So now the serious in-fighting about names has started, and it's getting nasty!
Considering that the latest pesky critter has been on the horizon for months, James and Angie are no nearer deciding on a name for their baby. All the usual factors have been thrown in the mix - he can't be named after so-and-so, or the name is too traditional/modern/just downright weird.

Some weird names work. But although I have weird names for pets, I can't see the reasoning behind lumping another person with a stupid name because the parents want to be different. Why don't they give the kids straightforward names and change their own by deed poll?
The good old baptism gets around this difficulty nicely. One of my pals from years back, he became a Christian, ostensibly because he had found God whilst seriously ill. He phoned to say that he was going to change his name to Paul. Well done, thought I, Paul on the road to Damascus and all that. How wrong was I? Very! He chose the name because... oh dearohdeary...he'd always admired Paul McCartney.

Another friend from that time pointed out that "happy-clappy crappy Christian bands always needed more musicians, fine way to be a talentless big fish in a small pond." But then, this was the one who was a vicar's son and had some awful memories of modernised church sermons, so we allowed him to rant a bit. We also had a Catholic friend who chose Francis. His mum was delighted until he 'fessed up that it was chosen because of Francis Rossi.

The baby niece (now 23) was a little ratbag on the subject of names when she was younger. One useful embarrassing story is the time when her poor father was trying to make her behave in M&S. Four years old, Faye had decided to change her name by the useful trick of refusing to answer to her own. My sister-in-law and their two sons had wandered off, and Faye responded to my brother's calls by shouting out "WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME FAYE? MY NAME IS VANESSA, YOU'RE NASTY TO ME AND I WANT MY MUM!" As the security guards descended around the would-be child abductor, she nipped round a stand and found her mum, and decided not to mention Daddy's little problem. He was finally rescued, and bears no grudge. Idiot! I'd have ceremoniously burnt all the Sylvanian Family toys and My Little Pony, before doing a Tracy Barlow and locking her in her bedroom for 15 years!