But why would you imagine it to be Leonard when you knew that Toby had some motivation to stop the name he wanted his daughter to have not to be heard by the creature’s great-grandmother and thus the wider congregation?
OK, when one sets it out that way, it does look daft. But you might try to keep up, even so
Ah, “keeping up” - I seem to have very little problem keeping up when listening to the likes of “Rumpole of The Bailey” and “McLevy”, but most of the young males in TA all sound remarkably similar.
Pip knows now; she’ll make him pay! Gosh, she was in full shrewish mode about the Christening robe, wasn’t she? Could she not have told Robin sorry, too late, I’ve already dressed the babe. But no, she’d rather give in and take it out on Toby.
Ah well, those two making each other miserable is music to my ears.
When I was born my Grandmother on my dad’s side decided I should be an Andrew. My father was not one for standing up to her but on this matter the names Gerard & Martin (& Armitage, natch) had been chosen by mater & pater.
They told the old harridan this but she simply called me Andrew.
At the Christening the priest asked “what name do you give this child” and my parents said their chosen names at which the old, pug faced one barked out “no … no, that’s wrong. He’s Andrew !”. Apparently a full blown, font-side argument followed and water (Holy Water, no less) was thrown before she stormed off.
She continued to call me Andrew for my first 2 years.
I was definitely her least favourite of 3 grandchildren.
Easy to say, of course, but she took my elder brother on summer holidays, but not me. As he grew older & went with school on trips she took my younger brother. Looking back I’m grateful, but aged 7 or 8 I wasn’t.
Once Christmas she bought elder brother a bike. I got an Airfix model. I really, really wanted a bike.
When I got my A Level results of 3A’s & a B my girlfriend, who unlike me was very family orientated, decided we should call in on her “why ?”, “she’s your grandma, she’ll be pleased”. “No she won’t”.
We artived, told her, “what now then ?”, “off to Uni as planned. Leeds. To do Economics & Politics”, “Leeds ! I suppose when it’s (younger brother’) turn he’ll go to a good one”.
What do you mean, I should get over it? I am over it. I AM !!
She had. She’d dragged me along with her a few times, when … in my, by then, normal mode I had a cuppa, said very little & left as soon as duty permitted.
I’d met hers & they were what I expected of grandparents. Nice, friendly, a bit old fashioned & fussy, but essentially pleasant people. She knew I wasn’t a fan of mine but seemed determined to help me bridge the gap. This visit was the last, as she was astonished by her living up (down ?) to my view of her.
She knew very little of Universities. I was very definitely the first of the family to go. But I guess she’d heard of Oxford & Cambridge & viewed them as ‘proper’. It was more the sweeping view that the younger brother was the cream of the crop & I was the … er … kefir ? If only she’d seen how he developed.
To be fair to her, the Airfix kit was the HMS Victory, which was a good 'un.
And did your younger brother go to a “good” university, or was she disappointed in her expectations?
Your grandmother sounds to me like living proof that merely reaching pension age does not magically transform poisonous trouts into sweet little old ladies.
But to Goldsmith’s College, in Lewisham, which is “less so”. Millwall Tech as I used to call it.
He made his grant up by playing pub pianos for singalongs. Sort of Chas & Dave meet The Lambeth Walk karaoke. Gerchaa. He went on to have a very dubious life.