A couple of socialites have had a baby and called it Minty Mellon. It's not funny, it's cruel. She'll probably turn out to be some 20-stone dimwit rather than the willowy Monte Carlo-based party girl they hope she'll be.
Personally, I don't like my (real) name. It's short and dull and I always hated having to say it. The first name is three syllables, so since the age of about 15 I've picked the first syllable and stuck with it. Only family call me by the proper version. The surname is a squeaky-sounding lump of silliness I've always despised. At least I'm not called Newby Hands. Or Minty Mellon.
There was a journalist called Minty Clinch - whatever happened to her? I didn't actually realise this was a person for ages. I thought it was a stage direction. Like I thought Gay Search, who's actually a gardening writer, was an introduction bureau, like Dateline.
We all know there's a fashion for bizarre names. No wonder kids are out of control. If you were called Sauna, Jutney or Liverpate you'd be hiding under a hoodie self-harming too.
When I was at school, the classes were heaving with Susans, Peters, Davids, Andrews, Pauls and Janes. These names are dying out. When was the last time someone told you they'd called their newborn Stuart or Helen?
These people called their kids Emma, Lucy, Charlotte, James and Emily. Then they called theirs Sid, Alfie, Daisy, Stanley and Rosie. There's a real Upstairs Downstairs thing going on here. But all nice, solid names nonetheless. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Some unusual names can be nice. It's just the plain stupid (Princess Tiiami), or place names (Brooklyn), products (Porsche) or surnames (Taylor - always pronounced Ty-ler), or made up names (D'Shanae) that should be stamped out.
The campaign for real names starts here.
