Three Christmas Vignettes

I.

Even though it’s generally over 30 degrees Celsius outside and I’m almost 40, there’s something about Christmas that makes me want to walk around in an oversized overcoat, clicking my heels and saying “Gawd bless yer heart, guvna!”

I put it down to too much exposure to cheap made-for-TV versions of A Christmas Carol as a child.

My husband, however, holds little affection for me talking like a cheeky cockney chappie. Just the other day, he even had a little rant about “cockney rhyming slang” that can be summarised thus: “What. Is. The. Fucking. Point?”

“It can be funny,” I said. “For example: ‘pony’ is a goodie. I always liked that when we lived in London.”

“Yes, but how funny is it really?” my husband snarled. “Let’s look at it for a moment: ‘pony and trap’ rhymes with ‘crap’. Where exactly is the humour in that?”

Which just makes me wish I knew the rhyming slang word for “bahumbug”.

Anyone?

II.

Christmas is for the children. We all know that. So what do my children have to say about Christmas?

When I recently posted Mr Justice’s latest “Christmas Story” on twitter, people must have thought I was making it up. But here is the proof:

A Christmas Card. Once a boy was making a mess on the Christmas tree. He was shooting sauce at it. Then 100000000000000000000000000 ninjas burst through the window. Then one of the ninjas said “May the force be with your poos.”

And here is a picture The Pixie painted of Santa, projectile vomiting:

As for Tiddles McGee? Well, Tiddles McGee, aged all of three, just jumps up and down and shouts “WHERE’S MY PRESENT?”.

Yes, Christmas is for the children, all right. 

III.

On the day that my grandfather died, I began to bake. Up until then, my interest in the art of home-baking had been sporadic and (largely) disastrous. 

For example:

Ever seen what happens to your beaters when you fail to soften your butter before creaming it?

Ever seen the look on a small child’s face when biting into a banana cake containing large lumps of bicarbonate of soda?

Ever made a cake that is pure charcoal on the outside and completely uncooked batter on the inside?

Well, I have done all of this and more – and might have continued to do so on those few occasions I was legally permitted to enter a kitchen. But there was something about my grandfather’s passing made me feel it was time to step up to the mark at the ripe old age of 34. And, although it was February, I decided to bake my grandmother’s Christmas cookies for my family who were gathering together for the funeral.

I mixed and rolled and pressed and baked and, as I did so, with every single cookie I made, I felt like I was honouring my grandparents’ memory and the risks and sacrifices they’d made so that I might be here today. 

Of course, when my cookies came out of the oven, they didn’t taste at all like my grandmother’s. 

I’ve made them many times since – every Christmas since 2004, in fact – and they still don’t taste anything like hers. But the problem is, I can’t remember what hers taste like any more. 

But the recipe that I’ve made has become my own and one that my children now know and will grow up with. 

My husband said the same applies to “whistling solos” in folksongs as they are passed down from generation to generation. I said “Whatever” and then added a cheeky “guvna” just to piss him off.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

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The NDM Guide to Naming Your Child

This is the first in a series of “How To…” posts which I will be running as a kind of NDM Weekend Edition – until I run out of subjects I know anything about (most probably week 4). 

Naming a child is a very personal journey – some people have long lists they discuss with anyone and everybody. Other people (such as my husband and I) have a closed list that is kept in a vault hidden at the bottom of the pile of ironing (which ensures that it will never ever see the light of day). 

But before you go ahead and name your little sprog, you might like to thoroughly road-test the name according to my simple six step plan.

STEP ONE: The Starbucks Test
Use the name, as if it were your own, when ordering a grande decafe skinny double mocha frappe latte at your local Starbucks. Take note at how well the staff heard your name above the din – did you need to spell it out to them? And did they ultimately get it right when they called the name out with the order? Think about how you felt when you stepped up to get your drink – did the name still feel cool despite the fact you were ordering such a deeply tragic beverage?

STEP TWO: The Kindergarten Test
Bear in mind, when choosing a name, that children with three letter names will appear advanced when it comes to writing their names whereas the poor Angeliques and Christophers of the world will be struggling long before their academic careers have properly begun. Take a pen, put it between two of your toes and try to write the name you’re considering in the corner of a large piece of butcher’s paper. Easy? Or does it take you two hours and stretch the entire width of the paper, leaving no room for creative blobs of paint trying to pass as a Super-Jet-Fighter? Go on, give your child the start they deserve. 

STEP THREE: The Public Space Test
I’ve read a number of times that the true test of a name is to stand in the middle of a park and shout it out. But I say don’t shout – SCREAM. And don’t restrict your experiment to a park: try standing in the middle of your local supermarket or an art gallery or the Supreme Court and bellow the name as if your child is about to start breaking eggs, lay jam hands on a priceless work of art or king-hit one of their siblings. How does it feel? Kinda cool? Extremely embarrassing? How much did people stop and stare? Make sure you’re not wearing your pyjama pants when you do it as this could somewhat distort your test results, particularly in the Supreme Court. But then again, it might make the test conditions more realistic. 

STEP FOUR: The Derivative Test 
This one might be a bit obvious but consider this: a couple I know were contemplating naming their child Edward not because they liked the name per se, but they liked “Ed” or “Eddy” for short. Another of our friends, who largely went by the derivative form of his old-fashioned name, warned this couple against this course of action. He pointed out that he had both versions of his name on different forms of ID and official records and it all got very confusing at times, especially when being questioned closely by immigration officials at Heathrow airport. But then again, it does make things like tax avoidance that bit easier and surely that’s a gift you’d like to give your child. 

STEP FIVE: The Surname Initial Test
If you chose a Top Ten Name and add to already existing pandemic of Mias, Lachlans and Jacks, you need to accept it as a given that your child will have at least five other children with the same name in their class – sometimes even of the opposite sex (the names are *that* popular). Make sure you cross-check the name with your surname initial as that is how they will be known at kindergarten and primary school – e.g. “William F” or “Charlotte D”. Don’t make the mistake, as we almost did, of calling your child Gabe (a favourite name of mine) with a surname that starts with a B and thus end up sounding like a homosexual insect. Hey, with a life expectancy of only 5 weeks, those bees have got to grab their fun wherever they can get it – but it just might end in tears for Junior in the playground.

STEP SIX: The Cockney Test
While it’s fairly obvious that names that rhyme with body parts should be avoided, you might like to check a few Rhyming Slang Dictionaries to ensure some cheeky cockney chappie hasn’t blighted your fave name.

For example, one might say “Where’s the lav, I’m off for a Betty” (as in “Betty Boo” rhymes with poo) or even “She’s got a bushy Elizabeth” (as in “Elizabeth Regina” rhymes with vagina). 

Your unborn child will thank you later for your prudence. 

 

So there we have it. My six easy steps to help you name your child. Remember: Name responsibly. Never name under the influence. And certainly never ever name and drive. It’s just not worth it.

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