YES, it's unfortunate that the QE2ran into a sandbank on its final voyage, inconveniencing passengers and delaying celebrations in Southampton, writes Frank McNally.
But if any good came from the mishap, it was that it led to a number of media appearances by the Cunard Line's wonderfully named corporate spokesman, "Eric Flounders".
I thank alert reader Donal Kennedy for drawing my attention to the incident. Because in an era when marketeers have inherited the earth and even the humblest worker is encouraged to think of himself as a "personal brand", it is reassuring to know that a man called "Flounders" can still rise to become head of public relations for one of the world's great shipping companies.
The story also reminded me of the case of a friend who recently passed the Department of the Environment's driving theory exam. This was a happy event in itself. But as he looked ahead towards the practical test, my friend was a little unnerved by the signature on the department's congratulatory letter: "R. Skidmore".
Seventy years ago, a US newspaper columnist coined the word "aptronym" - a rearrangement of "patronym" - to describe the phenomenon whereby people have names suited to what they do: nephrologists called "Dr Kidney", dog trainers called "Barker", etc, etc. One sees examples everywhere.
But inaptronyms are, if anything, more fun. For example there is, or at least there used to be, a building firm in England called "Crumbleholme Son". And back in the 1990s, the head of planning at British Airways was a man named "Ron Muddle". Luckily for him, he seems to have moved on before the opening of Terminal 5.
Getting back to aptronyms, there are those who believe that these are not always mere coincidence. In fact, New Scientist magazine has hosted a long-running reader's forum on a subject titled "Nominative Determinism": the possibility that people's names influence the careers they choose.
I believe the theory was first suggested by a notorious study published some years ago in the British Journal of Urology. The subject was "incontinence" and the authors - my apologies in advance, but these are real names - were "J.W. Splatt" and "D.Weedon".
Since then, NSreaders have scoured the world for further examples, uncovering such people as a Vancouver-based psychiatrist specialising in depression and called Dr Misri. But I think Messrs Splatt and Weedon have yet to be bettered.
Victorian writers were great enthusiasts for nominative determinism. Dickens populated his books with characters whose names defined their personalities. Trollope called a fictional doctor "Abel Fillgrave". And 300 years before either of those writers, Shakespeare was doing it too, with the likes of "Justice Shallow" and "Mistress Quickly".
Perhaps the best-known proponent of nominative determinism is the (himself anonymous) father in Johnny Cash's song A Boy Named Sue.
His solitary act of responsible parenting before he quits the family home is to saddle his offspring with a name that will force him to grow up tough, and therefore better able to face a hard world. The song tells us his tactic worked. But if the determinism theory is correct, a boy named Sue - as well as being tough - would also be more likely to become a personal injury lawyer.
The jury is still out on the issue. Certainly it's tempting to think that the Ulster Unionist Party's Reg Empey is fated to become a member of the House of Commons, though it hasn't happened yet.
Some of the best-known aptronyms don't work in their owners' language of origin. Yes we're all amused that a Catholic archbishop called Sin should have ended up a Cardinal. But in his native Philippines, the surname simply means "without". And yes, it's nice that a top 400-metre hurdler (European champion in 1986) should have been called Marina Stepanova. Unfortunately, the woman in question is doubly disqualified: by (1) being Russian; and (2) starting her hurdles career under her maiden name, Makeyeva.
Still, names must have an influence in certain work situations, perhaps convincing interview panels that one candidate has been fated to land the job. How else to explain why Arsenal Football Club should - against very long odds - have a manager called Arsene. And surely back in 1998, the German Bundesliga club Wolfsburg immediately knew it had the right team coach when a man named Wolfgang Wolf applied.
Sometimes fate plays jokes that even Victorian novelists might have considered heavy-handed. In the US, for example, the Republican Party's obstructive approach to climate change reform was for years championed by two congressmen: John Doolittle of California and Tom DeLay of Texas.
Maybe in his original plans for Bleak House, Dickens might have considered having a firm of lawyers called "Doolittle and Delay". But his publishers would probably have suggested something more realistic.
Fate does seem to have a rather black sense of humour. Just ask Will Drop, a curiously-named (but apparently real) Montreal window cleaner. Well, actually, you can't ask him; because according to a 1996 book that records his case, he died in a fall.
On a similar note, spare a thought for two real-life characters called "Wilburn" and "Frizzel". They must have long feared coming to an aptronymic end. And sure enough, on October 6th, 1941 in Florida State Prison, they both went to the electric chair.
• fmcnally@irish-times.ie