More names

The man they call Lyle (to his face) reminds me of a story about names, or to be more precise, the story of my name.

My Mum was named Lynda Gordon, and on marrying my Dad became Lynda McLean (you can see where this is heading already can’t you). Soon the lovely couple decided to produce a lovely little baby. Unfortunately for them they got lumbered with me but I digress.

What to call me? Neal? (Neale?), Murray? They couldn’t make up their minds (ohhh except I was to be Joanne if I was a girl). They eventually decided on Gordon. Simple enough name really, Gordon McLean. Everyone agreed it was a lovely name for a cute little baby (I really was you know).

Alas my Gran got a bit confused…
“It’s a boy!” my parents said.
“Ohhh wonderful, what’s his name then?” my Gran asked.
“Gordon” said my parents
“… ehh… Gordon?” pondered my Gran
“Yes” said my parents
“What… Gordon Gordon?” queried my Gran.
“No Mum, I got married.” said my Mum.

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Long time blogger, Father of Jack, geek of many things, random photographer and writer of nonsense.

Doing my best to find a balance.

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