WHAT’S in a name, goes the old question.

Most people might answer: quite a lot, actually.

It depends on the circumstances, I suppose.

When I first got into politics, people whose job it was to worry about protocols and the like got into quite a sweat about what this new breed of “elected mayor” should be called.

I think they were a bit disappointed when I told them that Ray was quite good enough for me and that if someone spoke to me more formally I would probably think they were talking to someone else.

Names are important, though. There’s nothing more embarrassing – for you or them – when you get someone’s name wrong. I’ve done it, despite my best efforts, and invariably feel bad about it. I marvel at these people who seem to be able to match faces and names without effort.

I am in good company, though. Last week, President Barack Obama caused a lot of innocent mirth when he got the Chancellor confused with his favourite soul singer. After this week’s round of austerity, I suspect George Osborne will have to get used to be called worse names than Jeffrey.

And if you’re the most powerful man in the world, a small slip like that is forgivable.

I know football managers occupy a high pressure position too, but for the life of me, I can’t be so forgiving about the gaffes by the new Newcastle United director of football, Joe Kinnear.

Calling a player “kebab” instead of Cabaye and “afro” instead of Afra, doesn’t seem to me like a slip of the tongue or memory.

The most charitable explanation is that Mr Kinnear thought this ponderous play on words was funny. If that’s true, it suggests to me that he spends far more time than is good for him watching box sets of bad comedy shows from the 1970s.

It is in fact insensitive, unfunny and a little bit insulting to fellow professionals and Kinnear should have learnt his lesson during an earlier gaffe-ridden spell at Newcastle.

Kinnear’s in the right place though. After all, this was the club that came up with the bright idea of renaming St James’ Park as the Sports Direct Arena, a move that shows that if politicians find they’re not rubbing enough people up the wrong way, they can always ask marketing people for some expert advice.

It didn’t end there, of course. Shortly after Alan Shearer launched a tirade against Kinnear’s appointment, in one of those coincidences that make cynics of us all, Shearer’s Bar at the ground was rebranded as Nine.

Perhaps someone at Newcastle has been watching re-runs of The Prisoner as well as those old sitcoms. Maybe the estimable Shearer will give an anguished cry of “I am not a number, I am a free man” next time he meets up with his old mates.

The people of Newcastle – or Ashleyville, as it may very well be known one day – must be shaking their heads over this. It’s no mean feat to have a club in turmoil before a ball’s been kicked.

I suppose this is all about social grace, which isn’t something you learn from books on etiquette or even watching Downton Abbey. It’s in short supply in football stadiums and politics, but it is surprisingly alive and well among ordinary people.

It is the simple practice of common courtesy to the people you meet and do business with day in, day out. The cost is zero, the dividends unlimited.

It is something we should never forget – however big a name we are.