IT is years ago since we wrestled with the problems of choosing a name for the imminent baby. In fact it was so many years ago, although post-Tudor England, that actually we did not know the sex of the imminent arrival until it popped out. So we had to hedge our bets with a list of boys’ and girls’ names.

In polite circles you nodded reflectively when friends told you they were going to call their new-born Chiswell or Norton, and limped towards mustering enthusiasm.

No matter what name you chose, some people would have given their dog the same moniker, or provide some other negative reason why you should abandon your choice. However, the names we chose were because we liked them and we did not seek commendation from others.

However, I found it strange that a couple in northern France had wanted to name their baby Nutella. In effect, the French can name their child as they prefer, but the registrar can object and refuse the choice of name, forcing the parents to either change their choice or resort to the courts. In this case, the parents took the matter to the courts and there, permission to name the child Nutella was forbidden in law.

We all have our favourite foods and beverages and I am told the Italian hazelnut spread is nutritious and contains quality ingredients. I am very fond of a pint of Brakspear’s or Hook Norton and, if it is kept well, a pint of London Pride can go down well, but it would never have occurred to name a son Brakspear or Pride. Further, I doubt if there are too many car enthusiasts who were tempted to name their child Lamborghini, Saab and Overhead-Cams.

Yet it was not the fact someone wanted to name their child Nutella that surprised me but the fact it was refused. In the UK you can pretty well choose what you want and I well recall a football enthusiast naming his son after the England World Cup-winning team’s first names.

The French court ruling was made for the protection of the child, preventing the saddling of an infant with a name that is likely to prompt teasing and jokes as she grows up. In the case of remarriage, a name combination may prompt the child to seek a change and this will be permitted by the courts if she is named such as Jean Bon, which sounds like jambon (ham) or, as was the case in one court permit: Annick Mamere, which is perilously close to the slang “a nique ma mere”, that translated means she has sexual intercourse with my mother.

Of course there is nothing preventing the couple calling and referring to their daughter as Nutella, Filet Mignon, Sun Pat or Mon Petit Chou (My Little Cabbage), because the French, as we know, can make rules and then spend considerable energy and time circumventing them.

So Mr and Mrs d’Arc may decide to call their daughter Nutella, Gemima or Nierley but not on official documents such as the passport, birth and marriage certificates, where she must be Jeanne d’Arc or whatever saint’s and variant name they choose from the accepted lists. Otherwise she can call herself Nierley d’Arc or other options but it is a name of usage, not legality.

Similarly another couple in northern France were prevented from calling their daughter, Fraise. It is French for strawberry, and this was also refused on the grounds it would provide the child with unwanted attention as she grew up. I found this surprising because children are called Fleur (flower) and I doubt if they have suffered unduly in their schooldays from boys asking if they can pick them or sniff them.

Similarly Mr and Mrs Renault were prevented from calling their daughter Megane, even though it is a much-used first name. Their appeal to the courts was successful, according to the French newspaper, The Local, which is written in English and I read every day, as it provides insights into France.

Not so successful was the couple who wanted to call their son Joyeux (Happy), which was booted out of court because that is the name of a famous dwarf; as was the case of twins and the attempt to name them Babord and Tribord (port and starboard), yet I read that over 150 chiidren have been given the name Moche since World War II.

This once again demonstrates that the case of the law being an ass is not restricted to the UK. The French authorities have accepted Moche in the past, yet have turned down Fraise. You can’t call your daughter Strawberry but you can call you child Moche: Ugly.