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Sam Leith: My boy Jonah

By Sam Leith  

It’s a giant responsibility, naming a child—and it is usually undertaken in a matter of a few sleep-deprived minutes. There you are, hovering round a birthing pool witnessing the first moments on earth of an entirely new human being. There’s all sorts of viscera knocking about, the baby is squashy and tiny and purple-faced and has a very intriguingly shaped bonce, you haven’t slept since the night before last, and yet before you know it it’s crunch time for the name. It’s a—hang on—what is it? It’s a—yuk—no, I think that’s a… it’s a BOY! And the clock is ticking.

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