Too close encounter of the feathered kind

There are certain things you have to be aware of when you drive a convertible. Some are pretty obvious such as it's sensible to slap on sun cream every day unless you want a bright red nose and a crepey cleavage in later life.

I've also discovered that I can get an extra 10 minutes in bed and still wash my hair if I dry it on the way to work with the roof down. Admittedly, I arrive looking more Crystal Tips than soignee but hey, sleep is sleep.

There are, however, things to look out for - driving under electricity cables is a bit unnerving as they crackle ominously and I definitely don't like to linger in case one of them decides to snap just at the moment I drive under it. Not getting too close behind anyone as they give their windscreen a quick squirt is another, not unless you want a mouthful of screen wash. Then there's the wildlife, there's always the chance of being pooped on by a passing bird.

What I hadn't expected though was to have a bird decide to join me inside my car until one flew in. Now, I like birds as much as the next person but preferably when they're in the sky or perched in a tree chirruping away melodically, but not flapping around next to me in the passenger seat while I'm doing 60mph.

Honestly, I know they have tiny brains but this one had definitely been at the back of the queue when the old grey matter was handed out as it kept flying towards the windows. Me shouting 'stupid bird, fly up, there's the sky' didn't seem to be having much effect. Shrieking 'shoo' and waving my arms around didn't help either, while trying to keep the car on the road and not mow down pedestrians or cause a pile up. All I kept thinking was 'please don't fly into my hair or poo on my new leather seats, I've only had this car two weeks'. Ever calm and rational, that's me....

Eventually, after much flapping (the bird) and whimpering (me), I finally engaged my own grey matter and had an eureka moment - open the windows woman! Now why hadn't I thought of that before? Thankfully, my unexpected little feathered hitchhiker finally got the message and we parted company which was a huge relief to us both.

What's in a name?

I've always had a bit of a thing for bonkers names, today's award definitely goes to Mariah Carey. What on earth was she thinking when she decided to name her newborn son Moroccan?!

That poor boy, he's going to go through life saying 'hi, I'm Moroccan' and hearing the reply 'oh, are you? Well, I'm English/American/Spanish.....'

And as for his sister, who now goes by the name Monroe Cannon, that sounds like something that's dusted down, wheeled out and fired on the Queen's birthday in Windsor Great Park.

Mariah definitely scoops the top award, previously held by Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin with Moses and Apple. That one set me wondering, will we ever see a Radish or Pomegranate? Then there's Nicole Kidman's Sunday Roast, I mean Sunday Rose.

Now I've got Victoria Beckham's latest addition to look forward to - going on her track record of Brooklyn, Romeo and Cruz, her daughter is unlikely to end up a Mary or Jane.

I'm not being sniffy, it's a free world and if someone wants to call their child after a nationality or a piece of fruit, that's their call, obviously. I've just always been fascinated with oddball names and have kind of collected them over the years, the odder the better.

My father wanted to call me Sinead or Siobhan to mark his Irish heritage but my mother pointed out we were in deepest Surrey and I'd go through life having to spell my name out. So they gave me a traditional English name.....and then took the h off.....so I've gone through life having to spell it out.

Then again, at least I didn't have to change the pronounciation of my name unlike the traffic warden I once interviewed - Mrs Hogsflesh - who insisted it was said Ho-flay.....then there was the blushing bride who became Mrs Bumpus on marriage. Yikes.

My penchant for amusing names started as a child with a distant relative who went under the moniker Ivor Hand. Later on I stumbled on an Adora Dick (I kid you not), Toby Jugjar, Holly Wood, Benjamin Germain.....

So, VB, I'm banking on you, your girl is going to have to be Malibu or Galaxy at the very least. What did I call my kids? Well, they're Stick and Puddle, naturally......

Turning vegetarian

The little son, aged 10, came in and announced he was becoming a vegetarian and would no longer be eating any meat, so there.

Fine, I'm all for free will and individual choice but this particular stance did make me smile as this is a boy who will only deign to eat roast potatoes (but only roast potatoes, forget boiled or mashed or jackets) and carrots. Nothing green will pass his lips. His idea of having fruit is a strawberry yoghurt. It's remarkable he hasn't gone down with rickets.

'Ok, so what would you like in your sandwich in your packed lunch tomorrow then?'
'Ham', came the reply. Realising his error he swiftly backtracked 'oh, actually, not ham, I'd like cheese and tomato ketchup.'

'So, when there's a barbecue you won't be eating sausages or burgers or kebabs? How lovely, you'll be able to have salmon, like me. So no more chicken nuggets then and I guess that means you're not going to eat spaghetti bolognaise any more either? Oh and what about the cheese and ham pizzas?'

His face visibly paled - he'd eat spaghetti bolognaise every day of the week if he could and refuses to go anywhere near fish....

A frown appeared on his little face and then he muttered 'I don't think I've thought this through'!

Classic.