what's your middle name?

Someone once told me that you should try to learn something new every day.
With this in mind, each day of 2012 I will try to discover the middle name of someone I do not know.
This blog charts my progress.
Richard M. Crawley


Monday 31 December 2012

Nial

Buying two bottles of cava in the local supermarket, I am served by a tall man with spiky black hair.  His shirt is thinly striped with a white collar.  I put the bottles into my rucksack and turn to leave.  'Happy new year', he says.  I turn back.  I ask my question.  He gives me an answer and spells it.  'You're my last one', I say.  He nods.  I wish him a happy 2013.

Sunday 30 December 2012

Hanon Hanbury

Eating a mushroom and leek tart and drinking a caffe latte in nicely presented delicatessen, the man behind the counter offers us cake for half price.  'We're on holiday for five days over new year', he tells us.  'And we don't want it to go to waste'.  He is young, with a round face and curly hair.  He is wearing a black high-necked t-shirt and black jeans.  There is a tempting array on offer.  I ask which he recommends.

'We're known for our courgette and lemon curd', he says, gesturing towards the frosted cake on the glass stand in front of him.  'And you can't really go wrong with Victoria Sponge'.  There is a four layered chocolate cake.  'It tastes like it looks', he says. 

My friend asks about the orange and polenta.  'It's mine', says an older woman who is also working behind the counter.  Her glasses are bright blue and she is wearing and stripey long-sleeved top.  Her wispy grey hair is tied back in a rough ponytail.  She explains that she is saving half of it for her niece who is gluten intolerant.  I ask about the coffee bundt.  'If you're looking for something sophisticated', she says.  She is fond of the lemon drizzle.

We opt for the courgette and lemon curd and, on going to pay, I ask the lady my question.  'Mine's boring', she says (it's Jane).  'You should ask him'.  She points towards the round-faced boy.  I ask.  He gives me an answer.  'His first name is Harroway', she says.  He explains that he was named after the last Saxon man standing in 1066, although Google is unable to confirm this for me later.  He thinks his middle names are family names.

I realise, on leaving, that I should have asked if his surname makes his initial quadruple.

Saturday 29 December 2012

Clara Louise

At an alpine-themed birthday party, two girls are on either side of the corridor eating vodka jelly.  The floor is lined with fake snow and there is a stag's head made of cardboard hanging in the hall.  Passing through on my way out, I pause to ask my question.

The girl to my right, whose hair is mid-length and permed, doesn't have one but offers me her full name instead.  The girl to my left, whose hair is long and half tied-back in a ponytail, is more help.  'I've got two', she says.  She is wearing heavy blue eye-liner and is a cousin of the hostess.  She tells me that her family had to change their name from 'Rubenstein' because of prejudice.  Her grandfather ended up sticking a pin in the phone book to come up with a suitable alternative.

I want to find out more but there are good byes to be said and overland trains to catch.

Friday 28 December 2012

Martin

In a London pub, I am having difficulties deciding what to drink  I am honing in one a light hoppy ale.  'This is what it looks like', says the man who is sitting on a bar stool next to me.  He is large with short white hair and speckled stubble.  His posture is slouched.

'Can he sniff it?', asks my friend who has been out of the country for several months.  He is taken aback.  I tell him that I probably don't need to and order it anyway.  Whilst waiting for it to be poured, I ask my question.  He gives me an answer.  'Sorry', he says.  'I'm still a bit in shock'.  I ask why.  'It's been a long time since a young lady asked if she could sniff it', he replies.  I don't like to put him right.

Thursday 27 December 2012

Elizabeth

At an extended family Christmas gathering I meet, for the first time, a first cousin once removed.  She is two months old and is wearing a ladybird baby-grow.  She seems to be taking the proceedings in her stride.

I have to ask her mother to provide me with her middle name.

Wednesday 26 December 2012

Mary

An elderly lady is waiting at the bus-stop with a zimmer frame.  She is upright and smartly dressed with short grey hair.  As I approach, she gives me a knowing smile.  She seems happy to give me an answer.  'I was just thinking', she says.  'I've been waiting an awfully long time for the bus'.  I ask what number she is waiting for and she tells me she is on the way to the hospital.  She had fallen over and hit her head on the hard parquet floor.  I notice a small cut to the left of her forehead.  'I was going to go to bed but then I thought I'd better go and get it checked out', she says.  I tell her that I can check when the next one is coming on my phone if she would like.  'Can you do that?' she asks.  I find that there is one due in five minutes.

I check that she is alright and ask if she would like me to wait with her until the bus arrives.  'No thank you very much', she says.  'I only wish I could do you a favour in return'.  I tell her that she already has.  She takes a hand off the frame to shake mine.  I wish her a very safe journey.

Tuesday 25 December 2012

Ivan

On a posthumous dog walk with my family in the rain, a couple are walking towards us.  They are middle-aged and well-heeled.  She is wearing a bright red coat and a pill-box hat which is black with beige scribbles.  He is wearing a tailored jacket and carrying a full-length umbrella with a cane handle.  The hair that he has is white and shaved close to his scalp.  They look as though they are following a map on an electronic device.  I halt their progress to ask my question. 

'Well you can't ask me because I don't have one', says the lady.  She looks at me through wire-rimmed spectacles.  I turn my attention to the gentleman. He is well spoken and gentle.  He pronounces his middle name with a long 'a'.  I ask if it is Russian.  'Obviously', he replies.  But he does not know why his parents chose it.

We wish each other a happy Christmas and my family and I continue to walk the dog that died three-and-a-half years ago across the Common.

Monday 24 December 2012

Fuck Off, Lennon, Kieran and Lee

The night before Christmas and four youths are stumbling down the pavement wearing a variety of hoodies and sportswear. One, with a fluffy moustache, stares intently and nods as I explain my request.  Another, with a pointy nose and spiky hair, directs his response close to my face.  'How about mine's, fuck off', he says.  'Really?' I reply.  A third, who is wearing a grey hoodie over a white t-shirt, shakes his head.  'Nah, nah, nah', he says and gives me an answer with a flick of his wrist.  'As in John Lennon?' I ask.  He points at his chest.  'As in Dominic Lennon', he replies.  The fourth, whose head is shaved, has walked ahead.  He turns round and throws his arms in the air to announce his.  The one with the fluffy moustache is the last to give me an answer as they stagger away in high spirits.

Sunday 23 December 2012

Guy and Ann

Walking towards me are a youngish couple.  'It's not 2012 yet', says the girl when I stop them to explain my resolution.  She is wearing maroon tights and a bright blue coat.  Her hair matches her legs.

I have to tell her that it has been 2012 for quite some time.  The man cottons on.  'You must be nearly finished then', he says.  He is wearing a dark padded coat with a yellow lining.  His hair is short and windswept.  I tell him that he is right.

'We've got two', says the girl.  'Do you want them both?'  The man clarifies.  'Not two each', he says.  'Two between us'.  I ask what they are and check the spelling.  We all agree that they are good, simple middle names.  'That's what middle names should be', says the girl.

Saturday 22 December 2012

Joseph

A small elderly man is coming out of the pub.  He is wearing a flat cap and a padded jacket, under which is hung a tartan-patterned scarf.  In his hand he is carrying a fold-away umbrella.  I ask my question.

'What is it that he wants to know?' he asks my friend.  He is Irish.  She explains.  'You're beautiful', he says and kisses her hand.  He tells me his full name.  'That's a nice name', says my friend.  'It isn't bad now, is it?' he says.  He asks my name and I offer my hand to shake.  He clasps it to his chest.  'What else would you like to know?' he asks.  I say I'd like to know whatever he'd like to tell me.  His chuckle is high-pitched.

He tells us that he knows Santa.  'He has a long white beard and he wears a grey coat', he says.  They talk via landline because Santa doesn't have a mobile phone but they can't understand what each other are saying because Santa doesn't speak English.  'He comes from another land', he tells us.

He lives in the estate round the corner and so we each take an arm and walk him home.  The progress is slow.  'I just think you're wonderful', he tells us.  'I hope the angels come down for you this Christmas'.  It is raining but he doesn't put up his umbrella.

As we approach his door we wish each other happy Christmases.  'I hope you have a wonderful time', he says.  We check that he is going to get in alright.  'Oh, I should think so, yes', he says.  He cocks his folded umbrella.  'Or I'll shoot me way in'.

Friday 21 December 2012

Simone

The DJ is playing tunes at my local and people are getting up to dance.  Two enthusiastic ladies approach our table and try to drag us away from our pints.  When we suggest that we might finish our drinks first, one of the ladies, who has a fringe and blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, holds a tea light over my head.  'I'll pour hot wax on you if you don't dance', she says.  'Please don't', I reply.  She doesn't.  They move on.

Later, on my way back from the toilet, my wrist gets grabbed by the other of the two.  She is tall, with long dark hair that is wavy.  She wears a strappy top and leather boots.  'We don't mean no malice', she says.  'We work for a charity'.  Prince is singing about the night before the millenium and I throw some half-hearted shapes.  As the song ends I ask my question.  She gives me an answer and lets me go.

Thursday 20 December 2012

Sarah

Buying a bottle of wine and some Greek yogurt in a small convenience store, a woman tries to push in front with a bottle of Ribena Light.  'Oh sorry', she says.  'I didn't realise you were doing him'.  Her hair is thick and black and cut into a sharp bob and fringe.  She has a silver stud in her upper lip.  Her bag is black leather.

I use the opportunity to ask my question.  She laughs a low, guttural laugh and gives me an answer.  I have finished my transaction and leave her to her purchase.

