The DNA of Names.

I know a rock guitarist and lover of Bob Marley whose name is Kevin. Why is that funny? One can only assume he was a terrible disappointment to his parents. Well it serves them right, what were they thinking? Everyone knows Kevins are only good for replacing toner cartridges and library assistants. It’s like there’s a long chain of DNA behind a name, the result of a spiral of parental pairs stretching back into history. Who for example when named Mr and Mrs Pipe would call their progeny Dwain? (true, I didn’t believe it either) But there are some names that carry a heavy burden. Brian for example. Brians are bumbling out of their depth simpletons, honest to the point of naivety, forgetful daydreamers yet in some deep recess having a somewhat confusing resolve. Monty Python could not have named their film, “The Life of Robert” or Richard or Christopher, maybe Kevin, but no Brian fitted the bill exactly. When GoCompare wanted a name for their bewildered C3PO variant, “mmm what shall we call him? I know ‘Brian’.” Brian the snail in Magic Roundabout, Brian May the token golly in Queen, and last night ‘The adventures of Brian Gulliver’ on radio 4. It’s the go to name for befuddlement. Professor Brian Cox has reclaimed some credibility but even he knows more about the Great Grablion Cluster than his local high street and probably get lost going for a pint of milk. I’m just glad I’m called Stiffmouse, but even that’s got unfortunate connotations according to the Russian gay community.