I've always hated being a Gavin – and now my name has become a byword for ineptitude
It’s been a difficult week for us Gavins. ‘Gavin’s Got To Go’, screamed the banners. ‘Sack Gavin’, pleaded the placards. It’s not easy being a ‘Gavin’ at the best of times but when your name has, suddenly, become an example of massive incompetence, paraded on posters by angry students, things go up a notch.
The name has been the bane of my life. I have thought long and hard about going by my middle name, James, but I've never quite been able to get rid of Gav. Now that I’m 50 now, I really can’t be bothered reinventing myself. It might work for Madonna, but not me.
Gavin is a name that speaks volumes about me and my background – a symbol of the late 60s and early 70s, not to mention a lasting reminder of my parents’ atrocious taste in names. Meaning 'white hawk', it has noble, proud connotations: Gavin is actually the Scottish form of the Medieval name ‘Gawain’, who, as we all know, was not just one of King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table but probably the best of the bunch. Not that that’s ever counted for much on the rare occasions I’ve bothered trying to defend my parents’ decision.
I first became aware of the ugliness of my name early on in my secondary education. I was the only Gavin at my school and that was fine right up until the day a supply teacher read out the register one morning, pronouncing my name as ‘Gay-vin’. Until that point, it was Neil Carcass that had been the butt of everyone’s jokes.
All my mates had what I regard as ‘normal’ names: Robert, John, Michael, Paul; steady, solid names that have stood the test of time. Not Gavin, and especially not ‘Gav’. Just looking at that appalling abbreviation makes me queasy. I think it might be even worse than Gavin itself. What were my parents thinking? I mean, how can you stand over your little of bundle of joy, as snug as a bug in his cot, and think ‘you know darling, I think he looks like a ‘Gav’’.
Even now, in adulthood, something invariably crops up to remind me of the inherent naffness of my name. This week, it was the many wonders of Gavin Williamson that brought it screaming sharply back into focus. Back in 2007, it was the arrival of Gavin & Stacey on our television screens when, almost overnight, everyone I knew thought it hugely witty and highly original to call me ‘Gavlar’, or the even more grating ‘Gav-a-laaaaar’. Mercifully, that subsided. Well, it did until last year’s much-vaunted Christmas comeback special – the highest rated show of the festive period – when the hilarity began all over again. Ho ho bloody ho.
Matters have been compounded in recent years by the election of Gavin Newsom as Governor of California. As Twitter users with similar handles, I often get hounded by irate Republicans accusing me of everything from ineptitude to laziness and, just this week, of causing the blackout in the Golden State. Now, I can be accused of many things but you can never accuse me of causing a blackout 5,000 miles away.
I guess it wouldn’t be so bad if there were some other high-profile Gavins that people really looked up to, men that had brought honour and respect to the name but who is there really? Gavin Esler? Gwen Stefani’s ex-husband? Some rugby players?
So I’m stuck with it, saddled with a name you would never choose for yourself, not even at gunpoint (although, to be honest, I can’t see how that scenario would actually arise). The only consolation I can really take is that the name seems to be dying out. In 2018, there were just 23 new-born babies named ‘Gavin’ across the United Kingdom and while that’s still worryingly high, the trend is heading ever-downward. Hopefully, by the time I pop my clogs, the name will be all but extinct.
Actually, I say it’s the only consolation but it could be worse – my brother is called Darren.
Are you a proud Gavin despite the latest controversy? Or would you rather ditch your name for something else? Share your stories in the comments below
