What’s in a name?

So you crazy cats know I am currently house hunting for a Chateau befitting the family of Far Kew, The Husband and our little Farkers. It sucks a large amount of bum. If I had a couple of mill I’d be laughing all the way to my beachside Palais de Kew. But alas, the funds do not stretch as far as the grand manor I desire in my head.

Still, we press on.

I don’t have a huge amount of spare time at my disposal, so this house inspection malarky is already wearing pretty fucking thin. Last weekend we took both kids with us on a sunny saturday, and let’s just say it didn’t begin OR end well. More about that this Friday! Anyway, to save time I am striking off homes from our list based on a number of reasons, including price, location, extreme ugliness, land size, views and even suburb name and street name! Why be so picky, you ask?

Consider this. I’ve got the whole of Melbourne to choose from (ok, not the good bits) and because I am not from around here I’ve cast a pretty wide net over the suburbs where we might be able to afford something habitable. So do I really have to live in a place called Dingley Village? It sounds like an old people’s home and also makes me think of Dingbats. Call me immature, but that’s my “blink” moment. You know, that instantaneous thought or feeling you get that you absolutely must trust.

Also off the list is any street that has a female first name. Like Tiffany Avenue, Barbara Street (sorry mum), Christina Terrace and Rudolph Court. To me they just all sound ridiculous and I can’t do it. Causing further alarm is Rimmer Street, followed closely by Thrush Street and Ernst Wanke Road. With competition around boasting much stronger and more enticing names, why settle for less?

I drive past a new development almost every day and it looks like a lovely lot of modern homes. Pity they called it Bellenden. I mean, c’mon.

Years ago my brother lived in Bogan Road on the Central Coast of NSW, and whilst it suited him down to the ground with it’s proximity to fishing spots, I personally could never call it home. It leads me to wonder if perfectly lovely homes situated on a road with a dodgy name take a hit financially because of idiots like me? Is Thrush Street akin to living under some power lines or right next door to a busy train line? Or can the Real Estate agents cleverly play into it by highlighting the abundance of chemists in the surrounding area stocked with Canestan? One thing is for sure, I’m not itching to live there (sorry, had to).

My last place in Melbourne was round the corner from Sesame Street which always gave me a chuckle driving past. I could handle Sesame Street. You’d never get lost, someone would always tell you how to get home!

So where will I eventually settle and unpack for more than five minutes? It’s anyone’s guess at this early stage of the game, but I can guarantee you won’t be able to make a joke about the name of the street.

Do you live somewhere silly? Please share with me so I can mock you mercilessly.



  1. I highly recommend that you do not live somewhere you have to spell to people ALL THE FUCKING TIME.
    Our street name sounds really fucking normal, but has an odd letter that throws everyone off. After having to spell my first name to everyone (thanks Mum and Dad) as well as my fucking last name (thanks a lot husband), it gets really exhausting!

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