Wednesday 19 December 2012

Lesley

'You're lucky', says the short woman with grey hair who is selling ice-creams at a suburban theatre.  'I've only just given myself one'.  She is wearing a long cardigan which is embroidered repeatedly with the first four letters of the alphabet.  On her nose is a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and around her neck hangs a large gold crucifix.  She tells me that it was only about a year ago that she chose and adopted a  middle name for herself.  'I had to fill in a lot of forms', she says.

I ask what prompted the decision.  'When I was younger I wanted to be a boy', she says.  She smiles.  'I've got over that now'.  She chose the name because she likes it but spells it the female way.  I ask why her parents didn't give her one.  She explains that her mother named her after a movie star and she didn't want to add anything extraneous.

Heading back into the theatre, I catch her eye.  We wave.

Tuesday 18 December 2012

Melanie and Anne

Two girls in black are waiting outside a concert venue.  They are going to see a band made famous in the nineties for singing a song about starting fires.  One of the girls is tall, the other short.  They are drinking out of a two-litre 7-Up bottle.  I stop to ask my question.

'I really hate it' says the shorter of the two about her middle name.  He hair is long and wavy.  The taller of the two wants me to know that hers is spelled with an 'e'.  Her hair is in a neat bob and she is wearing heavy make-up.

I thank them for their help and leave them to their lemon and lime fizzy pop.

Monday 17 December 2012

Katse

'Excuse me', says a girl in a popular American clothing store.  'Could you try on a jacket for me?'  She is wearing a black padded coat and has long dark hair that is parted in the middle.  She is carrying several bags and her posture is slightly hunched.  I am happy to help.  She is buying a present for a relative who is about my size.  We try on the medium.  It fits but is a little spacious.  It is a tawny-coloured wind jacket with a hood and fleece interior.  She passes me the same jacket but in small.  'I think that's better', she says.  I agree.  'In fact', I say, 'I quite like it'.  I am almost reluctant to give it back.  'It's difficult to find clothes in autumnal colours', she says.

I do give the jacket back but ask if I might have a middle name in return.  She says she doesn't have one but then considers.  'I've got a Chinese one', she says.  'But I don't know if that really counts'.  I decide that, after yesterday's effort, it definitely does.

Sunday 16 December 2012

James

With the promise of an unknown guest at my mince pies and mulled wine gathering (the cousin of the girlfriend of a friend), I smugly turn down opportunities during the day.  The lady at the supermarket till tells me I could have got a five pound voucher if I had joined their membership scheme.  In a shop for nick-nacks I spend some time discussing with the owner the relative merits of loop bulb fairy lights versus LEDs (I go for the loop bulb).  The man who is helping out in the florists says, 'You know about as much about flowers as I do', when I ask him for 'some of those white things'.  But I remain middle-nameless.

I open the door to my friend and his girlfriend (who are vegans) but they are alone.  'Where's your cousin?' I ask.  They mumble excuses.  With vegetarian sausage rolls in the oven and mugs to be filled, I foresee difficulties in finding a moment to slip away.

Instead, I fall upon a late arrival.  'Do you know anyone's middle name who I don't know?' I ask her.  She offers up that of her ex-boyfriend, of whom I have heard tale but have never met.  I decide that will have to suffice but go to bed giving myself a stern lecture about counting chickens.


Saturday 15 December 2012

Nicholas

A bald man approaches me in the street.  'Excuse me', he says.  I continue walking.  'I've just got out of hospital'.  I pause.  He pulls up the sleeve of his bomber jacket to show me a hospital tag.  On his left forearm is some cotton wool stuck with tape.  'I can see you're gentle', he says.  He explains that he has just been discharged and he needs sixty-four pence.  'I got stabbed', he says.  I've been in a coma for six months'.

His story seems worthy of a pound and I look in my pocket.  'Thanks, mate', he says.  'I'll give you a hundred pound if I ever see you again'.  I tell him that wouldn't be necessary but ask if I might have a middle name in return.  He leans back and smiles.  He doesn't seem to have any teeth.  'What's your name?' he asks.  I tell him.  He considers, chuckles and leans forward.  'God', he says in a hushed tone.  'Is that your middle name?' I ask.  He laughs and gives me a more plausible answer.

I thank him for his help and wish him luck.  'God bless yer', he says.

Friday 14 December 2012

Lionel

In a shopping centre between Snappysnaps and Poundland, a girl tries to hand me a leaflet about a charity that help people in crisis.  I tell her that I already donate via direct debit each month.  She gives me a high-five.  She is wearing gloves.

I take advantage of the goodwill to ask my question.  She doesn't have one but turns to her colleague who is standing by the stall.  He looks bored and is wearing a black overcoat underneath which peaks a red tie.  He smiles.  'Why do you want to know that?' he asks.  I explain.  He gives me an answer.  'After Thundercats?' I ask (although I remember later that I was thinking of Lion o).  'After Ritchie', he replies.

I thank them for their help.  'You've made my day with that question', says the girl and I receive a second gloved high-five.

Thursday 13 December 2012

John Thornley

At my parents' house for supper, my father has two musical companions with whom he is about to play piano trios.  One, whom I have met before, is an enthusiastic cellist of about his age who is wearing a patterned woollen jumper.  The other is a violinist of about my age whose hair is blonde and parted at the side.  He is wearing a red fleece with a zip.

My mother suggests that an opportunity might have presented itself.  The violinist, whom I have never met before, gives me an answer.  The first is the name by which he is called.  The second is a family name.  The cellist doesn't have one because his father thought that two names were enough.

My issue resolved, the conversation moves on to questions of tempo, the perfectness of perfect pitch and the controversial use of vibrato in Baroque music.


Wednesday 12 December 2012

Neil (McFarlane?)


‘I’ve been waiting to order a packet of Roast beef crisps for the past twenty minutes’, says the young man sitting next to me at the bar.  I ask if he wants me to order them for him.  ‘No’, he says.  His hair is combed back from his forehead and he has a small hoop earring in his left ear.  His knee is exposed.  For a moment I think he is wearing unseasonal shorts but they are, in fact, a pair of heavily ripped jeans.  ‘I couldn’t make you do that’.  I offer him a deal.

He gives me his middle names in exchange for crisps.  ‘Why do you have two?’ I ask.  ‘Why do you have one?’ is his reply.  His companion, with dark hair parted like curtains, watches with a wry expression.

On returning to my table, I get my comeuppance from Sunday’s hubris.  My mind is blank.  It is made worse by trying out various possibilities with my friends.  I look back to the bar to see if I can seek verification but my middle name and his crisps have gone. 

Tuesday 11 December 2012

Josephine

It is late and the misty cold has left the streets deserted.  In the distance, I spot a group of winter coats and bobble hats huddled outside a pub.  They are standing round a single small suitcase and attempting to roll cigarettes.  I approach to explain my resolution.

'What has this done for your life?' asks the girl standing closest to me.  She has a filter between her lips.  'You're nearly done', says another who is wearing horn-rimmed spectacles.  The girl standing on my left asks me whose middle name I want.  She has an enormous mass of red curly hair done up to the side of her head.  'I don't have one', says another, whose bobble is cream and fluffy.

The red-haired girl offers hers.  'After the Queen?' I ask.  She doesn't know.  I ask the purpose of the suitcase.  'Do you draw?' she says.  'Sometimes', I reply.  They tell me that they have just held an inaugural life-drawing class at a local cafe.  The suitcase contains their 'set'.  'It's quite elaborate', she says.  They invite me to the next class in July.  'You might discover you've got a talent', says the girl whose filter is now being rolled into a cigarette.


Monday 10 December 2012

Jane

'Fuckin' hell', says the woman standing beside me on the traffic island.  She looks at me.  ''Scuse my French', she says.  Her hair is cut in a bob, she has on gold earrings and she is wearing glasses.  'It's too cold', she says.  We comment on the number of cars.  I take advantage of the heavy traffic to ask my question.  As she answers there is a break in the traffic flow and we cross together.

I ask whether or not it is spelled with a 'y'.  'Without', she replies.  'Unfortunately for me'.  She tells me she thinks it is boring.  'I don't like my first name either', she says.  It is Amanda but often shortened to Mandy.  'It sounds babyish', she says stopping at a cash point.

She asks why I am doing this.  'Is it some sort of university project?' she asks.  She tells me that her daughter is at university.  She is studying Architecture at Canterbury.    She says she is worried that her daughter will build a dream house and send her mother to the servant's quarters.  'Only joking', she says.  'She wouldn't do that to her mum'.  She has four other children, the youngest of which is two.  She has tried to give them more interesting names than her own.

She takes her cash and we walk down the road together.  I tell her my brother is an architect.  She asks if he's doing alright.  Suddenly she stops.  'I'm supposed to be going the other way', she says.  'I don't know why I'm walking down 'ere with you'.  We shake hands and she walks off briskly in the opposite direction.

Sunday 9 December 2012

Hernan and Owen

At a bar, I find myself standing next to a short man and a tall man.  The short man is wearing a t-shirt that exposes two arms covered in tattoos.  Down one forearm is an image of a large dagger.  His face is round and topped with a black pork-pie hat.  He appears to be staring at me.  'I'm sorry', I say.  'Have I pushed in?'  The tall man shakes his head.  He has dark hair and well-kept stubble.  'No, no', he says.  'He's just like that'.  I decide to ease the tension by asking my question.  The short man looks at me blankly.  The tall man begins to explain.  'I understand what he's asking', says the short man.  he gives me an answer.  I have to ask him to spell it.  'Where's it from?' I ask.  'I've never looked into it', he says.

'Do you want to know mine?' asks the tall man.  'Okay', I reply.  'You have to guess', he says.  He tells me it begins with 'O'.  I get it first time.  'Yeh', he says, 'there aren't many'.  I tell him I've had a lot of practice.  He is concerned that I will forget.  I assure him that I won't.  'How do you do that?' he asks.

