Ben Cheng Vs The Name Game

We were in Casablanca, in bed, in fact - though separate ones I must stress - on our final night in Morocco. The pre-sleep chat revolved around people we knew with cool names.

The usual suspects cropped up; Steve Allen, Felizia Ano Nuevo*, Kashif Ferozili Gillamili Meherali, until I remembered I once renovated a pond with a guy called James Bond. James Bond was a few years older than me and thus very cool anyway, but I digress.

“Yeah yeah good name good name”.

Said Ben.

Silence.

Pitch Black.

We contemplate the practicality of a name like James Bond, the difficulties it would inevitably bring once the initial respect had been granted.

Silence.

Pitch Black.

“I knew a guy once called Ian Bond.”

Said Ben.

“Ian Bond???” I say, “That’s a rubbish name! Ha ha ha.”

Black.

Pitch Black.

Ben starts laughing. He’s got the joke. He’s realised his mistake.

Pitch Black.

Silence.

And then I just here this:

“Yeah, Ian Bond. Ha ha ha”

Turns out that instead of speculating on the turgid identity obscurity that a name like Ian Bond inevitably brings, as I was, Ben was recalling something that Ian Bond did once.

Tsk.


* Literally ‘Happy New Year” en Espanol. We didn’t actually meet her until we were in Whistler in 2005, and even then it was her niece Cecilia... But the point remains - it’s still a great name and serves the purposes of this brief story perfectly.

N.B. Several years later, Ben texted me to tell me that Ian Bond was playing bowls on the telly. Turns out this was not the same Bond, but another, only serving to confirm my point about the name’s utter turgidity.