I may have told some of you that I was named Deborah because as a small boy my Dad watched the “King & I” at the Saturday morning pictures where he developed a life-long crush on the actress Deborah Kerr; mainly because she was a red-head and spoke like the Queen.
As my mother had planned to call me Jeremy Guy in the event that I was a boy; I will be forever grateful to the chromosome fairy! But there again having spent most of my life answering to a porn queen nickname, karma sure has a sense of humour.
Things could have been very different for my Dad as well. On the day of his christening, my grandmother was late as usual in getting ready and my grandfather not wanting to keep the priest waiting, set off to the cathedral with the rest of the party leaving her behind. The ceremony proceeded without her, however, after the priest had baptised my father Robert, the patter of tiny feet could be heard tripping down the tiled aisle of the cathedral uttering the immortal line “but I wanted him called Anthony”!
Sadly, the dirty deed was done and my father has been called “Bob” or in the case of his devoted sisters “Bobby” all his life. Now my grandfather was called William but everyone called him Freddy; but that really is a story for another day. And you, what’s your story?