The short man waves goodbye as I collect my drinks and head back to the table.  Shaken by the tall man's concern, I jot down the names on the back of a receipt.

Saturday 8 December 2012

Roisn Eilish

About to leave a pub with sixteen minutes to go until midnight, I ask the bar-lady who is clearing glasses from tables.  She is wearing a purple fleecy top with a zip and her short dark hair is tied back into a ponytail.  She is Irish and seems pleased to oblige.

'Do you want me to write them down for you?' she asks when I am having difficulty in grasping the pronunciation.  I tell her that I have a pen.  'I've got some paper', she says.  She tells me that the second part of her middle name means goddess of hope.  'My first name is Bronagh', she says. 'which means child of sorrow'.  I ask which is more fitting to her experience of life.  She considers.  'Probably my first name', she says.  She laughs.

As we say our goodbyes she reaches up to kiss me on the cheek.  We pass again at the door.  She laughs and we high-five.  


Friday 7 December 2012

Frederick

A middle-aged couple ask the way to Camberwell Church Street.  They are each pulling suitcases made of plastic on wheels.  The man has short grey hair and appears well-groomed.  I point them in the direction and ask my question.

 It is noisy so the man has to direct his ear towards my mouth.  When he has understood, he gives me an answer.  He is from Austria.  I thank him.  'If I will have been of any help to you', he says. 'then fine'.  They wheel their suitcases onwards towards their destination.

Thursday 6 December 2012

Mary

A young woman is standing by the sliding doors of a supermarket smoking a rolled-up cigarette.  She is wearing a poncho in bright turquoise and a purple and brown-striped skirt.  Her red lipstick matches her short curled hair.

On my way out, I ask my question.  'Oh right', she says and gives me an answer.  Her expression is one of slight bamboozlement.  I thank her for her help and leave her to her cigarette.

Wednesday 5 December 2012

Jonathan

Two men wearing, what I would refer to as fur-lined deer stalkers, but the internet informs me are more properly called Ushankas, are standing on the pavement.  'Sorry to disturb you', I begin.  'It's not that disturbing', says one, whose hands are in the pockets on his jacket.  He has a moustache.  'Try us out'.  I explain my resolution.

'Eliminated', says his companion, on whose pointed nose sits a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles.  He tells me he has just had it removed from his passport.  'I didn't chose it and I didn't like it', he says.  He looks towards the man with his hands in his pockets.

'It's not Jennifer', he says.  I say that I assumed it wasn't.  'Someone's middle name is Jennifer', he says.  I agree that it is likely (in fact Tuesday 10th April confirms it) but tell him that doesn't help my present cause.  With a sigh, he gives me an answer.  His companion is surprisingly surprised.  'Is it?' he asks.  It is cold and I leave them to their discussion.

(The Ushanka hat as we know it today dates from Russia during the Second World War.  The fur ear flaps can be tied up to the crown of the cap or below the chin to protect the ears, jaw and lower chin from the cold.  Wikipedia points out that the fur also offers 'some protection against blunt impacts to the head'.)

Tuesday 4 December 2012

Teresa

A man and a woman are having a tete-a-tete outside the bookies.  They are both squat and about the same height.  He is wearing a white baseball cap.  She has frizzy hair tied back in a ponytail.  I approach to ask my question.

''Ere we go', says the man.  'I've met you before'.  The woman spreads her arms.  She speaks mouthily.  'You've gotta guess mine', she says.  'It's after a saint'.  The man tries to pull her away.  I try Frances, Margaret and Elizabeth.  'Are you a bit doolally?' she asks.  'Very probably', I reply.  The man needs the toilet.  'Come on, Steph', he says.  'Nah', I'm going to chat to Rupert here', she says.  She tugs at my yellow-checked scarf.  The man goes into the bookies.

She asks me what I do during the day.  I tell her.  We talk about a love of language and the fact that long words don't have to be scary.  I ask her what she does during the day.  'Absolutely nothing at the moment', she says.  'Sometimes I get a bit ill'.  When she is well she volunteers in customer service.  'We all know what it's like when it's bad', she says.  She prides herself on giving it good.  'I'm a people person', she says.

The man returns.  I tell him that I'm sure I haven't asked him before.  'Nah', he says.  'You asked my friend'.  He makes to move away.  'He's a people person too', says the woman.  I say that I'm not sure that he likes me.  'It's not that I don't like you', he says.  'I just don't know you'.

I thank the woman for her help and say it was nice to meet her.  She puts out her hand and we shake.  She wishes me a good Christmas.

Monday 3 December 2012

Terry and Marie

Two girls are huddled outside a shop in the cold.  One has turned up the collar of her tweed overcoat.  The other is wearing a green bobble hat and a thick scarf of many colours.  I ask my question.  The girl in the tweed overcoat answers first.  Her friend is surprised by the answer.  'My Mum is Italian', she says, 'so it was going to be Teresa' (the italics indicate an Italian accent and hand gesture).  'But then she was moving to London so she wanted to make it a bit more...'  'Street?' I suggest.  'Urban', she replies.  I check the spelling.

She looks towards her friend.  'What's yours?' she asks.  The girl in the bobble hat gives an answer.  'French?' I ask.  'No, just boring', she replies.

Sunday 2 December 2012

Irene

In the basement of a department store, I ask the shop assistant whether they have any pudding basins to make Christmas pudding.  'Yes', she says.  'We've got loads'.  On taking me to the display, however, we discover that the only ones remaining are individual-sized.  'That's not what you're looking for, is it?' she says.  I confirm that it is not.  'I'm sorry', she says.

We discuss whether I am too late to be starting.  'It depends what you're going for', she says.  We talk about the different methods of steeping fruit in alcohol.  She has a bob of dark hair and wants to help.  Before leaving, I ask my question. 

'Do I have to tell you mine?' she asks.  I tell her it is not obligatory.  She does anyway.  'Four generations it's been passed down', she tells me.  'I hate it'.  Then she adds, 'And I lumbered my daughter with it too.  That's the sort of mother I am'.

Saturday 1 December 2012

Geoffrey/Jeffrey?

The young child who watches me drink my coffee in the over-priced cafe of a bookshop doesn't have one.  His mother is Spanish and wanted to keep things simple.  Nor does the man standing in the cold by the Royal Festival hall with a walkie-talkie.

Instead, walking home past the new local, I pause to ask two smokers if they have a middle name to spare.  'That's fantastic', says the man who is standing by a picnic table.  'I love it'.  His long hair is wavy.  He leans forward with enthusiasm.  His companion (who is seated at the picnic table and has a dark fringe) smiles broadly.  'Does that mean you are going to have three-hundred and sixty-five middle names by the end of the year?', he asks.  'I hope so', I reply. 

He gladly gives me an answer.  I tell him that he is the first of that name I've had this year.  He is pleased.  I forget to ask how it is spelt.

Friday 30 November 2012

James

At the opening of a new local pub, the lights are low and the bar is busy.  I manage to ask my question of the barman with a floppy side parting and a black t-shirt.  He pours four pints and a glass of white wine while he tells me that his surname is Dean.  'My mum wanted to go the whole hog and give me it as a first name', he says.  'But my dad wouldn't let her'.  We can't decide if that was a good or a bad thing.

Thursday 29 November 2012

William, Isabella and Juliet Philomena


In a further away than usual suburb of London, I am on my laptop in the corner of a coffee shop that doesn't pay any tax.  On the adjacent table are a group of mothers and babies.  ‘I hope you haven’t come here to work’, says one of the mothers.  ‘Because this is where we bring our babies to scream’.  I smile.  The chatter is of bathing techniques, estate agents and length of limbs.  John Lewis gets name-checked twelve times, IKEA five and Sainsbury’s once (they sell cheap baby-grows).

Deciding to find an alternative venue, I interrupt a debate about ‘Click and Collect’, to ask my question.  The babies look placidly as their mothers introduce them.

Wednesday 28 November 2012

Frances Tiger-Lily

'What do you feel like?' asks the young assistant standing behind the bakery counter.  'Sweet or savoury?'  She has short blonde hair over the top of which is a red baseball cap emblazoned with white letters that spell 'ENGLAND'.

I know I want sweet, but beyond that I am having difficulty in deciding.  'Do you like fruit, chocolate, cream?' she asks.  Another customer enters and goes straight for the apple crumble cake.  'Is it nice?' I ask the assistant.  'It's gorgeous', she replies.  I decide to take the plunge.  'It's especially nice if you dribble double cream on it', she says as she wraps it in a paper bag.  I tell her that migth be difficult as I plan to eat it on a train.  'It's still delicious', she reassures me.

A man with his hands in his pockets strolls in.  'What are you doing here?' the assistant asks.  'Just came to say hello', he replies.  'Go away', she says, waving her arm at him.

As I pay, I ask my question.  She gives me an answer.  'That's a good one', I say.  'Yeh', she replies.  'Frances was after the saint of the animals and Tiger-Lily came along when I was about two'.  She pauses.  'I think my mum just fancied it'.

I thank her and take my apple crumble.  'That's a good moment to walk into a conversation', says the man.  'Have a lovely afternoon', says the assistant.

Tuesday 27 November 2012

Tom David and John

With five minutes to spare before my bus arrives, the evening is cold and I decide to seek a middle name in the foyer of a long-running West End musical.  A sickly green light glows against the walls.  Behind the concession stand are two men wearing grey hoodies with green zips.  One has a quiff of curly hair and a stud in the top of his left ear.  The other's hair is clipped short and he holds a walkie-talkie.

