Thursday, 9 December 2010

Bob Marley isn't my name. I don't even know my name yet.

Marley of course was referring to an as-then unpicked stage name, a stage name that whatever it was never saw the light of day. So Bob he remained. Unlike Sir Reginald Kenneth Dwight, that well-known chanteur and inspiration for soccer terrace chants. 


We are warned that a whole generation of facebook users will compromise their futures by revealing every sordid, embarrassing and discreditable episode in their youthful lives to the indelible memory of cyberspace, episodes that those of my generation consign to blurry memory, and perhaps with a deal of post-hoc Bowdlerisation in the remembering, too. But today every nonentity has delusions of fame; every nobody wants to grab their fifteen minutes, and their facebook pages ape the tabloid rendering of the lives of minor celebrities. Except that the nonentities will still have to secure jobs as shelf-stackers or call centre operators rather than retire on the proceeds of serial ghostwritten apologia


But it seems another trend is emerging; when you've disgraced one name, simply acquire another. The Indie reports that over 90,000 Brits have changed their names by deed poll this year, a record. But here's a word of advice for the would-be Kerry Coles out there. First, change your name to your disgrace-name before you embark on your licentious and wild phase. That way, when you're 30, you can change it back to your birth-name and consign the facebook years to the anonymity of cyber delusion. 

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

You have my email sir, so get back to me.

Marley, good grief, a Jamaican lad.