With less than a week until the holidays begin for me and the children, I’m beginning to feel the tiredness to which my brain had already given some indication. Within the last month, I’ve managed to call one child the wrong name prior to baptism, fortunately the mother caught me before we did baptise. At a wedding, I announced the same hymn twice. Then as we were to admit new members, I got two of the young mens’ surnames mixed up. That one wasn’t helped by the fact that six people joining were meant to sit in alphabetical order as that was how I had written them down.

I find myself getting annoyed at trying to get things right. Getting names right is particularly important to me, as I know my own frustration at people getting my name wrong.

My first name uses two names to create my one name. For some reason this means people sometimes only call me by the first half and I am not that name. Occasionally I can look rude because if you say that name to me, I don’t respond because I don’t recognise it as my name. There are those who get them the wrong way round, and it sounds quite nice but still not me.

People writing my name also try to complicate it. But to put it simply it is not hyphenated but all one word with a capital letter in the middle, and there is no “e”.

Of course I recognise my own error in writing peoples’ names. I know too many Claires and Alistairs that I have to think about how each is spelt.

However recognising my own frustration with the use of my name makes me realise how much of our personality and identity can be packed into a few letters. It is in those letters that we find ourselves precious to someone.