I’m getting married. In many regards, this is no particular surprise as Kate and I have been together for some time. In preparation, I’ve been listening to Nick Lowe’s ‘I Knew the Bride When She Used to Rock and Roll’ pretty much on a loop but, in spite of this, there’s still a very steep learning curve. Originally, I thought if I wrote some music and took the tuxedo out a couple of notches in deference to something I’ll simply describe as ‘personal growth’, the whole event would pretty much take care of itself. I now know that I was wrong. Dead wrong.
I’m getting married. In many regards, this is no particular surprise as Kate and I have been together for some time. In preparation, I’ve been listening to Nick Lowe’s ‘I Knew the Bride When She Used to Rock and Roll’ pretty much on a loop but, in spite of this, there’s still a very steep learning curve. Originally, I thought if I wrote some music and took the tuxedo out a couple of notches in deference to something I’ll simply describe as ‘personal growth’, the whole event would pretty much take care of itself. I now know that I was wrong. Dead wrong.
Getting married is more complex than I realised, fraught with all kinds of dilemmas. Flowers, food and envelopes – all these things require a ruthless yet flexible approach to decision making. That’s not the worst of it. For the bride, there is the conundrum of deciding whether or not to take the name of the groom. It used to happen as a matter of course, but now people exercise all kinds of options. Kate’s mother has, with some considerable vigour, made the point that it is I who should agree to a change of name. The demand is made on the basis that there’s no logical reason for one party to give up their name in favour of the other. There is, however, a problem – Kate’s father is also called Stuart. Were I to adopt her surname, I would end up with the same name as her dad. I don’t know much about Freud, but I know what he likes, and this would be the kind of scenario that would see him falling over himself with excitement.
Taking on Kate’s surname is out of the question. But being a reasonable soul, I am willing to compromise. As luck would have it, I have two names other than my surname that I’m more than willing to abandon at a moment’s notice.
I’ve never been wild about ‘Stuart’, nor its many variants. ‘Stu’, ‘Stubee’ and, most loathsomely, ‘Stuballs’ have all been hurled in my general direction over the years. I am, quite frankly, happy to leave them all behind. In fact, I see this as something of an opportunity to cast off a name I was never that happy with. It’s odd, really. Life is full of choices, but your name is something you’re saddled with by your parents. Had it been up to me, I would have gone in an entirely different direction.
Perhaps it would be better if you were allowed to choose your own name. Obviously, this is difficult to do at birth, what with not being able to speak and all. I think four is probably about the right age – just before you start kindergarten. Had I been given that chance at the age of four, I would have named myself after one of my heroes, The Banana Splits. For those who don’t remember them or don’t know how to use ‘Google’ yet, let me say that The Banana Splits were a band and had their own television show (‘The Banana Splits Adventure Hour’). The band was made up of Fleegle (guitar, vocals), Bingo (drums, vocals), Drooper (bass, vocals) and Snorky (keyboards, effects). Whilst those names may not run off the tongue as easily as ‘John, Paul, George and Ringo’, The Banana Splits were no ordinary band in that they were comprised of a beagle, a gorilla, a lion and an elephant.
There’s every chance I might have called myself ‘Snorky’. After all, he played keyboards, just like me. I am now left to wonder at how different my life might have been had I wandered through it carrying a badge that read, ‘Hello, my name is Snorky.’ Would it have made me a better piano player? Might it have prompted respect or invited derision? It’s hard to say, save that I’m not sure that the original Snorky got up to much after the band split. Perhaps the Snorky less travelled is less travelled for good reason. Still, I should give it a try.
Currently, my middle name is John. Clearly this needs to change. I have narrowed things down to something resembling a short list. I’ve never really wanted to be any old Tom, Dick or Harry, so those names were eliminated at the outset. I’ve been listening to a lot of blues music lately, and am quite keen on names like ‘Hoss’, ‘Lightnin Slim’ and ‘Jelly Roll’. But of all the names the blues has given us, my favourite has to be ‘T-Bone’. Simple, to the point, carnivorous. On the other hand, wrestlers also have terrific names. By ‘wrestlers’ I don’t mean those who compete at the Olympics but those that appear on TV and like to break furniture over each other’s heads. Perhaps it’s the fact that they seem to have the same feelings towards IKEA as me, but I kind of relate to them.
I may not have chosen my name the first time around, but now’s the perfect opportunity to make amends. Should you see me after the big event, do not refer to me as ‘Stuart’ as I will not respond. Indeed, I will not so much as turn my head in your direction. My driver’s licence will need to be updated, even if in biro. As for my birth certificate, I intend to demand its immediate retraction. For the old me is gone forever and a new me will soon emerge, if not like a phoenix then like a guy dressed like a tuxedo who looks as if he might be about to take your drinks order. It’s going to be incredible. I, for one, can’t wait for the big moment when the celebrant asks Kate whether she takes Snorky T-Bone Stone-Cold McCullough as her lawfully wedded husband. Who, when asked such a question, could say anything but ‘I do’?