POSTSCRIPT

Just stay away from tea leaves

ROGER CRUTCHLEY

It has been reported that senior members of the current administration have turned to a fortune-teller in Chiang Mai to point them in the right direction. Some positive thinking at last. However, a few citizens might be a little concerned that the future of the country could rest on the juxtaposition of the stars, on the ace of spades, say, or the queen of clubs popping up, or on whether the lines on the palm of someone's hand veer off at funny angles.

A weird dream could possibly mean a whole change in policy. Apparently, if you dream about falling off a buffalo you could be in for a spot of bother. It's probably just as well, then, that reading tea leaves isn't so popular in Thailand or we might really be in trouble.

Of course, it's nothing new for leaders to indulge in this sort of thing. The very same individual who was ousted by the current outfit was equally superstitious, although it doesn't seem to have done him much good. He even blamed black magic for his overthrow.

We sincerely hope that our leaders don't have any weird dreams in which they part company with buffalos, elephants, donkeys, or whatever. And if they consulted the cards, let's hope there weren't too many spades in the wrong places - because that wouldn't be good news at all.

Hopefully they'll have better luck than the English gentleman in Bangkok married to a Thai, who was told by a fortune-teller that an unexpected visitor would change his life. Two weeks later, his mother-in-law from Buri Ram showed up on his doorstep and now appears to have settled in for good. For him, life has definitely not been the same since.

In the name of the law

Enough of superstitions. Following the recent column about aptonyms - people whose names and occupations have a close correspondence - readers have pointed out that there's an equally large number of individuals with names which are totally inappropriate for their particular jobs. It's amazing how many senior policemen there are called Lawless - there's even one with the surname Outlaw. Then there's the lawyer who goes by the name, A. Swindler. A gentleman who advises banks in Britain on how to avoid being defrauded has the splendidly unsuitable monicker of Robin Banks. There used to be a cop attached to London's anti-pornography unit called Richard Vice; and he has a colleague elsewhere in the force who answers to Richard Crook.

Panic button

Some years ago the highly sensitive post of official press officer for Northern Ireland was held by a Mr England. Then there was the Scottish MP, a member of the Scottish National Party no less, called Andrew Welsh.

Another Scotsman, an undertaker, inherited the rather unfortunate surname of Jollys, not to be outdone by a confrere of his in Houston called Groaner Digger. But Box Brothers certainly fits the bill for a firm of funeral directors. .

One reader recalled the time in Zimbabwe when he was having serious difficulty breathing. In a high state of agitation, he was rushed to a hospital to be tended to by a medic whose name just happened to be ... Dr Panic. Which reminds me of the law firm in India with the glorious appellation of Panicker & Potti.

There does seem, however, to be a preponderance of people with names that do fit their professions: Mr Putter, for example, that eminent golf historian at St Andrews; and Dr Sleap, the Scottish anaesthetist. In the same line of work is Dr Coffin, who has the dubious honour of being in the same department as a Dr D'eath. Perhaps they get together occasionally for a ghoulish double act.

Mister who?

Some people simply have unfortunate names, regardless of their occupations. There's a lady in New York called Constant Agony and another in Atlanta who has every right to blame her parents for lumbering her with the monicker Zippidy Duda. An individual in New Jersey answers to the name of A. Moron while somewhere in Pennsylvania a certain James Weirdo is knocking around. One wonders how the police would respond if they were to stop him and ask for identification. Probably a similar reaction to that which would be evoked by an English gentleman called Mister Mister.

A sense of humour is important in these situations, of course, but someone who evidently enjoys his very black is a certain Mr Death who named his sons, Jolly and Sudden.

The last laugh

Some even carry their profession to the grave. The inscription on a tombstone for an English auctioneer called Knight reads: "Good Knight, Going, Going, Gone!"

Even in death people can't resist playing about with their names. The epitaph on a grave near London reads: " Here lies Ann Mann; she lived an old maid and died an old Mann."

Then, in a cemetery in Hartscombe, also in England, we have: "On the 22nd of June Jonathan Fiddle went out of tune." Meanwhile, over in New Mexico there's a gravestone with the legend: "Here lies Johnny Yeast, pardon me for not rising."

The inscription on a tomb in Nantucket, Massachusetts, has a particularly plaintive tone: "Under the sod and under the trees, lies the body of Jonathan Pease. He is not here, there's only the pod. Pease shelled out and went to God."

Then there's the rather unkind epitaph for a Londoner by the name of Owen Moore: "Gone away, Owin' more, Than he could pay."

PostScript via email at oldcrutch@hotmail.com

Bangkok Post

Last Updated : Sunday April 08, 2007