HAVING an unusual name has been a mixed blessing for me. It is true that, like Tigger, I’m the only one.

But for every person who likes the sound of my name (or even thinks I might be French), there are a dozen who have to have it spelled out for them.

There are those who think I might be related to a 20th-century Swiss Expressionist, and others who are not even sure of my gender. Over the years, I have been Frank Lee, F Klee and Fran Glee and I was even, aged eight, dubbed Master Francoine Clee in print after winning a painting competition in my local weekly paper.

I wouldn’t have minded so much, but there was a photograph of me with the story.

However, it could have been so much worse. My unfortunate younger sister was named not just Tracey, but Tracey Sharon: a double helping of chav.

Now, I am aware that I am treading on thin ice here.

For evidence of how touchy people are about their names, look no further than the case of Activities Abroad, the holiday firm which has run into a storm by offering ‘chav-free’ breaks.

The company has done a survey of customers and has declared that anyone taking a holiday with them is unlikely to run into fellow travellers named Britney, Kylie-Lianne, Bianca, Tiffany, Dazza, Chardonnay, Chantelle, Candice, Courtney or Shannon.

Instead, the company claims, you’re more likely to be rubbing shoulders with people called John, Sarah, James, Charles, Rachel, Michael, Alice, Lucy, Joseph or Charlotte.

It’s a high-risk strategy, this: I personally know a number of chaps who would be more than happy to go on holiday with a woman called Britney, Kylie or Courtney.

And the firm has been given a thorough kicking from outraged people, including one particular businesswoman called Candice who has two degrees, four A-Levels, a clutch of diplomas, two languages and a Mercedes Benz.

“Happy-slap that, you idiot,” she tells the company boss whose idea the whole thing was.

I can see both sides. Naturally, my sister, like many Traceys and Sharons in this world, is a paragon of elegance and good taste. And my mum’s excuse is that both names were as unusual as Francine when she chose them.

And yet, and yet. I was named Francine after Sacha Distel’s wife, and my middle name, Lesley, was given in admiration of a French actress.

I’m not sure where Sharon came from but I believe mum chose Tracey after Grace Kelly’s character in High Society.

I’m not sure that any of that is so far removed from calling your kid after heroines in EastEnders, Neighbours or Footballers’ Wives. And it is surely classic chav for the names to be misspelled: Grace’s character was Tracy with no ‘e’, and Ms Caron’s first name is Leslie.

Move over, Vicky Pollard. It’s time for me and my sister to push the pram for a bit.


* WHISPER it low, but a girl of my acquaintance has just been out shopping. Kick-starting the economy, she calls it: and what a refreshing idea that is.

It’s been a number of months since I last did my bit for the Good Ship Britannia, unless you count buying Christmas presents or industrial quantities of chocolate.

I went out the other day armed with a reasonable amount of birthday money, but was only able to buy a 70-per-cent-off top.

My country may need me, but right now I need a substantial head for heights when heading out with a purse in my hand.