Far be it from someone with a name like Benedict to lay into the monikers of others. An overly Catholic title with flexible anatomical applications has been the butt of many a joke from school onwards, and has also been, if nothing else, character-building. Not a great character, per se, but one has been built on the back of it nonetheless.
So I have a great deal of sympathy for the offspring of a Hull-based mother who decided to bestow upon them the names Jackdaniel and Tiamarie. It’s hardly their fault to have befallen such ill-luck, though they no doubt have a long a fruitful career ahead of them either as poster-children for the drinks industry, or as poster-children for Public Health England’s next round of scolding on the dangers of alcohol. We remain unsure if Tia Maria and Jack Daniels were just the mother’s favourite tipples, or used as a conception aid. Frankly, it’s none of our business.
Calling children silly names is nothing new. We all know now the horror that awaits the legions of sprogs named Khaleesi after their parents got a little too caught up in Game of Thrones, whilst we await with dread the news that a man who calls himself Boris is set to be prime minister. Celebrities the world over christen their kids with the expressed intension of marking them out as oddballs for life, from Pixie to Peaches to North by Northwest, whilst I have it on good authority there are people out there who have actually called their son Keith.
Alcohol, though, is perhaps the dodgiest of ways to go — and there are many, many ways you can follow up Tiamarie and Jackdaniel.
I’m not sure why fermented pears are quite as popular as they are, but given that there is a popular female singer names after it, I must be missing out. That said, she is in a band called Little Mix, which I think is also the name of another one of Koppaberg’s products. Perhaps it’s all just a clever viral marketing campaign.
We all know what’s going on here, and to whom/what I am referring. You can see the tan and the eyelashes in your mind’s eye, can’t you? You can hear the heels and nails click-clacking their way along the length of the Mykonos strip. You can already tell this one was a catastrophic error of judgement you would never have made if you hadn’t celebrated her birth with 4 bottles of Chardonnay in the first place. Don’t call your daughter Chardonnay. Or Crystal. In fact, whilst we’re here, I wouldn’t call her Tattinger either. A bubbly baby doesn’t deserve to be scared for life by a bottle of bubbles.
Be it Fiddich or Morangie, this is a versatile number for those who anticipate a hard life for their beloved son, possibly as a carpet salesman based in the midlands. No one called Glen was ever an upbeat character — just ask any of the characters played by Glen Close.
White, creamy and a recipe for disappointment, it’s no wonder this is a name beloved of midwestern US adult actresses and golden retriever owners. There’s a curious Venn diagram to be plotted here I’m sure, but I won’t be the one doing it.
Like Glen, this is a name for lovers of distilled grains, along with Jack and Jim. If you can’t quite decide, by all means reduce them down to Jay, but the Jays of this world tend to be as vile as the outcome of mixing your drinks, so perhaps not.
A good middle class girl’s name, short for Ginny, and, incidentally, also what every middle class girl seems to drink copious amounts of when short of having anything to do at the weekend.
Ah yes, Peter. Nice, respectable Peter. Peter is probably a hard-working boy with good grades. You wouldn’t mind Peter dating your daughter. But Peter is no saint; St. Peter’s brewery in Suffolk are purveyors of some pretty stodgy stout that will knock you for six if you aren’t careful.
A name universally considered pretty rough, and not just because of the weapons-grade sneer of the Labour MP. Not all Stellas have such a stellar political career though — some end up as high-end fashion designers or Victoria’s Secret models, though then again, they may still be rough and it may just be the beer talking.