I ask them my question.  'I've got two', says the quiffed assistant with enthusiasm.  He gives me two answers.  'Do you want to know mine?' asks the other.  'Why not?' I reply.  They ask for my reasoning behind the resolution.  Aware of my bus, i mumble something about feeling like it.  'Seriously, though', says the curly quiff.  'Why?'  I talk about the alienation of the city, challenging perceptions and pushing out of the comfort zone.  They are enjoying our chat.

They ask my middle name ('Is your first name Flushing?' one suggests).  They ask what percentage of people don't have middle names ('About fifteen percent', I suggest).  They ask whether it has changed my life. 

They want to know the most unusual middle name I've had.  I tell them that I'm not sure but that, together, theirs are probably the most generic.  They nod.

Eventually I make my excuses and go back out into the cold.  I see my bus drawing away from the stop.




Monday 26 November 2012

Vanessa

Walking towards me are two schoolgirls.  They are giggling.  One is wearing a blue blazer with tie askew.  The other is wearing a small golden padded jacket.  It is dark and raining.  I stop them to ask my question.

'What's your middle name then?' asks the girl with the askew tie to her companion.  Her tone has an accusatory air.  The girl in the padded jacket smiles and gives me an answer.  The other gives a high pitched scream of hilarity and runs down the pavement.  I thank my middle name and let her catch up with her excitable friend.

Sunday 25 November 2012

Francesca

At a birthday drink on the other side of London, I am introduced to someone who lives five minutes away from me.  She has short brown hair and a horizontally striped top.  We agree that it too us longer than expected to get here.

In the spirit of neighbourhood solidarity, I ask her my question.  'It was going to be my first name', she tells me.  'But both my parents being teachers and my grandparents, they decided that I wouldn't be able to spell it until I was sixteen'.  They called her Anne instead.

'But now I've used it for my daughter', she says.  Her daughter is four-and-a-half years old.  I ask if she can spell it.  'Yes', she replies.  'But she spells my name with only one 'n''.

Saturday 24 November 2012

Almeida

With two friends, one of whom hovered off-screen, I pluck up the courage to return to the world of chatroulette.  This time I turn on the video.  Several men with headphones against stark backgrounds flick past our profile.  It pauses on a blurred image.  The conversation follows:

'Connected to somebody.

Music: reggae , dubstep , trance

Movies: Walking Dead , Max Payne , ProjectX , 30 Days of Night , Pearl Harbor

Gender: Robot

Languages: BoB`s Language

Location: Portugal

Robot: trololo
You: troloo
Robot: helo
You: hello
You: what does trololo mean?
Robot: its funny
You: yes
Robot: you are married with that babe ?
You: not at the moment
Robot: nice
Robot: hehe
You: this is a strange question but do you have a middle name?
Robot: why in chat ?
You: babe wants to know
Robot: yes
You: will you tell us what it is?
Robot: im not a true robot , if you are asking that
You: oh
You: I didn't think you were
Robot: ok
Robot: carlos almeida thats my awsomme name
You: That is awesome
You: Why are you on chat?
Robot: yes it is
Robot: and i will make you the same question ?
Robot: im just wasting my time
You: Yes. My awesome middle name is meadows
Robot: meadows its not awsomme , is EPIC !!!!
You: Thank you
Robot: hehe
You: haha
You: We like you Carlos Almeida
Robot: no problem
Robot: me too happy copple
You: Thank you. Have a good evening wasting your time.
You: Nice to see your blur
Robot: thank you
Robot: yes , this is very funny wasting my time in this place
Robot: i dont have too much things to do
Robot: were is your girl ?
Robot: she is gone , i dont bit you !
Robot: im oking dude
Robot: joking
You: What does I don't bit you mean?
Robot: im joking , i tell to your wife , i dont bit her !
Robot: do you work ?
You: Ah. I see what you mean. Yes. Bits and pieces.
Robot: yeah
You: I think I have to go now. But I hope you have a happy evening....
Robot: ok
Robot: peace
You: Nice to meet you.
You: Peace.'

The next people to appear on our screen are some teenage boys who have time to call me a 'Jimmy Saville paedo c**t' before I can turn off my computer.

Friday 23 November 2012

Lin

Buying my first mulled wine of the season, the lady behind the stall has a white fringe.  We are near the river.  'It smells good', I say.  'I'm immune', she replies.  'All I can smell is burnt'.

I take this festive marker as an opportunity.  'I'm actually called by my middle name', she tells me.  Her first name is Margaret, like her mother's and her grandmother's.  She needed a means of distinguishing herself.  She has come to London by way of Norway and Scotland.

'I had a friend at school who had a double-barreled surname', she says.  'So she used to say that her middle name was dash'.  We laugh.

Thursday 22 November 2012

Iona

'But she doesn't count', says my friend over a supper for Thanksgiving.  'You've never met her'.  I refer her to my specific wording: 'I will try to discover the middle name of someone I do not know'.  Reluctantly, she gives me the middle name of her, relatively, newly arrived niece who lives between St Andrews and Edinburgh.  She is named after a small island in the Inner Hebrides off the western coast of Scotland.  'It's very left-wing', says my friend.

(Iona has a resident population of 125.  During the Early Middle Ages it was home to an important monastery and became a renowned centre of learning.  It is now home to 'The Iona Community'; a group of men and women from different walks of Christian life who share 'an experience of the liberating power of Jesus Christ, and a commitment to the personal and social transformation that spring from the vision and values of the gospel'.  They beckon us to 'come share our life', and run residential centres where 'individuals and groups take part in weeks on a variety of themes with an exciting range of leaders'.  

Samuel Johnson wrote 'That man is little to be envied whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plains of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer amid the ruins of Iona'.  It is also the setting of the 1998 Dorothy Martin mystery by Jeanne M. Dams, Holy Terror of the Hebrides.)

Wednesday 21 November 2012

Andrew

'You're going to give us a hand, aren't you?' says the man in the woollen hat at my door.  'Of course', I say.  'It's a small one, but it's actually really heavy', he says.  He is wearing a camel skin jacket with a sheep's wool collar.  He takes his hat off.  He is bald.

'How many flights of stairs?' he asks.  I tell him it is two floors up.  He let's out a whistle.  'Any acute angles?'  I tell him I don't think so.

His companion arrives from the van.  He is unhappy about having to pay for parking.  I give him a pound.  'It shouldn't take more than twenty minutes', he says.

I take the bottom right hand corner.  The three of us heave, ho, push and lift two steps at a time.  'To me... To you', the movers say to each other.  It has to be upended to fit through my corridor.

We complete the mission with three minutes of parking to spare.  'Do you do this all day everyday?' I ask the man in the camel skin jacket.  'Yes', he says.  'Not usually up stairs though'.  On the landing, picking up a blanket that had been laid for protection, I ask him my question.  He gives me an answer.  I thank him for his help.  'Enjoy it', he says.

Tuesday 20 November 2012

Sammy

A man with a hunched posture is walking towards me carrying one blue plastic bag.  He continues to move as I ask my question.  He has black hair that is thinning at the front and thick at the back.  He looks at me quizzically through wire-rimmed glasses.  I think he hasn't understood.

But then an answer.  'S.A.M.I.?' I ask.  'S.A.M.M.Y.' he corrects.  He moves on.

Monday 19 November 2012

Caixeta Bandera

A small labrador shows an interest in my friend's shoes as we walk past.  It is eleven weeks old and looks as though it should be advertising toilet roll.  It scratches at a new red collar to which it is yet to grow accustomed.

The owner, a tall man with dark hair, is friendly but doesn't have a middle name ('In Greece we don't really go in for them', he says).  Nor does the dog.  'But my wife might', he suggests.  A shorter woman walks up behind us.  She is wearing a gold-coloured padded jacket.  She has long hair, the top of which is covered in a green and grey beanie.  'This man is looking for a strange middle name everyday', says her husband.

The wife throws her hands in the air.  'I've got two', she says with enthusiasm.  She is from Brazil.  She explains that the first comes from her mother and the second from her father.  'Like Antonio Banderas', she says, 'My cousin'.  'Really?' I ask.  'Not really'.  She laughs, touching my arm.

They ask our names and we all shake hands.  The puppy and the shoes part company.

Sunday 18 November 2012

Clover

Two elderly women (one tall and black, the other short and white) are walking towards the bus-stop.  The tall woman is pushing a wheely shopper.  It is late and I approach to ask my question.

'I've got a beautiful middle name', says the woman taking one hand off her shopper and waving it in the air.  'But I'm not giving it away'.  She is wearing a pink scarf on her head from which her hair protrudes at odd angles.  I look disappointed and ask for a clue.  She considers.  'It's the name of a flower', she says.  I start to guess.  Her companion, whose hair is in a neat bob, joins in.  'Hyacinth?' she suggests.

The tall woman shakes her head.  'It begins with 'c'', she concedes, pulling her trolley towards the seat.  An Arabic lady in a beige coat is leaning against the stop smoking a cigarette.  'You've got us all intrigued now', she says.  The three of us work through Clematis, Carnation, Chrysanthemum and Camellia.  Finally, her short companion, tentatively suggests the answer.  'I told you you'd never heard of it before', says the tall woman sitting down with satisfaction.  I tell her my middle name.  She laughs.  'Clover in the meadows', she says.  'Careful now', says the Arabic lady.

'Nice to meet you', says my middle name.  I agree and we wish each other safe journeys home.

Saturday 17 November 2012

Dime

Unsure about some tortoise-shell glasses frames, the optician is adamant that they suit the shape of my face.  I seek a second opinion from a lady who sitting in a khaki coat waiting for her prescription.  'I like them', she says.  She has short reddish hair and a scarf knitted in similar shades to yesterday's beanie.  I check that she doesn't think the tortoise-shell is too much.  'Well, I have gone for leopard print', she says.  Her accent sounds Dutch.  'And I never thought I would'.  She smiles.  'But then I only need them for reading'.

