I’ve already mentioned that I occasionally (very occasionally – I mean, only when I’m in an office with nothing else to do) (every hour or so) put my name into Google to see how I’m doing in the James Lark ratings.

Very well, in case you’re interested – but last week I was astonished and perturbed to see that I was being beaten in the Google stakes by the greyhound called James Lark who I’ve already mentioned.

How many people, in all honesty, log on to the internet to read about a greyhound called James Lark? SURELY not more people than the number who log on to read about me?

I have wondered whether the greyhound might have been named after me, and decided that it’s pretty unlikely. But the other day I had a rather horrific thought: what if I was named after the greyhound?

It’s possible, isn’t it? Perhaps my parents won lots of money on the greyhound and – you know – had a baby to celebrate?

I’m really too afraid to ask them.

The most awful thing about this thought was that it occurred on stage during a slot in Jude Simpson’s Mouthful@Venue, and I voiced it in front of a bar full of people.

NB: My siblings may be worried to learn that there was a racing horse in the early 80s called Kevin Lark, and a casino in Las Vegas (where my parents went for a holiday in the autumn of 1985) called Judith Lark.

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