I was born 41 years ago today. (Tech­ni­cal­ly, yesterday, as it’s now the early hours of March 16th.) I was to have been called Vincent after my father, but my mother’s father, George Victor Clery, had died just 12 days before. I was baptised George Vincent Reilly on March 17th, St. Patrick’s Day.

Beware the Ides of March, I tell people: You might have to buy George a present. Better a birthday present than the reception that Julius Caesar received on March 15th, 44BC.

I’ve never liked the name George all that much, but I’ve never disliked it enough to do anything about it. (Emma legally changed her entire name about ten years ago.) "George" has the advantage that it’s largely gone out of fashion, but everyone recognizes it. How many Jeffs and Mikes and Scotts do you know? And how many Georges?

I realized over dinner with Emma that 15 years ago today, I took a momentous step: I came out as bisexual. It scared the hell out of me at the time. It hasn’t always been easy. But it was definitely the right thing to do.