What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet:

Our Lady of the Asanas was still in hospital and we were legally obliged to register Little One's name at the Registre Civil within three days after the birth. Although baby birth and official name registration can probably easily be done at the time and in the place of birth, a paternal six-hour wait in an official office would provide the government with a handy few thousand pesetas in respect of baby naming.

It did occur to me to do a Major Major Major and give Little One a name different from that which I had agreed with Our Lady. Tibetan nomads often give unpleasant names to their children to ward off visits from evil spirits and, until recently, the Nyimang people of South Kordafan in Sudan gave their children Arabic names of common household implements (I knew a Scissors, daughter of Cooking Pot, son of Shaving Brush).

I could also give Little One a traditional Spanish name such as Esperanza, Inmaculada or Concepci�n, which would seriously piss off both English and Catalan relatives; the English because they couldn't pronounce them and the Catalans because Catalan names had been banned for over thirty years during Franco's dictatorship.

However, when I reached the front of the queue I realised how much I valued my testicles and decided not to risk Our Lady's wrath. I carefully printed Little One in capital letters on the B27/6 and our baby thereupon existed officially