If you are a fan of Bones and have yet to see the penultimate episode of series 6, then I should warn you that this post contains a serious spoiler.
I saw this episode last night (intentionally lacking Sky Living, I have to tread the box-set route) and was shocked when the wretches killed off my favourite squint. Not sure why I’d prefer the midland-born Brit obsessed by pointless facts (solipsistic, moi?), but nevertheless I had grown quite fond of Vincent Nigel-Murray. And, what a wonderful – if improbable – character name. Last night I saw him gunned down and suspect that perhaps the Yanks still have a bit of a chip on the shoulder after the whole unpleasantness in the third quarter of the eighteenth century. We Brits are fine in Hollywood as long as we are playing dastardly villains or pretend a local accent, but are not permitted under any other circumstances.
Anyway, as I was trying to deal with this tragedy I was struck by the fact that I couldn’t think of any Americans – famous or otherwise – named Nigel (nor did a web search yield any fruit). I can think of heaps of my compatriots, going back at least as far as the Victorians and the steam engineer Sir Nigel Gresley (immortalised in an A4 Pacific locomotive. Talking of which, I know someone who has a Class 365 EMU named after him – I don’t think I have the hang of celebrity at all, do I?) – but none from across the herring pond. Given their penchant for making up truly extraordinary new names, I wonder what the reason for this apparent aversion to Nigel might be? Or is the US full of Nigels and this is just my ignorance speaking?
Over to you…