I decide that I need more time to think about it but, before I go, I ask her for one more favour.  'It's a good job he didn't ask me because I don't have one', says the optician to anyone else who might be listening in the shop.  The lady in the scarf looks surprised and even flattered.  'You want to know mine?' she asks.  'Yes please', I reply.  She gives me an answer.  She is from Belgium.  I wish her luck with her leopard print.

Friday 16 November 2012

Colin

Two young men are sitting on a bench in a covered market.  One is wearing a beanie knitted from different shades of pastel wool.  The other is wearing a blue padded coat and has hair which is styled into a fashionable side-parting.  I ask my question.  The man in the knitted beanie gestures towards his coiffed companion.  He gives me an answer.  I thank him.  'You're so English', he says.  He is American.

Thursday 15 November 2012

Simon Dee

Two men in flat-caps and trench coats are standing in the doorway to a pub.  They are each holding a bottle of beer.

I interrupt their tete-a-tete to ask my question.  'Do you have to guess it?' asks the taller and thinner of the two.  His flat cap is made of black felt and on his upper lip is growing a small grey moustache.  'I can try', I say.  'Go on then', he replies.  I suggest James, Harold and Anthony but to no avail.  'How many guesses you gonna have?' he asks.  I appeal to his companion.  He is shorter and fatter with only one visible tooth.  His flat cap is made from tweed.  'I dunno', he says.  'Sam?'

The taller man gives in and tells me.  'It's after the television presenter, innit?', he says.  'You're probably too young to know who he is'.  I have to admit that I am.  He tells me that Simon Dee had his own chat show.  I promise to look him up when I get home.

'You look a bit like him', he says as an afterthought.  'He could be your dad and you don't know it'.  They both laugh good-humouredly.  He puts his hand out to shake mine.  'Good luck', he says.

(Later I do look up Simon Dee - real name Cyril Nicholas Henty-Dodd - and find that he did indeed host a twice-weekly BBC chat-show, called Dee Time, in the late 60s which used to attract up to 18 million viewers.  The show used to end with the eponymous star  driving off in an E-type Jaguar with a blonde model.  He was, apparently, renowned for his extravagant lifestyle and used to drive up and down the King's Road in an Aston Martin driven by his secretary.  Sadly, with the 70s, and an ill-judged move to LWT, his career fell into decline.  Within a few years he was signing on for unemployment benefit and he eventually took a job as a bus conductor.  He was briefly jailed twice: once for not paying the rates on his former Chelsea home; and the second time for vandalising a toilet seat with Petula Clark's  face painted on it because he thought it was disrespectful to her.  The magistrate on this occasion was his former boss at the BBC.  He died of bone cancer in 2009.

I think there is a lesson to be learnt from this story.  But I'm not sure what it is.)

Wednesday 14 November 2012

Ellen Piggett

Coming up the stairs of the tube station, a lady thrusts a leaflet in to my hand.  'Christmas Dinner at the lido cafe', she says.  I take a moment to peruse the information.  'It's that time of year again', she says.  She is wearing a khaki-green padded jacket.  'Scallops', she says pointing to an item on the menu listed as 'Char grilled scallops with Cauliflower puree and Pancetta'.  I say it looks delicious.  It does.

Taking care not to block the throng of commuters, I ask my question.  'Alright', she says and gives me an answer.  'It's a family name but it's not double-barreled', she says.  I tell her I like it.  She puts out her hand and I shake it.  She is wearing a chunky ring that feels cold against my palm.

Tuesday 13 November 2012

Shilley

The shop assistant at the supermarket has long black hair and thick eyebrows.  She is wearing spherical earrings of silver glass.  She advises me to think about getting a membership card.  'It's worth it', she says.

As I pack my bag I ask my question.  'Oh, is it?' she says and gives me an answer.  'That's a good one'.  She nods approvingly before asking what my middle name is.  I tell her.  'Well', she replies, 'you know what?  I've never heard of it.  But that's unique'.

I zip up my rucksack and wish her a good evening.

Monday 12 November 2012

Steve

Returning an electric sander to the hire shop, the man behind the counter asks me how I got on.  He is of middle age and middle build.  He has floppy, dusty-coloured hair.  I tell him I've done well.  He smiles and one tooth sticks out an an angle.

I give him my credit card to receive a refund on my deposit.  It has to be the same card with which I hired it.  He tells me of a racket where builders would give their own cards to receive the refund from company hires.  'And then I'd get a phone-call two weeks later from someone telling me I've stolen from them', he says.  'I'm too old to be rolling around with customers now', he tells me.  'Not like back in the day?', I ask.  He pauses.  He shows his tooth.  'It wasn't too long ago, actually', he says.  'About twelve months'.  He tells me about some Albanians who nicked some scaffolding because they thought it was 'beer money'.  The result had been fisticuffs.  He looks pleased with himself.  'Got in more trouble from the wife', he says.

Our transaction is complete and I ask my question.  He laughs, unperturbed, and gives me an answer.

Sunday 11 November 2012

William

In the forecourt of a petrol station, a solitary man is standing next to a large tanker which is pumping oil into the underground supplies.  He is wearing a fluorescent gilet and a red hard-hat.  On the hat sit a pair of plastic ear protectors.  He has grey hair and a pair of rectangular spectacles.

I approach to ask my question.  There is a twinkle in his eye.  'Oh right', he says and gives me an answer.  He chuckles and goes to check the oil's progress.  I leave him to it.  The chuckle grows into something that resembles a guffaw. 

Saturday 10 November 2012

Peter

Walking down the street I accost a group of three who are coming towards me.  The woman is the first to answer.  She has a green coat and dark hair.  Her expression is enthusiastic.  'I don't have one', she says.  Her two male companions bundle her along.  'Do either of you have a middle name?' I ask after them.  One, with a leather jacket and a short pony tail, looks back at me.  He gives me an answer.

Friday 9 November 2012

Alice Rennie

Two girls are brainstorming with postcards in the bar of an arts centre and cinema.  Both have long hair and are on-trend.  I interrupt as they move the cards around the table and discuss.  They look suspicious.  They are drinking pints.  One gives me an answer but is evidently assessing my level of insanity.  The other remains silent.  I ask how the second part is spelled.

'It's actually after my ancestor', she says.  She seems to be warming to my cause.  'He designed London Bridge'.  I am impressed.  'Not the one that burned down', she clarifies.  'The one that's still there now'.

I ask what they are doing.  'She's doing a project', my middle name says vaguely.  'I'm helping her'.

I say thank you and wish them good work.  They get back to it.

(John Rennie the Elder, 1761-1821, was a Scottish civil engineer who designed many bridges, canals and docks.  He came up with the technique of the low, wide, elliptical arch.  In London alone he is responsible for Waterloo Bridge, Old Vauxhall Bridge, Southwark Bridge and London Bridge meaning that Londoners owe him a debt of gratitude for cross-river pathways.  John Rennie the Younger, 1794-1874, completed the designs for London Bridge after his father's death.)


Thursday 8 November 2012

Michael

Watching a television programme about a business man and Lord of the realm bringing sixteen year-olds into a boardroom and telling them that they are fired, I notice the personalised numberplate of his chauffeur-driven limousine.  It is 'AMS 1'.  Today's middle name is what the 'M' stands for.

Wednesday 7 November 2012

Rose

A couple, both in hooded jackets are walking towards me.  I stop them in their tracks.  He looks suspicious.  She lights up.  'I've got a middle name', she says.  Through her left eyebrow is a silver ring.  Underneath her hood she is wearing a yellow knitted hat with a plaited pigtail hanging down from either side.  She jumps in the air.  'But you've got to guess', she says.  She gives me her first and last name as a clue.  'Mary', I suggest.  She is enjoying herself.  I realise it may take some time. 'Elizabeth? ... Joy?'

'That's a nice one', she says and then tells me it begins with an 'r'.  'Rebecca?' I try.  'Rachel?'  I don't seem to be getting any closer.  She gives in and tells me that it is a flower.  I still manage to guess 'rhododendron', before finally getting the right answer.

Her companion pipes up and asks if I have really got one for everyday of the year.  I tell him that I do but that some days are easier than others.  'Today's been very nice', I say.  'Well', he replies.  'She is very nice'.  I tell him that I thought he seemed more suspicious.  'I'm also very nice', he says.  'But I am more suspicious'.

We agree that it has been a happy encounter.  I thank them for their help and wish them a safe journey home.  'We're going to the pub', says the man.  'But you have a safe journey home'.

Tuesday 6 November 2012

Harry

Two youths are leaning on a trolley as I collect my bag and head out of the small supermarket.  One is perched, with skinny jeans and two piercings in the top of his right ear.  The other is wearing a large green Parka with a fur-trimmed hood.  His face is flat and he has a mass of black hair.  I pause to ask my question.  The boy in the Parka looks blank but gives me an answer.  I put my hand out and thank him for his help.  His hand emerges from a puffy sleeve and we shake.  ''Salright', he says.

Monday 5 November 2012

Guy

It does not seem that the man whose effigy is being burnt on bonfires around the country had a middle name.  However, my internet research uncovers two interesting facts.

1.  The famous anti-parliamentarian and purveyor of gunpowder came 30th in a BBC poll of '100 Greatest Britons' in 2002.

2.  The parents of the Canadian rock-singer, who famously crooned over the credits of a film about Britain's other favourite outlaw, also had a soft spot for the celebrated conspirator and marked it with their choice of today's middle name.

Sunday 4 November 2012

William Titus

Walking sleepily between lines at a tube station, I am tapped on the back.  I turn round to be greeted by someone I had met at a party the night before.  He is tall with lanky hair.  His gait is slightly stooped.  Under his arm is a frame surrounded by bubble-wrap.  I ask him what he is carrying.  He tells me it is a piece of his art.  At the bottom of the escalator he unwraps it to show me.  It is the still scan of a video portrait, so that lines of movement distort the image.  'I have a love/hate relationship with technology', he tells me. 

