Wednesday 13th March

One of the abiding themes of English Literature, and our beknighted history of course, is marrying into the Aristocracy.  You know, those in trade, who have come into a lot of money but crave respectability marrying the impoverished but titled gentry.  In this way the upper classes constantly renew themselves, replenishing their diminishing gene-pool and their bank accounts along the way.  And it is still going on today.

I picked up the Evening standard the other day; I was just starting a new book (by Trollope, of course) and not quite into it yet, you know how the first chapters introduce the main characters and you need to concentrate.  Anyway, tough day at work etc: I grabbed a Standard to read.  And there in London Diary, the snobbish bit where celebs meet the gentry I read that Sam Branson, son of self-made multi-millionaire we all love Sir Richard, has just married (wait for it) Isabella Amaryllis Charlotte Anstruther-Gough-Calthorpe.

Isabella is described as an actress, though I cannot imagine that name appearing on film credits.  There is no other indication of who the delightful treble-barrelled actress is, or who her family are etc:.  But you don’t get a name like that unless you are somebody, or your parents think they are still somebody, or recently were somebody.

Anyway I am sure than Sam and Bella will be incredibly happy together, and soon we will hear the patter of tiny feet as one by one the little Anstruther-Gough-Calthorpe-Bransons make their appearance into the world.

But poor things, what possible Christian names can go with Branson.  Somehow Amaryllis Branson doesn’t sound quite up to the mark. It might leave the poor darlings in a bit of a pickle I suppose.