A princely name

If we Africans are correct in saying that rain is a sign of fertility, then Britain, which really is a giant sponge with country status, should have a population bigger than China.

However, rain it did last night after the birth of the third in line to the British throne.

Rain, accompanied by very Highveld-like thunder, broke a two-week heat wave that was far more Kalahari than Kensington.

It put paid to any lingering decision there might be about a name for Queen Elizabeth's great-grandchild.

Forget John, Paul, George or Ringo. Dispose of James, Henry and Edward.

Go for Pula.

All the signs are there to name the new prince of Cambridge after the Tswana name for name - and money.

Of course, if Prince William and the Duchess of Cambridge really want to thank us for re-entering the Commonwealth after the summary expulsion of the Apartheid regime, they might consider Bokkie.

That might find the lad a place in the Blue Bulls in less than two decades.

And who could ask for anything more?

This morning, the choice of name dominated the Starbucks near Southfield tube stop.

(For those of you planning to watch Andy Murray return to his losing ways next year, make a note that this is the closest stop to Wimbledon.)

Listening to the moniker speculation was as stimulating as a couple of Mogodons.

At the White Horse on Parson's Green last night, five hours after the royal birth, but only an hour after its announcement, the reaction was louder but far less articulate.

It went "arrrrhhh" and "oooohhhaaa" like the local yobs do when Chelsea wins a game.

One has to concede, nevertheless, that nobody does organisation of pomp and ceremony like the Brits.

For 12 hours yesterday, we saw the Royal correspondents and presenters do what journalists least like to do: wait.

Much of this was the unedifying sight of hacks interviewing hacks: the classic sign of a story going cold.

More power to Buckingham Palace for sticking to the time-tested formula of posting the first news on an elaborate easel outside the royal residence.

This morning, an orderly queue of people under umbrellas waiting to take a picture of that note snaked away from the palace gates.

In doing so, the royal household beat Twitter and other social media - and who else can claim that in this day and age?

For today then, the royal birth eclipses the weather as the subject of choice for British chattering.

It's hardly gripping stuff.

So, as I did after watching the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana 32 years ago, I'm heading for Paris.

Ca suffit, genoeg.

I forgot to pack my noise cancellation headphones.