Although stretching the rules I decide to ask my question (our previous encounter was brief and he appears to be wearing the same clothes - grey beanie, black jacket, black jeans).  'I've got a good one', he tells me.  'Actually it's two'.

The first of his middle names is after his grandfather and the second after his 'dad's dog who died'.  He tells me that his dad had liked the name so thought he might as well use it again.  We agree that there's no point in wasting a good one.

'I was actually on your carriage before', he says, 'but you looked like you were asleep and I didn't know if it would be weird to disturb you'.  I say I don't think it would have been that weird as I help him re-wrap his picture.  We shake hands, say that we will see each other around and head towards opposite ends of the compass.

Saturday 3 November 2012

Victoria

'Do you only get one a day or do you ask everyone you meet?' asks the girl who went on a gap year with my friend and finds herself, unexpectedly, in the same pub in North London.  Her hair is long and strawberry blonde.  She has a small golden pear around her neck with which she fiddles.  I tell her that it is only one a day.  'And I'm today's?' she asks.  I confirm that she is.  She makes a gesture of victory with her fist.

Friday 2 November 2012

Serwah and Nana

In a wine bar in South London, I ask two ladies if anyone is occupying the third chair at their table.  It is low with a curved back and covered in black leather.  They are happy for me to take it.  They both have luxurious dark hair and long fingernails.  They answer my question gladly.  I pick up the chair and leave them to their bottle of white.

An hour later, as they are heading out into the night, they wave goodbye.

Thursday 1 November 2012

Jan

The shaven-headed Polish man who has moved into my spare room refuses a slice of gingerbread because he is watching his weight.  He also claims not to have a middle name.

'I was actually thinking about that', he says.  'A few years ago'.  He tells me that in Poland about half the people have middle names and half do not.  'So it is not so strange', he says.

He then reveals that he does have a confirmation name.  'But it is not officially for documents and such', he says.  I decide that it counts.  He tells me that he is not 'religious guy' but he was young and wanted to please his mother.  'Now I can say to her what I believe', he says.
    

Wednesday 31 October 2012

Regine

Having considered the matter for eight months (25th February), I finally get round to joining my local leisure centre.  In my hand is a bunch of Halloween berries.

'Are they for me?' asks the girl standing behind the counter.  She is tall and thin.  Her long, braided hair is tied in a ponytail.  On her black dress is a small stain, possibly yogurt.  I say she can have them if she wants.  'Only joking', she says.  I fill out a form.

'You've got the same birthday as my mum', she tells me as she inputs my information to the computer.  She is helped by a man in a light-blue polo-shirt whose size belies his place of work.

With the transaction complete, I explain my resolution.  She seems perturbed.  'What's your middle name then?', prompts her colleague.  She tells him.  I ask what it means.  'Is it something to do with queens?' I suggest.  She gives me a look of suspicion and shrugs silently.  'I'm sorry', I say making a rapid exit.  'But thank you very much'.

She waves goodbye with her fingers.

Tuesday 30 October 2012

Ferdinand

Buying a cup of chicken soup and a latte from a multinational lunchtime eatery, I notice that my server's badge merely says 'TRAINEE'.

'You don't have a name', I say.  'No', he replies.  'I'm still waiting for one'.  He has floppy hair and an enthusiastic attitude. 

I decide to counter his corporate anonymity by asking my question.  He pauses to froth the milk before giving me an answer.  I ask if it is from The Tempest.  'No', he replies, 'It's after the bull'.  I remember reading about the sensitive bull who would rather smell flowers than compete in bullfights.  'From the children's story', he confirms.

Monday 29 October 2012

Simone, Beulah and Mary

At the adjacent table in the cafe of Marks and Spencer, sit three elderly ladies with three pairs of spectacles of different shapes and sizes.  They discuss flu jabs and coo over a baby in a pram.  They are drinking tea from teapots.

Apologising for my interruption, I explain my odd request.  'Do you want to know mine?' says the smallest of the three with short grey hair.  She tells me that her mother was Swiss-French.  The tallest, and most imposing of the group, offers hers as well.  Her companions are impressed.  'I think it's mentioned in the bible somewhere', she says.  The third, whose hair is curly and defiantly brown, waits to be asked.  She is dismissive of her own.  'Are you doing some kind of project?', she asks.  I explain the inexact premise of my eccentricity.  'Well, I think that's lovely', she says.

I say thank you and leave them to their afternoon gathering.

(Beulah is a Hebrew word from the book of Isaiah relating to a prophesied attribute of the land of Israel.  It is also used to describe the place between heaven and earth in the works of John Bunyan and William Blake.  I don't know whether her first and last names complete the trinity.)

Sunday 28 October 2012

Jerzy

Crossing the road in the rain, I see two men smoking cigarettes outside a pub.  One is bald the other is not.  Someone approaches and asks them for money.  They oblige.  Witnessing their amenability, I decide to make my own request.

'What does this mean?' asks the one without any hair.  He is wearing a jumper with a zipped neck.  I explain myself.  He gives me an answer.  He is from Poland.  I tell him that his help is much appreciated.  'No.  No problem', he says giving me a thumbs up as I depart.  'You're cool man'.

Saturday 27 October 2012

Ralf

A man is tying his bicycle to a post on the pavement.  On the front is attached a shopping basket.  He is wearing a large woollen scarf that envelops the lower part of his face.  I approach to ask my question.  He grins, seemingly pleased to be asked.  'Yes', he says.  'I have a middle name'.  On his nose are perched a small pair wire-rimmed spectacles.

I have to ask him to spell it before I can decipher his accent.  He is from Germany.  He puts out his hand to shake mine.  I wish him a good evening and leave him to his D-lock.

Friday 26 October 2012

Aemilia

Standing in a pub in a tube station with three other people, we are approached by a a young woman.  'Do you want tickets to see Dara O'Brien?' she asks.  She is wearing thick black glasses and her coat has a fur-trimmed hood.  'I've got four'.  She takes out the tickets and shows them to us.  'They're free'.

For a moment, we consider.  'Only if you want', she says.  'You don't have to'.  We decide against but thank her anyway and I ask her middle name.  She is unfazed and gives me an answer.

Thursday 25 October 2012

Ann

The nineteen year-old German model who has come to stay in my spare room is wearing an 'I heart London' hoodie.  She tells me that, three years ago, she came sixth in 'Germany's Next Top Model'.  She has done a lot of work in South Africa but doesn't have a middle name.

Instead, I look up the most famous supermodel of my youth.  Famous for swimsuits, a well-placed mole and a Buddhist ex-husband who may or may not have had a penchant for gerbils, her middle name is disappointingly mundane (and the most common of this project).

Her first name used to be Cynthia.

Wednesday 24 October 2012

Jane

Following an emergency call to '999', I find myself attaching a fire-alarm to my ceiling whilst standing on a high stool footed by a firefighter.  Her jacket has 'FIRE' emblazoned across the back in fluorescent yellow.  The sirens have stopped.

She chuckles in response to my question. 

'I've never been asked that before in this situation', she says.

Tuesday 23 October 2012

Julia

A young woman is sitting in the stairs outside her flat listening to an i-pad.  She is wearing a hoodie.  As I pass she takes a white earphone from her left ear and asks if I have a light.  I tell her that I don't but seize the opportunity to ask my question.

She shakes her head in lack of comprehension.  I attempt a mime.  'Ah', she says.  'You mean when it's like James Victoria Something'.  It seems as though she has the idea.  'I think that is Julia', she says.  I mumble something about her not being sure but realise that I am wading into choppy language waters.  Instead, I ask where she is from.  'Italy', she says.

Monday 22 October 2012

Okujagu

Walking towards me are two black men.  One is tall and the other is short.  It is getting late so I stop them to ask for a middle name.  They look suspicious.  The tall one shakes his head.  'You don't have one?' I say.  I look towards the other.  He also shakes his head.  I get the feeling they don't like me. 

'I might have one', says the tall one in a quiet voice.  'But I don't think you'd understand it'.  I ask him to try me.  He does.  I repeat it.  He smiles broadly.  'It means by the grace of God', he tells me.  'It's Nigerian'.

I thank him for his help.  I feel that we have made friends.  He puts out his hand to cement the deal.

Sunday 21 October 2012

Keith

Walking towards me on the street is a stocky man with short hair.  He smiles as he approaches.  I stop to ask him my question.  He is holding a cigarette in front of his chest.  He is very pleased to be asked.  He is Australian.

He says that he only arrived a day ago but is already over the jet-lag.  It's like 'chasing the back tail of a rocking horse', he says.  He grins.  I nod and ask him how he is finding London.  'Mad as a cut snake', he replies.  'I love it'.  He is very keen.  He tells us that he is a funeral director back home so this is a good break for him.  He asks me and my friend where we are from.  We tell him that we are Londoners.  He is pleased to meet us.

As we are leaving he tells me I look like that 'spiderman fellow'.  My friend suggests that he means Tobey Maguire, which seems to be correct.

Saturday 20 October 2012

Astarte Inanna Hathor Mylitta Ishtar

In a panic, I ask the time to find that the midnight hour has passed without a middle name.  Disappointed, and with only myself to blame, I despair.

Then, in a moment of inspiration, I remember flicking through a poetry book on the bus.  One of the poems was about the goddess of love.  I remember a list of names.  I decide that has to be my answer.

Though not strictly 'middle', the poet lists the many different names of the deity of fertility, sexuality and war.  In the order they appear above, the names are Greek, Sumerian, Egyptian, Babylonian and Assyrian.  My Latin teacher used to call her 'Aphrodite with the see-through nightie'.

