I taught a Lee Rozee (which on the register was funnier than it might immediately appear), a lad whose surname was Mudd ("is your name Mudd?"), a lad called Oral, and he was indeed all mouth, and two memorable Turkish boys, one called Attila and the other called Ferid. Pronounced Ferret. We were on a walk to the local swimming baths one day and I had to call Ferid back in line, prompting a passer-by to grab me by the arm and tell me I really shouldn't be calling a child that. And then the Turkish boy whose surname was God ... oh, how hard it was to resist the impulse to write "God's habit of omnipresence is getting a little intrusive in the staffroom but his omniscience lets him down with his French verbs". While on teaching practice in Spain I had a Jesus ("Jesus, will you get your book out and stop mucking about") and an Immaculada Concepcion. No, you couldn't shorten it. But my all-time favourite was the child whose name in the register was Siobhan, who took no notice of me when I said her name and eventually sighed heavily and said "Miss, it's pronounced Seeb-haan".