The baby royal has been named, and he was named after me. Pretty much.
Pip, pip and chimichanga from here in Merry Olde England!
George Alexander Louis. Gotta admit, I did NOT see that coming. Billy-boy and Kay-Kay are a modern, hip young couple so I thought they’d go with something a bit more trendy, like Ashton or Braydon. Even though I lost 10 pounds in the Royal Baby pool (remember pounds are what we call money here. We also call it “quiddiches”) and I NEVER thought I would announce the loss of 10 pounds with anything less than total joy, I bear the royals no malice.
Because I am so very deeply touched by the honor they have shown me. George is the traditional name of the eldest boy in my family.
My Dad is George. My brother is George. His son is George. My Grandpa, his father and his father…although they may be known by their middle names, the first name has been George for 5 generations.
I think that the Kate-ster was so touched by the devotion I showed by deliberately booking a B & B (complete with “full English breakfast”, which is a sausage, a piece of ham, an egg, toast and some baked beans served in the basement “dining room” on tiny tables, crammed so close together I am now fluent in Swedish, French and Chinese from eavesdropping on my fellow diners, seated 4 inches away from me. But I digress…) only a block from where she would bring forth the babe and wrap him in swaddling ermin (wish I’d thought of that – thank you wise and witty commenter, was it Hoi?) on the very day destined for the blessed event. That was no accident.
I planned this trip, timing and itinerary, using a combination of TripAdvisor reviews, Fodor’s English Guidebook, and by reading the signs and portends revealed in the entrails of a sacrificial garden mole.
Queen in her car. Really.
The Ducal Mumsy knew it was a great, personal sacrifice for me to send my oldest child to stand in the broiling midday sun (along with a bunch of other mad dogs and sweaty Englishmen) in order to capture that once-in-a-lifetime photo (seen exclusively here, in my last post) of various blue and other colored blobs that were positively, definitely and obviously the outline of our young mother, heroically fighting off a herd of cassowaries as brave, brave Sir Knight Billy did do battle with the fearsome baby car seat.
The Royal Nappy Changers were so moved by my actions that they abandoned all the suggestions submitted in the “Name The Babe And Win A Cup O Tea For Life” sweepstakes run by Sainsbury’s grocery chain and went with MY family name. They recognized that our ancient, family tradition is practically as historically significant as their own, pretty long-standing traditions.
I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if they really wanted to call Sir Tot Peg-o-Leg, but the Queen (who we affectionately call “Her Majesty”) put her regal foot down. She had her Chancellor of the Chauffeuralance drive her cross town from her place, to the cozy little palace that the kids have been fixing up in Kennsington. I got this exclusive photo at Buckingham Palace of Her Majesty speeding past on the way to fulfill her Royal Namiacal Advisory Duties. If you’ve ever driven in London, you’ll know that this little jaunt takes a good 3 hours in traffic, but it’s probably still shorter than taking the “tube” during rush hour (which we Londonistas affectionately refer to as the “sardine can of beastly hot stench and despair”).
When the new parents told Her Gracious Grand Grannyness they were considering Peg-o-Leg for a moniker she responded with, “We are not amused.” Usually her spot-on, Queen Victoria imitation has them rolling in the aisles at family get-togethers, but this time she was serious. So after some negotiations, they settled on George because it’s a tradition in both of our families.
I ran over to Kennsington Palace first thing this morning to offer my babysitting services for the next few days, but my peeps, Kate and Billy-Willy, fo-filly, banana-fana,mo-milly, fee-fie, fo-filly, Billy, apparently had already left for the country. They seemed to have forgotten to tell their Head Keeper of the Naughty and Nice List that I might be stopping in, because I couldn’t get past the first guard gate. I’m not pissed (that would be the Yank version, denoting some-might-say-righteous anger at the slight, not the Encyclopedia Brittanica meaning of being drunk as a wheelbarrow, which is an expression I wish someone would explain to me, because I have never understood it.) Heaven knows the newby parents have a lot on their plates (which are gold and ruby encrusted chargers, by the way) and I’m sure leaving me off the BFF list was one of those natural mistakes that could happen to anyone. But I do think the Royal Guardians of the Round Pond setting the Ornamental Attack Swans on me was a bit harsh.
Trying to get into Kennsington Palace.
Interesting side note: When the English English talk about taking a plane over to America, they say they are going “across the pond.” By pond, they mean Atlantic Ocean. But when they are talking about a small body of water that in American English would be a “pond”, they don’t, conversely, call it an “Atlantic Ocean.” They call THAT a pond, too. I discussed this apparent contradiction at some length with a gentleman who was feeding the thousands of birds in the Round Pond in front of Kennsington Palace. It turned out he didn’t speak EITHER kind of English, foreign or domestic, but he was a really good listener.
Anyway, I’m not sure if the royals and I are going to be able to get together before I hop back across the pond (that’s more of that Brit talk right there, remember? From the previous paragraph? It’s really quite funny when you think about it, and if you don’t mind the lack of continuity in the usage.) After all, I’m going to be really busy sightseeing and I’m sure they’ve got quite a bit to do as well. Kate’s probably got LaLeche League meetings, and Billy’s a modern kind of daddums, so he’ll be interviewing candidates for the all-important position of Lord High Chancellor of The Dirty Diapies.
At the end of the day, I’m pleased as cheese by baby Georgie. And since it IS the end of the day here, I must sign off. Nighty-o!
Peg-o-Leg's Ramblings 
I quite like the name, as modern as they could be I think. Us Aussies also talk about ‘the pond’ but its more going from Aus to NZ or ‘the states’ and it also refers to the small body of water.
