 'Kyle'. Now I am really sorry but every Kyle I have taught has been trouble with a capital K. It's a name I associate with small children being yelled at in supermarkets (Lidl, not Waitrose of course). My dear husband also suggested 'Jamal', a gorgeous name I am sure, but possibly one which would result in him being stopped and interrogated at airports on a regular basis. Why not go the whole hog and christen him 'Death to the Infidel' just to be sure.
However, we both liked 'Bryn', each having separate but happy memories of holidays spent in Wales. Phew! Sorted and at only 20 weeks pregnant. Ah, but what about a middle name? I really wanted it to be 'Morgan' my mother's maiden name. At least that way I would always be able to answer the security question to reset my password. However, Geof thought that 'Bryn Morgan Harrison' sounded like an accountancy firm. He had a point I suppose so we went for a bit of biblical with 'Reuben'.
You can have a lot of fun with names too. I'm sure you've all worked out you film star name using your middle name plus a park near to where you grew up. Mine would be 'Kathryn The Rec'. Mmmm maybe not. A recent one doing the rounds was your rock band name. For this you used the colour of your underwear plus the last food you ate. Following on from my 'Inner Baptist' post you won't believe this but mine was 'Black Quiche'!
I work in a Catholic school, and when the new pope was being elected we had a great time deciding what our 'Pope Name' would be. I know, we don't get out much. To do this we looked at the saints' names calendar, looked for our birthdays and selected a name. I went for 'Pope Casimir Humbert'.
So, names do mean quite a bit. That's why we are unlikely to ever see a 'Queen Chardonnay' in our green and pleasant land.
Nevertheless, names do mean so much, don't they? I'm not sure how this works in other cultures and I would be most interested to hear from any overseas readers on this topic, but here in good old Blighty, you can definitely tell a thing or two about a chap (or chapess) from the name they have.
When we were choosing names for our first (and last) born my choice was definitely limited due to having been a teacher for so long. Every name seemed to have some sort of memory associated with it and more often than not it was a negative one. One of Geof's suggestions was 'Kyle'. Now I am really sorry but every Kyle I have taught has been trouble with a capital K. It's a name I associate with small children being yelled at in supermarkets (Lidl, not Waitrose of course). My dear husband also suggested 'Jamal', a gorgeous name I am sure, but possibly one which would result in him being stopped and interrogated at airports on a regular basis. Why not go the whole hog and christen him 'Death to the Infidel' just to be sure.
However, we both liked 'Bryn', each having separate but happy memories of holidays spent in Wales. Phew! Sorted and at only 20 weeks pregnant. Ah, but what about a middle name? I really wanted it to be 'Morgan' my mother's maiden name. At least that way I would always be able to answer the security question to reset my password. However, Geof thought that 'Bryn Morgan Harrison' sounded like an accountancy firm. He had a point I suppose so we went for a bit of biblical with 'Reuben'.
You can have a lot of fun with names too. I'm sure you've all worked out you film star name using your middle name plus a park near to where you grew up. Mine would be 'Kathryn The Rec'. Mmmm maybe not. A recent one doing the rounds was your rock band name. For this you used the colour of your underwear plus the last food you ate. Following on from my 'Inner Baptist' post you won't believe this but mine was 'Black Quiche'!
I work in a Catholic school, and when the new pope was being elected we had a great time deciding what our 'Pope Name' would be. I know, we don't get out much. To do this we looked at the saints' names calendar, looked for our birthdays and selected a name. I went for 'Pope Casimir Humbert'.
So, names do mean quite a bit. That's why we are unlikely to ever see a 'Queen Chardonnay' in our green and pleasant land.
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