Friday 19 October 2012

Donova

Leaving the pub, a friend offers to do my dirty work.  She taps a young man on the shoulder.  He doesn't have one.  'Do any of you have middle names?' she asks the two girls that accompany him.  One pipes up with an answer.  She is small with glossy hair and make-up.

'That was horrible', says my friend as we exit onto the pavement.  'I don't know how you do it everyday'.  'Neither do I', I reply.

Thursday 18 October 2012

Stephen

Leaning against the ticket machine at the station is a tube worker looking listless.  It is late and I'm on my way home.  I approach to ask my question.  He calmly smiles.

'Middle name?' he says.  He has a shaved head and a prematurely grey goatee.  He looks away.  His hands are in his pockets.  'I don't know about that'.  I suggest that perhaps he doesn't have one.  'Nah', he says.  He looks back and gives me an answer.  I ask if it is with a 'v' or a 'ph'.  'PH', he says.

I thank him for his help and hold out my hand in gratitude.  Still leaning, he takes a hand out of his pocket and shakes.  'That's alright', he says.

Wednesday 17 October 2012

Graham

Downstairs in a coffee shop and the seat opposite me is free until a man asks if he can sit in it.  He is portly and wearing a dark suit jacket, white shirt and jeans.  I say that he can.  'They're just so comfy', he says, settling in to scribble on a spiral notepad.

'Young man', he says half-an-hour later, 'do you have an i-phone charger?'  I tell him that I don't.  'I'm running out of juice', he explains.  I take the opportunity to ask my question.

He sits forward and extends a hand to introduce himself.  I shake it.  'I think that's great', he says.  He tells me that he is the fourth in his family to be given the combination of his first and middle name.  'It originated in the hills of Scotland', he says.  Sometimes he adds an 'IV'.

He currently sells air-conditioning for a living but also has a vested interest in wind turbines.  On his phone he shows me the design for a new, compact model that can power a vehicle.  'We want to get the in Tesco car-parks', he says.  I nod. 

I thank him for his help and we sit back into our respective arm-chairs.

Tuesday 16 October 2012

Wemyss

Three boys at a table look too young to be in the pub.  They have fresh faces and moppish hair.  On the back of their chairs are hanging Barbour-style jackets.  I approach to ask my question.  They are bright-eyed and seem keen.  'My one's the best one', says the boy sitting furthest from me.  His hair is dark and forms a floppy fringe.  He is wearing a patterned woollen jumper.  I have to ask him to spell it for me twice.  I leave them to their fun.

Monday 15 October 2012

Margaret

In a department store, an elderly lady asks me the price of a high-hanging handbag.  It is small and beige and is made from the skin of a faux-reptile.  It has been reduced from forty-nine pounds to nineteen pounds and ninety pence.  She is grateful for my help.  I ask for a middle name in return.

She chuckles.  She is wearing a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.  On her feet are a pair of well-worn red loafers.  Her hair is white and curly.  She tells me her 'second name'.  I thank her for her help.  She smiles broadly and turns back to consider her possible purchase.

Sunday 14 October 2012

Charles Joseph

Birthday drinks and all the girls round the table have statement hair.  A man with a bald head and a beard is in full tiger make-up.  Later, it is explained, he is going to a fancy-dress party.

We are introduced and I compliment him on his look.  He asks if I want to know his middle or confirmation name.  'Both', I suggest.

I ask how confirmation names work.  He tells me that, when you are confirmed, you get your pick of the names of the saints to add to your own.  I ask what St Joseph did.  'I don't go in for any of that stuff now', he replies.

(St Joseph was, of course, the husband of the Virgin Mary.  As well as bringing up the saviour of mankind for an absentee father, he was a carpenter.  Beatified by Pope Pius IX in 1870, he was, according to Wikipedia, 'the unofficial patron against doubt and hesitation, as well as the patron saint of fighting communism, and of a happy death'.  A lot of responsibility.)

Saturday 13 October 2012

Elizabeth Joy

Eating an omelette in the autumnal sunshine, the changeable British weather decides to change.  There is no space inside so the waiter brings out a large golfing umbrella under which we can shelter ourselves and our lunch.  He doesn't have another one for the couple sitting at the adjacent table with lattes.  I offer a poor substitute from my bag (it is small, broken and patterned with strawberries).  They accept with gratitude.

As the rain pours down around us I take the opportunity.  The man points to his partner.  'She's got two', he tells me.  'That's two-in-one'.  She gives me two answers.

Friday 12 October 2012

Virginie

In a French cafe, the waitress is, appropriately, French.  While paying for my bowl of hot chocolate I explain my resolution.  'You want to know my middle name?' she asks.  She is very tall and slightly stooped.  On her left forearm is a tattoo that looks as though it spells 'Elvis' in Greek letters.  'Yes please', I reply.  She comes from Brittany. 

Thursday 11 October 2012

Tantademus and Sir Alfred Coca Cola

Drifting in and out of sleep, I find myself in my parents' front drive.  Three boys are playing hide-and-seek.  The youngest of the three runs off.  The two oldest are left dawdling.  I am not sure what they are doing there.  They have blonde hair and round faces and are about 14 years old.  They are wearing brown woolen tank-tops and shorts.  They are twins.

My sub-conscious decides to take the opportunity to ask and answer my question.

(Tantademus, one of the twins tells me, is the name of a famous mountaineer.  On waking, Google fails to confirm this.)


Wednesday 10 October 2012

Holy, Harold or Haploid

Reading about the reputed saviour of mankind, it occurs to me that, whilst I am familiar with much of his work, I have never researched his middle name.  A quick search reveals that the Israelites did not go in for them.  But that leaves unexplained the mystery of the initial 'H'  that sometimes, at moments at exasperation, appears between his 'J' and his 'C'.

The rogue initial has been around for around two centuries (Mark Twain recalls a childhood prank involving it from around 1850) and nobody is quite sure of its origin.  The first suggestion is the shortening of an old Southern American oath.  The second a joke surrounding a common mispronunciation of the Lord's prayer ('hallowed be thy name').  The third is the term used when a cell has only one set of chromosomes.  A favourite explanation of biologists, it has never been clear whether God's paternity involved a full set of DNA.

Most likely, the initial comes from the monogram for his name is Greek which is IHS.  In fact the 'H' stood for the letter 'eta' but, what with the Romans and the course of history, things get a bit confused.

Tuesday 9 October 2012

Patrick

A plumber comes to switch my cold water supply from tank feed to the mains.  His hair has a hint of ginger and he is wearing a boiler suit.  He is Irish but now lives locally.  We discuss the new supermarket, property prices around the area and the North London/South London divide.  He tells me I should put sealant round the bathtub asap.

Job done, I ask my question.  'Whaat!?' he replies (the punctuation is pronounced).  'That is weird'.  He wants to know how I've done it.  I explain that it has involved approaching quite a lot of strangers.  'That is hard, man', he says.  Then he gives me an answer.

Monday 8 October 2012

Ailsa

In a newly-opened multinational supermarket I buy bananas, kiwi fruit and milk.  The lady behind the check-out seems approachable and asks nicely if I have a clubcard but, to my question, she laughs and claims not to have one.

Instead I turn to the girl behind me.  She has long dark hair and a basket full of groceries.  I explain myself.  'Aah', she says.  'That's nice'.  She gives me an answer.

'As in Home and Away?' I ask.  'As in the Scottish island', she replies.  I ask if she is Scottish.  'No', she says, 'but my mum obviously liked the name and she just stole it'.

Sunday 7 October 2012

Olufemi

'I'm just laughing at something funny that I have remembered', says the woman behind the kiosk where I am buying a stick of chewing gum.  She has braided hair and cannot stop chuckling.  On her platform she stands at least half a metre taller than me.

I explain my resolution.  Between giggles she gives me an answer.  'It means God has given me', she says. 

Saturday 6 October 2012

Kuldip Singh

'Do I look sartorial?' says the man in the bookshop.  He has voluminous white hair and gestures towards a moth-eaten cardigan.  He doesn't have an opinion about the book I am buying as a present about Coco Chanel.  Nor does he have a middle name.

Instead, at the party for which the present was bought, I ask the husband of a friend of the birthday girl who, we find out, was two years below me at school.  We don't remember each other.  He is now a musician and owns four cats.  We talk of red blazers, Mr Beard and the peculiarity of a single-sex education.

Friday 5 October 2012

Joy

In a cafe that serves chips double-fried in dripping, I notice the actress who made me laugh on Saturday 7th July.  On the way out, I pause to tell her how much I like her work.  I don't tell her I know her middle name.

Later, at a birthday supper, I meet a cellist with curly hair.  Her maiden name was Payne which means that her parents were making good use of oxymoron.

Thursday 4 October 2012

Bridget

A man is playing Elvis Presley Songs as I enjoy the sunshine by the river.  A few metres away, underneath the bright blue sky, two middle-aged women are jiving.

As I get up to leave I approach to tell them how much I appreciated their dance.  One has vibrantly dark hair and a tailored jacket.  The other's hair is slightly disheveled and she has on a soft jumper.  They tell me that they were brought up nearby.  They are sisters.

Visiting from Paris, the dark-haired sister explains that they have come on a day-trip to visit the place where the other sister (with the soft jumper) met her husband forty-five years ago.  A white-haired man with a walking stick ambles over.  'Have you told him why we're here?' he asks.  They say that it is reminiscent except that, then, there was a mist.

