A Rose by any other.

What’s in a name huh?

Well a lot it seems.

This week I had a meeting with a client – Pascale. Of course I was expecting a man, probably because I’m stupid, but in the message the secretary had left you can’t hear that ‘e’ at the end.

Pascal(e), Pascal – how can you tell unless you see it written?

I have written before about not knowing whether Jean (john) was a man or a woman when you see the name WRITTEN, but that is more of an English/French problem.

Pascal(e)?Pascal is just a problem.

Laurent/Laurence – always causes me to stop, though I think it’s because Laurence was never a girl when I lived in England.

Then there’s Damien and Damienne – though here there is a subtle pronunciation difference that after 17 years in France I am beginning to hear, even though the English Damien confuses the gender for me.

I still call her, him, once a week though.

However the greatest name I ever heard belonged to an Englishman, but I heard it in France when I was 11 years old, maybe 12.

My family was on holiday in Normandy and we were staying in a Farmhouse/hotel – my first experience of a foreign country.

The holiday was memorable for being the starting point of my bottle top collection, for finding an abandoned wartime flare gun which lead to my only school experience of “Show n Tell” (after which this blog is named) and for a chance meeting in the restaurant one evening.

The tables were set up in rows, with just enough room for the desert trolley to pass between and therefore intimate enough between neighbours that it would have been impolite if you hadn't said hello.

My father struck up a conversation with the people at the next table, a couple from somewhere North in England.

I am from the south and used to names like Smith, or Jenkins, AND I was at an age where I still laughed publicly and loudly if someone farted.

Hmm, I still do sometimes.

I remember the occasion very well, mainly because I had a mouthful of over chewed broccoli – which I was trying very hard not to swallow – and because the tablecloth was very white.

My father turned to the man at the next table and shook hands.

“Mr Adams, and this is my wife Esther”.

The stranger shook hands and introduced himself.

“Mr and Mrs Shufflebottom.”


p.s it turns out i had told part of this story before. Here.