Flapjacks and Pimentoes
It is quite busy round here.
I have been to Cornwall to film a little bit for Gardeners World (mostly because my friend Joe Swift is in France eating cheese and swilling down the cheeky Bordeaux). It is, I believe, serving as a brief intermission between the wise words of Mr Montagu this Friday. Lovely garden near St Michael’s Mount. We had lunch in a pub there (thank-you, licence payers) that served good crab sandwiches: although I think the use of Ciabatta instead of thinly sliced brown is an insidious urban habit that should not be allowed.
I have been thinking a bit about names over recent days. So much of our lives is governed by nomenclature. If things did not have names then we would be a bit scuppered. “Pass me the whatsis” or “Nobody move this is a thingamajig”
I have always wanted a shorter name. Not because I have any particular objection to the one I have (although it is always annoying trying to explain that half of my surname is actually a christian name, not my Christian name but somebody else’s) but because I would like to have the sort of name with which one could answer the telephone. In a gruff and businesslike voice.
Scenario One.
Ring, Ring. Ring, Ring. Ring, Ring.
“Alexander-Sinclair”
Doesn’t really work does it? Too many syllables.
Likewise “The name’s Alexander-Sinclair, James Alexander-Sinclair” would not quite have the same knee-watering effect on women.
This would be better:
Scenario Two.
Ring,Ring. Ring,Ring. Ring,Ring.
“Gadd” or “Frond” or “Carder” or even, “von Harnstadt”
Snappy and authoritative. Instant obedience from a multitude of subordinates.
It is one of the main reasons why I never became a titan of industry or a private detective, you can’t say Alexander-Sinclair, Private Eye. It lacks snap.
That and the waiting around while peeing in an old Red Bull can (the detective, not the industrialist: although in certain boardrooms it may be de rigeur).
Gardening is quite dependent on names. Sometimes people complain that there is too much unnecessary Latin in the world. There isn’t but, even if there was, it is one of the few places left where Latin is actually useful (although my father talked Latin to taxi-drivers in Rome and they seemed to get him to the right destination). I can see that I would (deservedly) be prodded with sharp sticks were I to start pontificating about Bellis perennis rather than a Daisies. But there is emotion and poetry in Latin names while English equivalents (quite aside from occasionally being grossly misleading) seem a bit, well, doughy.
Not always, but sometimes.
I prefer Nettle to Urtica dioica – which sounds like a fungal infection.
But I love the sound of Verbascum bombyciferum, Zauschneria californica, Pittosporum or Sanguisorba canadensis.
I could go on but will restrain myself and thus earn your undying gratitude.
August is usually a somewhat torpid month – I may well have written on the subject last year – but not this time. This is because, just beneath the surface, things are roiling. I have mentioned “the thing” before but it is now becoming reality. After many months of quite hard work.
My next blog will be very soon and will bear news of great moment and significance. Kindly wait patiently with polished shoes and neatly brushed hair.
The photograph is of some of Cleve West’s dangling raspberries.
I am listening to Over The Border by Saint Etienne.
Sheesh! I’m away for a bit and come back to find you have a thing with names and a Thing. All that I can accept, but not the scorn for ciabatta, sirrah.
My maiden name had to be spelled out correctly to all and sundry, was extremely unusual, and inspired people to attempt a French pronunciation. How glad I am my married name merely rhymes with gingham.
Christine in Alaska, no thing, today at least
I love the name Metasequoia glyptostroboides, which rolls round the tongue like a fine claret. I have very rarely had a fine claret, so must content myself with glyptostroboides.
My maiden name was Hollingworth. My parents had the foresight (lack of ambition?) to give me two one syllable first names, lest I got above myself. My second surname (with first husband attached), Parker, was rather beaky. An accounts clerk perhaps. Beesley is something of an aural improvement, while remaining suitably below stairs. It is tradesmanlike, which I feel quite at home with.
On the subject of botanical latin – I have attempted to soften many an audience with the sing song qualities of Leucanthemella serotina, attempting to fit it rhythmically to Oh my darling, Clementine. I generally secure a few raised eyebrows for my pains.
Amelanchier lamarkii has been more successful – it seems to have softened up hubby number two to see horticulture as something slightly more elevated than merely poking holes in dirt.
In New York I was told on good authority that I have a ‘black girl’s name’. Kendra on Top is the name of a reality show hosted by Hugh Hefner’s ex… Besides the child in the next village are there any more of us out there? Happy gardening.
Kendra Smith – a crucial name in the ’80′s alternative music scene in Los Angeles. First with Dream Syndicate and the the more dreamscapey Opal. You can wear your name with pride on her account.
Monty gets to be pally Monty or authoritative Montagu doesnt he. Must be good having a name that rhymes with a pasta sauce. Not that anyone takes the piss put of mine you understand. Not wishing to complicate matters but do you favour NOMenclature or noMENclature? Its a world full of rattlesnakes ans no mistake.
Another thing about names: neither of us could be cricketers: Sinkers or Diacers.
Doesn’t sound right.
Monty could do it…. Monters
Rather suits him.
Parthenocissus quinquefolia always sounds rather impressive to me and decidedly more inspiring than a Virginia creeper, which implies some sort of day of the triffids affair.
Virginia Creeper would be a good name for an exotic dancer.
So the former “it” has morphed into “the thing”?
Shades of 1950s horror movies!
When does it get a Latin name?
Very soon indeed…
it will be as long and rhythmic as a sonnet.
I’m now even more excited about the thing.
I often long for a more simple moniker (or Monica) – I am often pronounced brine and even a lordly Byron.
I have a friend Mr Beauchamp – who pronounces his own name incorrectly – Beecham – much to my chagrin.
Good.
I want a froth of excitement to wash over the whole world.
It would be great to have a name that was spelt completely differently to the way it was pronounced.
“My name? Flinch, spelt F-A-L-A-N-T-S-S-I-N-Z”
although it would be quite annoying when claiming undelivered parcels in the post office.
Take two. I do have trouble with this reply service, I have lost two others over the last few weeks.
Lucky Joe Swift, my Wife and I returned from a week in France last Wednesday, back a week already where did that go? While there we went round an arboretum near Huelgoat in Brittany, it needs tidying up a bit but it was interesting and took us nearly three hours to do the one hour route.
Names; there are 4 letters only in our surname but you wouldn’t believe the problems people have trying to pronounce or spell it. It rhymes with “lawn” but very few get it right.
Walter
‘Walter Gawn’ what a fabulous name!! Did you mean to tell everyone that you had been on holiday with Joe Swift and your wife? Not that there is any shame in that – don’t knock it til you’ve tried it is what I say.
Haha! I was loosing the will to go on, as my previous response was lost in the system, as have several in the past. Must remember to copy before I press the send button.
Thank you for your perseverance, much appreciated.
i have no idea why it misbehaves, it is just bog standard WordPress.