Can’t say ie ever heard of ‘drunk as a wheelbarrow’ but in my weird way I get it. Not sure I can explain that either.
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Wait a minute, you mean the “pond” includes other bodies of water besides the Atlantic? This curious expression really does deserve more exploration. I could see someone doing a thesis about it (just a hint for any scholars out there.)
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Pacific, Atlantic… Both big ponds.
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Dirty nappies, Peg, dirty nappies.
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Oh yeah, I sometimes get my English confused.
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George continues to be a princely name. Great reporting on the scene, Pegoleg!
When do you go to Harry Potterville?
Carry on, pip pip and cheerio…
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It’s now Friday morning and I’m eating breakfast in the basement while the girls sleep. We went yesterday, and it was fab!
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I LOVE “George” (a family name for me as well, on my hubby’s side), and it is coming back into fashion, you know. (That’s how names do, in & out of fashion from decade to decade.) And now that the royal babe has been donned with that name, I bet it escalates in popularity.
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I hope so. I’m getting tired of the trendy names, because I’m a curmudgeon about such things.
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6:43:48 AM Can’t think of a jollier way to start the day than reading your delightful communique. Thanks, Peg. Have a safe trip home.
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Thanks ever so! Liz and I just conquered Portobello Rd and came back to pick up Gwen for lunch. We all send our love!
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Oh Peg, this was so jolly good! Quite entertaining. I enjoyed every word. 🙂
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Brits are so confusing with all those pond business. Sounds like you’re having a great time!
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I REALLY like that “snazzy” toastholder. Quite proper; doncha know?
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Then you’ll absolutely LOVE the toast I’m bringing you as a souvenir, sweetie!
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Oh…they have “Spatz Bread” in England?
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London will never be the same, Peg! It is definitely KayKay’s and “Billy-Willy, fo-filly, banana-fana,mo-milly, fee-fie, fo-filly, Billy’s” (I can’t remember the last time I heard the name game) loss for snubbing you on the BFF list. They would have been the better for having met ye!
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Wonderful entertainment Peg. I love the name George (daddy’s name). Do you not love speaking with the Brits, I always loved talking to them when I was there. Will you take in some theater while there? I recommend the Queens theater, wonderful place that.
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Looks like a lovely time with the Queen, my dear.
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Ah George… It was actually the one name I didn’t want them to pick *runs and hides.* I’m not overly fond of the name, probably because I find it so old fashioned and I do not know any Georges my own age. I associate it with my grandfather’s generation. In Spain they were translating the name as Jorge Alejandro Luis which I don’t mind as much. (Will is called Guillermo usually and Kate will sometimes be called Catalina and Charles is Carlos and Harry is Enrique).
Oh and you didn’t know the expression across the pond? They use the “cruzar el charco” in Spanish which is similar–charco is a puddle. However crossing the puddle does not quite have the same ring to it in English.
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Peg, by George, I can say I am acquainted with royalty now!
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Thanks for the news. I hadn’t heard (then again, I hadn’t been trying to hear). As for the name, I was quite surprised, believing that it was going to be a girl. George is a touch odd for a girl, you know. As for the second name (Alexander), a fine name, indeedee-o. That is the name of my son. 😉
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I DO like those names, and Georgie for a girl would be cute, wouldn’t it?
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Well, it couldn’t cause any more media attention than the kid is already getting…
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Hi Peg, Only you could have a discussion with someone in English who doesn’t speak English! 🙂 I’m so happy you had that trip — must have been so fascinating to be there amidst all the excitement and happy news. Your pictures were a hoot!
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THanks. I’ve got a ton of pictures, but I had a lot of trouble uploading while across the pond. I’ll work on a wrap-up post now that I’m back, when I can manage to dig out from under real life.
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Upon further inspection, my Oyster card seems to be subtitled “Sardine Can of Beastly Hot Stench and Despair” Card.
Who knew?
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When NOT stuffed to overflowing with sweaty, rush-hour commuters, the tube was a marvel of convenience – we got to feel quite the experts after only 4 days!
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What timing – as if it’s not crowded enough there. The tube, though is a wonderful thing. Enjoyed your description of seating during breakfast in the basement – so real – such a giggle. Enjoy and travel safe!
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YIKES! Peg… have… have you been… deported?! Any news from Justin Beiber’s detained pet monkey? Wait, that wasn’t an English thing, was it? Oh, bother!
But seriously HOW COOL is all of this?!?! Very posh!
By the way, people seem very keen on throwing names at me, too (although they rarely, if ever, use ‘George’ as one of them).
🙂
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Hiya, SIG. Are you back in the land of the blogging? Welcome home!
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Many thanks, Peg! I’m so far behind already it’s almost like I never left!
🙂
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George is a jolly good name! Nice post Peg. And note that I have nominated you for the Wonderful Team Member Readership Award. For details go to http://countryliving4beginners.wordpress.com/2013/08/06/more-to-blogging-than-blogging-3/ . 🙂
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Pip, pip and chimichanga right back at you! I’ve got to try that on a friend of mine from Liverpool (what a gross way to go swimming) who purposely does not speak in his Liverpudlian accent because he thinks it sounds too working class. I told him that the only four people we North Americans ever heard speak with that accent are the billionaire Beatles, but he still goes with a nondescript accent I’ve only heard spoken by unbilled actors on Fawlty Towers.
[BTW, yes, I’m the one responsible for the ermine thing but you more than made up for it with the chimichanga reference]
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