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Paul Morley

My rule of thumb when naming my three was that if I'd be embarrassed shouting it down the crisp aisle at Tesco, don't do it. Which brings to mind my now deceased alcoholic auntie from Crosby who named her dog Sherry and, with no sense of irony, would stand swaying at the front door calling "She-rry, come to mummy" at the top of her voice.
Justine, this guy sounds like a right cock; one of those parents who worship their children for no other reason than they are an extension of themselves, whom they worship. Which is fine behind closed doors, but certain people can't for the life of them grasp why you don't worship their children also, which seems to me a sort of transplanted solipsism. It’s a truism to say that it can come to no good. I can’t remember who said it now, but someone clever and witty once remarked that “Some people live their lives only for others, you can see it by the look of fear in the eyes of the others” (or something like that). Such parents also make that most annoying and erroneous link between childhood precocity and adult achievement - little Jasper is shit hot on the Lego bricks, therefore he will be an architect (no, not a bricklayer, an architect!). Makes me shudder. I say inject the little girl with an urn of Gold Top and have done with it.

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Families South East

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