Horatio Umberto Wooganowski

Last night my old uni buddies St.Murphy, Sawhole, the Divine Ms M and myself went out. I shouted out for a restaurant recommendation near the State Theatre on Twitter and the word kept coming back. Pendolino. Twitter is great for things like that and also how long one should soak lentils for (it depends on how you plan to use them by the way)

Pendolino sounds like a pharmaceutical drug or an anal suppository, but it is in fact a super yummy Italian Restaurant in the Strand Arcade in Sydney. The four of us talked over the top of each other for two hours and ate. I had scallop ravioli which was like a little gift from heaven washed down with several glasses of chardonnay. Then split a chocolate pudding with the Divine Ms M. Heaven. As we left, we all dared Sawhole to run into the private dining room which was hosting a large group of drunken suits and point and yell “YOU ARE A FRAUD!” to one of them. We did not need to ask her twice. It silenced the gaggle of banker wankers who stared at her so she bolted to the lift, which kept us waiting for a minute while they continued to stare at her. So the concept was good but the exit strategy was ill conceived. That SawHole. She really will do anything for a laugh.

Then we went and saw my queen. My Goddess of Smut. Chelsea Handler in all her politically incorrect glory.

SawHole had presented The Divine Ms M with an I LOVE CHUY t-shirt so we looked like total groupies, especially when I screamed out CHUY in the middle of her stand up. She was totally brilliant and inappropriate and gorgeous and rude. And I am not ashamed to say I may have wet my wants just a little. (damn you for not doing pelvic floor exercises during pregnancy Mrs Woog) Then it was over. I was exhausted from laughing and lack of sleep the night before. And perhaps a little pissed.

Anyway, Sawhole bunked down at the House of Woog. This morning Harry came to me and said, “Is Sawhole’s name really Sawhole?” and I looked at him and said “Yes my love, why do you ask?”

“Did her Mum really give her that name?”

I was in too deep and could not be bothered to explain the name’s origins so I just said that sometimes people have unusual names. Then Harry pointed out that he in fact had quite an unusual name himself.

A year ago, when I was doing his passport, I convinced Harry that his real name was Horatio Umberto Wooganowski. Because sometimes I get bored and try to make conversations with him that do not involve me asking him to find his school shoes. And he has run with it ever since. A fact that I love. I hear him tell people all the time that although he gets called Harry, his real name is Horatio Umberto Wooganowski. He says it with such conviction (because he believes it to be true) that most folk seem to accept it, especially his mates at school, who all seem to be called Fynn, Flynn or Finn.

Here is Horatio off to Crazy Hair Day.

And I suppose my question for you is, how much therapy do you think he will need when he is a teenager?