Confusion reigns this week, after Prince George introduced himself to a dog walker near his grandparent’s home with the words: “I’m called Archie.” THAT IS NOT YOUR NAME, LITTLE MAN. What’s going on here? I would like to think the incident is a Manchurian Candidate tactic, that the sprog is walking terrorist hot-zones and activating assets with this endearing little phrase. But this took place in Berkshire, so probably not. Was he simply twisting the star-struck dog walker’s melon? A Bill Murray-ish lark, and a glimpse of a future era dominated by The Eccentricities of Prince George? Hopefully. Or it could just be his nickname. Royal nicknames are always bad. In their early 20s, Princes William and Harry chose their own security aliases, so that friends could talk about them discreetly. William chose to be called “Steve”, which is even more blandly anonymous than his actual name, while his bro opted for “Spike”, which is the opposite. If someone had told me a story involving a Spike, prior to finding this out, I would have assumed they were talking about Prince Harry. It’s also a terrible choice. As Oscar Wilde observed, the only thing worse than being talked about is being called Spike while it’s happening.
Diana called William “Wombat”, which I like; while the Queen goes by “Lillibet” to friends. Why not “Freddie”, after Mercury? The most questionable of the bunch, however, is Prince Charles’s moniker for Meghan: “Tungsten”, because she is “tough and unbending”. Like a … metal ruler? If such unbecoming options are on the table, he might as well have called her Heavy Meghan, or Eminem, or the Toughness of Sussex. Anyway, Archibald and his keepers clearly need help in this department, so I’m putting an application in. Allow me to introduce myself: Nick Namer, sobriquets by appointment.
