Sunday, 27 November 2011

That's Not My Name

Names, who needs them?  How many times have you bumped into a familiar face to find your brain experiencing a Chernobylesque meltdown in the photo fit department. The net result you haven't the foggiest clue as to whom you are talking to. The amicable face remembers your name with lightening clarity as you cannily attempt with polite nervous smile all diversions of any conversational cul-de-sac that leave you with no choice but to address this stranger by their dreaded forgotten title. All the while your clever clever brain simultaneously recalls the names of random politicians, the Latin translation for spider plant and wonders why brussel sprouts are that taste bud offendingly bitter. In other words it remembers everything but this persons name. So lets have done with it and just greet each other with a neolithic grunt. Surely this has to be the most effective solution to such socially awkward situations?

Anyways I own a two syllable forgettable name that won't shorten into a cute compact sized version of the whole. As a child of the early 70's, well actually 1970 almost back flipping off the cliff into 69, I was accorded with one of those traditional Biblical names with its routes in the hell and damnation of the old testament. It's not Maacah or Zillah. Having a name that doesn't shorten like Elizabeth to Liz, Rebecca to Bex or Sharon to Shaz(zer) means that I'm also the ungrateful recipient of alternative unflattering monikers that eclipse my 1970's ubiquitous as beige name my 'well meaning' parents bestowed upon me. Well at least I wasn't christened Britney.  I have a good friend who's actually brushed off her identity and reinvented herself not once but twice thanks to Deed Poll. Now that takes brass which I sadly lack. I'm not going to reveal my actual name but will unveil a few of those alternative sobriquets for your general amusement;

(1) Busy body. The one the teacher gave me and scribbled all over my school reports. So what if I was little miss nosey parker snooping in on my class mates affairs I needed creative inspiration for my future blog. Anyway I was just being curious.

(2) Chatterbox. Another teacher's term of endearment. I guess it meant I yabbered alot. I started getting paranoid about this one and promptly stopped talking.

(3) Peanut. Peanut? An offering from my first proper boyfriend.  I think he was trying to politely tell me I was am a complete nutty neurotic psycho fruit cake witch. Anyone with a nut allergy stayed outside a five mile radius of West Yorkshire.

(4) Pug/ Puggy. Another delight courtesy of my first boyfriend and then circle of chums circa 1989. Having watched the sad demise of Ethel's dog Willy on Eastenders I became rather charmed by the pug. This is the second time I have mentioned this now and quite clearly in need of more therapy for my unresolved Willy issues. Anyway as well as my fondness for pugs I also possess a squishy nosed face and so it was only a matter of time before I was referred to as one myself. Woof.

(5) Spagsa/ Spagbowl. What? Yes, quite. This was a very random name a bunch of mates at University with a penchant for raving and partying unexpectedly addressed me with one afternoon whilst sat around an aging kitchen table supping builders brew and munching on the only meal of the day, Hobnobs. This name unfortunately stuck for the rest of my third year. I wasn't eating spaghetti at the time but chocolate biscuits. If I'd been chairperson of the University 'cavorting naked with wild abandon in a vat of bolognese sauce' society Spagsa would've been a neat fit. Guess the drugs don't work then.

(4) Tantra - Okay, drum roll please ..... this was my DJ name.  In hindsight this was a very fromage friendly moniker although it sounded quite good at the time. These were the days when DJ's used a type of superhero stage name. Lets face it Goldie sounds better than DJ Jonathan Smyth; that's not Goldie's real name by the way. A fellow DJ friend suggested the name Tantra and I casually accepted it. I had no idea at the time that it referred to an ancient spiritual practise. My DJ pals only knew me as Tantra and never by my other name. DJ Tantra became an alter ego, a separate identity I could hide unselfconsciously behind when faced with hundreds of punters in clubs.

Digressing a little, when I met Younger Dad he dared to raise an arched doubting eye brow at my line ''I used to be a DJ''. Admittedly this was a rather clever but predictable ploy to lure him into my totally 'unboutique hotel chic' boudoir but hey it worked. On our first proper date I invited him back for a 'cup of Yorkshire tea' and that disbelieving upturned brow thoroughly straightened itself out when greeted with 3000 deep house and techno 12''s plus a signed copy of a Jeff 'techno God' Mill's white label.

(5) Miss West Yorkshire. Okay this was the name I gave myself when I moved to London ten years ago.  I was overawed by the Queen's big smelly pigeon sh*tty urban sprawl so I wanted something to keep me tied to my Northern monkey roots.

(6) Pudding/ Oi Mush! /Poo head. . Younger Dad's sieve like mind has lost all traces of my original name and uses either/all of these to address the gaunt hysterical semblance of a wife he married.

I am now simply known as 'mummy, mummy, mummy', and leave you with this fine ditty by the Ting Tings ...

The wonderful Flossing The Cat sponsored this post and I'm now tagging Mother Porridge, Five Go Blogging, Mummy Plum, and Caught Writing to reveal theirs ....


  1. Loving your nicknames! May I call you Ting Ting from now on?
    Thank you very much for the tag. I am sadly lacking in the nickname department with just 2 that come to mind. Not sure why that is, maybe a surplus of underimaginative friends and family are to blame. We shall see...

  2. They call me not really. Thanks for the tag will attempt to recover some names from where they are buried deep within my pysche. Did you DJ in Leeds? I misspent much of my yoof at Back to Basics and The Warehouse. Ps. poo head is most unkind!

  3. Ooh, thanks for tagging me! Will have to get my thinking cap on. Love your post, great idea.

  4. Ooh Miss Tantra I love these tidbits of your past life as a DJ... I'm intrigued!

  5. I am chuckling at the Puggy moniker. I know you have a fondness for them, but any boyfriend who calls his girl that deserves to be dumped. Tantra, now there's a name I like. Most exotic! And ummm... poo head- how young exactly is Younger Dad? Thanks for the tag.
    PS: Am currently wasting far too much of my time on YouTube thanks to your music as therapy tag!

  6. Hi again!! Love your post. Used to go out with a DJ myself, although he was called Steve DJ, cos his name was, uh, Steve... The whole DJ superhero stage name thing definitely passed him by. Tantra - obviously much more mysterious - which brings me to my main observation, which is that none of these nicknames are particularly vile or porno, so my experience obviously speaks volumes about me....

    PS Finally wrote that versatile blogger piece, thanks to your tag. I have had a horrible case of bloggers block this week!!!

    PPS I know your real name, I know your real name, i know your real name na na na na na na - how much you gonna pay me to keep quiet? x

  7. Hello,
    Just popping over to let you know I've finally completed this tag...ducking under the ticker tape before the end of the year.! And also, to wish you a Merry Christmas. Been wonderful getting to know you a little bit this year, and hope to read lots more next year.
    Wishing you, Little A and Younger Dad a very happy Christmas. x


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