The houses I grew up in all had names, but not the houses I’ve had as an adult. I wish they had, but if you add one now it does look pretentious. That said, the little house I lived in from the ages of five until seven was called Kosy Kot when my parents bought it. That had to be changed pronto! My parents, called it Newthorpe, a translation of Neudorf, a village in Germany that they liked. We then moved to the more decorous (but boring) The Beeches, where I lived the rest of my childhood. It had large copper beech trees in the garden.
My elder son and my brother both live in roads where there are no numbers, so their houses had their names (luckily nice ones) when they bought them. I’m a bit envious.
Not long ago I went back to look at The Beeches. The house was still there, but the name had gone, along with most of the other house names in the road, which had been widened, so the gates bearing the names had gone. Sad, I thought. Numbers are so much less imaginative.