There's an inmate at the Preston Cemetery named Imperatrice. Now there's a suitable revenge on your demanding foetus. Beats Regina or Queanie hands down.
Imperatrice usurps my previous favourite tombstone eponym, Susannah Womble, of Chapel Hill, North Carolina.
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The attorney-General or someone has criticised some parents and rejected their choice of names for their new-born sprogs. For instance, "7". I'm now relieved about the seemingly relentless educational focus on literacy and numeracy, because there are folks out there who are obviously still confused.
Question is, would you rather be called 7 or Septimus?
Funnily, I'm fairly well acquainted with a Seven, an occasional roadie for Sonic Youth and sometime acquaintance of some ephemeral fraction of The Dead Milkmen. He rather likes his name, insofar as he has yet to publicly express an ulterior preference. Septimus is hot an' all, but. (Edited, because I am a dork with ham for hands and spurious typing capacities.)
Being called Septimus would be extremely disconcerting. You'd probably have to live in a windswept former monastery on the Northumberland coast, and be in constant fear that P.D. James could bring your life to an end at any time.
My name's a nightmare, my parents having made it up on the spot - with the helpful assistance of unnecessary vowels, semivowels, numerology and probably various unidentified substances. (Although upon submitting my distress to google it turns out it's also an obscure Philipino surname, and - almost - the name of an idyllic French coastal resort town, with a golf course).
I do, however, know of someone whose parent's called her "Mudfairy". 'Nuff said?
Penn Jillette's daughter was gifted with the charmingly bananas Moxie CrimeFighter Jillette. Even that is better than Yngwie Johann Malmsteen.
The Baron informs me that ancient Romans used to name their children in the order in which they were born. 'One', 'Two', 'Three', that sort of thing, though of course Latin numbers were deployed, not English. 'Quintus', 'Tertius', and also 'Septimus'. I've no idea what happens when twins are born. 'Quintus Primus' and 'Quintus Secundus', perhaps?
Of course, if you're the Septimus of a Septimus, according to certain mythologies, you may very well have magic powers. Somewhat compensates for being called Septimus, I think.
The old-hippie in me just loves Mudfairy.
I enjoy an Australasian blogger
Onomastitrix where all the names are waiting for you to gasp or love.
Ballarat Old Cemetery has some great names - Zipporah is a favourite, and the Victorian BMD records has a 1914 child named Queen Of The Allies, proving that Notifiable Names are nothing new.
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