So she took her husband's name after all. According to the website of the London-based law firm where Amal Alamuddin works, she will be henceforth known as Mrs Clooney. A fitting end after a fairytale wedding, I suppose: you can't get more traditional than changing your name. But as she practises her new signature, perhaps ringing around a few of the world's hottest restaurants to wonder if they might squeeze in the Clooneys at short notice, she might spare a thought for those less fortunate. What about those of us with surnames so dull, you would understand if your wife-to-be didn't want it?
A few months ago, my name was Chris Jones. You probably know a Chris Jones. After years of getting emails meant for my namesakes, I have no particular attachment to it.
So when I met, fell in love with and proposed to Sophie Evans - another surname which has a chapter in the phone book - we were both open to discussion about what our married name should be. We sat for hours in the weeks before our wedding, writing combinations Jones, Evans, Jones-Evans and Evans-Jones, even - madly - Jevans.
We couldn't decide. We tried answering imaginary phone calls with new names but cringed at each one. Double-barrelling didn't work - either with or without the hyphen (without seemed marginally less tacky), and we couldn't find a convincing Brangelina-style "mesh-up", so we reached for the nuclear option.
We ransacked our respective family trees for inspiration, which was when I suggested my mum's maiden name: Thundow. Still in use by my grandparents and by my uncle's family, here was a name that had a strong family tie but was mercifully uncommon and, to my mind, very slightly superhero-ish. Sophie loved it, too, so we both got excited by the idea of a new life spent repeatedly spelling our new unusual surname over the phone.