I’ve blogged about this before, and was mildly shocked when I found that it’s over four years since this topic first graced your screens.

One of the things I mentioned is not to name your child with a made-up cognomen that looks like a bad hand at Scrabble or one of TFF’s more deranged midnight tweets*. I also mentioned that a blue mohawk on a six year old is a serious error of judgement, as is ear piercing on any child under ten.

I’ll stay with the theme of appearance The sainted George Cambridge set quite a fashion trend with his check shirts and baggy shorts, and the playgrounds of the UK were thronged with lookalikes for a while. However, there are much more heinous fashion crimes you can carry out in the sartorial stakes.

I have a mate Steve. He’s a really top bloke, very amiable and equable. Quietly spoken (yay!), generous, dedicated husband and father. A good egg.

In his youth he was dragooned to be a pageboy at a wedding. My own view is that taking part in a wedding is something you should be old enough to consent to, but heyho.

Now you know the standard garb for a pageboy makes him look like a Gainsborough portrait, but Steve wasn’t fully cognisant of this. He was thus horrified to find himself dressed in a pale blue outfit with knickerbockers, blouson jacket, and a white shirt with a Pert Pan collar. I’m with him on this one.

I was told that as a child he was very mild-mannered and quiet, but even for this admirable child, the clothes were a bridge too far. He rebelled, and Little Lord Fauntleroy took to his heels. He actually ran away like a startled gazelle, if a gazelle were wearing blue knickerbockers.

Good call there. I admire the worm that turned.

*I’m currently concerned about the tendency for hipsters to call their children names that would be more at home in the butler’s pantry in Downton Abbey. Or some obscure Far Eastern deity.

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