I take the opportunity to ask my question.  'Oh, you're going to love mine', says the dark-haired sister.  'You're going to love hers', repeats the other.  'What's that film?' says the first.  'The Romance.  With that actor'.  I have  to admit that I am none-the-wiser.  'English', she says.  'All the girls swoon over him'.  I'm still finding it hard to guess.  'Got caught with his pants down'.  'Hugh Grant?' I suggest.  I am right.  She continues, 'The girl he's with in that film'.  The white-haired gentleman pipes up.  'Andie MacDowell', is his idea.  'No.  She's got body issues', she says indicating size.  I suggest the famous diarist of the late 1990s.  'That's it', she says.  we are all pleased.

'Her first name's Mary', says the other sister with the soft jumper.  'So in Paris they call her Marie-Brigitte'.

We talk of Paris, the markets and the cobbled street on which I used to live but I need to get going and thank them for their help.  'No.  Thank you for coming over', the visiting sister replies.

Wednesday 3 October 2012

Angela

The two Koreans who ask me for directions to Harrods don't have middle names.

Instead, in a less salubrious part of town on the way home, I ask a woman sitting on a bench outside a pub.  She is smoking a roll-up.  'Sorry', she says in an eastern-European accent.  'You help me...  Resolution?'  Her hair is long and blonde-ish.  She is wearing a long multi-coloured woolen coat.  When she brings the cigarette to her mouth I notice her nails are painted sky blue.  I explain myself again.  She gives me an answer.

'It's from Serbia', she says.  'But...'  She shrugs and puts out her hand.  'What's your name?' she asks.  I shake it.  'I'm Richard', I say.  'No.  Your middle name', she says.  I tell her.  'That's nice', she says making a gesture of space.  'It's expansive'.

At the other end of the bench sits a man with a flat cap, thick glasses and bright yellow trainers.  I have interrupted their conversation.  'Thank you', I say.  'Sorry for the interruption'.  Her roll-up has gone out.  'No, no', she says looking for her lighter.  'It's a pleasure'.

Tuesday 2 October 2012

Amma Korkor

'I thought I recognised your face', says the check-out assistant in my local supermarket.  I asked if she remembered refusing me a middle name twice in February (1st February, 10th February).  Her hair is now a short, tight afro.  I decide to try again.

'Why do you want to know anyway?' she asks smiling.  I explain.  'What's yours?' she asks.  I tell her.  'Mine's African', she says.  I can feel her weakening.  She tells me the second part first.  'It means the second-born girl', she says and spells it out for me.  'The other one's easier for you', she says.  'It means born on a Saturday'.  I tell her that she has a colleague with the same middle name (Amma).

'A man born on a Saturday is called Kwame', she tells me.  I ask if there is a name for each day of the week.  She says there is.  'Kofi, like Kofi Annan, means born on a Friday', she says.  'I can tell you them all'.  But my transaction has gone through.  'Next time you come in', she says.  I wish her a good afternoon.  'See you soon', she says.

(Wikipedia tells me that most Ghanaians have at least one name that is based on the day of the week that they were born.  The characteristics of Saturday's child are that they 'like to take control of family situations. He/she runs the show and make the rules, but will go out of his/her way for others any time'.  I was born on a Tuesday.  Somewhat unexcitingly my characteristics are as 'the problem solver and planner of the family ... structured in nature, neutral in all matters and never takes sides'.) 

Monday 1 October 2012

Peyote Opi Merlin

Heading towards a spare seat at the back of a double-decker bus, I hesitate.  The back row is occupied by two young men with closely-shaved hair.  Between them sits a large black-and-white dog with a snub nose.  Its genitalia are proudly on display.  It is breathing loudly.  'I wouldn't sit there if I were you', says the younger of the two.  The other is slumped against the window, apparently asleep, with his eyes closed.  'Oh', I say and begin to turn around.  'Jokes', says the man.  'Go ahead'.  I look at the dog.  It looks at me.  'Don't make it weird', he says.  I sit down.

'What's he called?' I ask.  The younger man points at the one against the window.  'Ask 'im', he says.  Without moving, he opens his eyes.  'Woof', he says.  'Oh right', I say.

The younger man takes a loud phone call.  His conversation involves the police, phone numbers and someone called 'Angel'.  The dog's breath smells.

'That's what happens if you like girls', he tells me after he has hung up.  'You get yourself into trouble'.  I decide to ask my question.  He laughs.  'Fuckin' crazy maniac bastard solid real...' he begins.  The slumped man opens his eyes again, his interest piqued.  He gives me his.

'It's the nickname for a hallucinogenic cactus', he says.  'My parents were hippies'.  He gestures towards the dog.  'It's his name too', he says.  'I like it so I called him it'.  He tells me all three of his middle names.  'Where's Opi from?' I ask.  He smiles.  'Opium', he says.  He tells me his sister's middle name is Astra Cloudberry.  I am suitably impressed.  The younger man interrupts.  'I don't have one', he says.  'You parents weren't hippies?' I ask.  'We're brothers', says the man still slumped against the window.  'But the man she was with when she had him weren't into that sort of stuff'.  The younger man kisses the dog.  'My name's Bob', he says.

They try to guess my middle name.  'Sid', the younger one suggests, 'as in C.I.D.'.  'Gap', suggests the other.  I look confused.  The younger explains, 'Gay and proud'.  I give them the answer.  The younger one repeats it out loud.  'It's alright that is', he says.

It's my stop so I get up to leave.  'Nice to meet you', I say.  The slumped man nods his head.  'You take care now', says the other.




Sunday 30 September 2012

Mary

Outside the ruins of a Welsh castle, a lady sits in a makeshift cabin selling tickets and memorabilia.  Her hair is a big bouffant of blonde and her face dwarfed in comparison.  Her skin is like crepe paper.

She recoils in what seems like horror at my question.  'I'm sorry', I say.  'I didn't mean to upset you'.  She shakes her head.  'No, no', she says.  'I've just never been asked something like that before'.  She thinks for a moment.  'You have a different one everyday?' she asks.  'Yes', I say.

She makes a suggestion.  'Jacob', she says.  I am confused.  'Is that your middle name?' I ask.  She is also confused.  'Oh.  You want to know my middle name', she says.  'Yes please', I say.  We are on the same page.  She gives me an answer.

I thank her for her help.  'Enjoy your visit', she says.

(The reaction of today's middle name reassures me that, even if hackneyed in South-East London, Kevin, the trend is yet to reach the depths of the countryside in South Wales.)


Saturday 29 September 2012

Sterre

In the large concrete atrium of a modern art gallery, human beings are casually assembled.  They sit quietly, run, chant and interact.  In a pause, I approach one who is lounged on the floor.  She is regularly attired and has a straight fringe.  Her face is wide.

She gets up to give me an answer.  She tells me that her parents gave her two older sisters normal names but she was given strange ones. 

I ask if she thinks that an unusual name informs a personality.  'Perhaps', she says before leaving abruptly to take part in a communal stepping exercise.

Friday 28 September 2012

Kevin

'That's the third or fourth time someone's asked me that', says the barman at my local pub.  He is tall with short brown hair, a thin face and a black t-shirt.  I am aghast.  'Are you sure?' I ask.  He nods. 

A quick mental check confirms that it is not me who has asked him before.  I wonder if I have started a local phenomenon.  Or sub-consciously latched onto a tired old cliche.  I feel cheap.

'Will you tell me anyway?' I ask.  He looks disappointed by his answer.

Thursday 27 September 2012

August

The first middle name to be sung at me with the backing of a full orchestra is a blind beggar with a long white beard.  Born in 1877, he has come to the Office of Dreams to request an escape from his grim reality.  The clerk refuses him on the grounds that beggars are only allowed one dream a week.  On Fridays.

Wednesday 26 September 2012

Jane

In the empty foyer of a multiplex cinema two women stand in conversation.  On has short dark hair that feathers at the ends.  The other has longer hair, a dark jacket and leather boots.  They are probably in their forties.

'I don't have one so I'm no use', says the first.  I look to the other.  'I can help you out', she says.  She does.  I ask them if they enjoyed the film.  My middle name replies. 

'Well, it's certainly got us talking', she says.

Tuesday 25 September 2012

Dominic

In a pub there is talk of the last tube.  I realise that time is running out and turn to the table behind me.  A man with excitable hair is sitting alone with a pint of Guinness.  'You've done this everyday of 2012?' he asks.  I tell him that's correct.  He presses the button on his i-phone.  The screen is cracked.  'Do you know what time it is?' he asks.  'You've got twenty-six minutes left'.  I tell him that's why I'm asking.  'What'll you do is I refuse to tell you?' he asks.  I tell him that he will leave me in dire straits.  'It doesn't sound like you've got much of a plan', he says, 'but if you want to know my middle name I'd be delighted to tell you'.  He does.  He is Irish.  From Limerick.

Monday 24 September 2012

James

Leaning on a motorcycle by the side of the road is a squat man in a red and black padded jacket.  In need of a middle name, I decide to approach.  'Why's that?' he says in response to my question.  He has a grey pointed beard and moustache.  On his head he wears a Harley Davidson cap over which are strapped a pair of plastic goggles.

I explain about my resolution and say something about being hoist by my own petard.  He interrupts with an answer.  I detect a twang and ask if he is Australian.  'Yes, Australian, yes', he replies but I get the sense that he was enjoying his solitude and leave him to his urban repose.

Sunday 23 September 2012

Patricia

It is raining and, having spent the morning getting wet, I spend the afternoon on the sofa in the company of a beautiful film star who gave up her acting career at the age of twenty-six to become a princess.  At fifty-five she died after having a stroke at the wheel of her car.  I watch her drive recklessly across the Cote d'Azur.

Saturday 22 September 2012

Hilary

At half-past eleven in a twenty-four hour shop I buy two bottles of red wine for five pounds and two cans of Coca Cola.  At the counter is a large selection of dog collars.

The man at the till doesn't have one.  'We just have family mane and first name in Afghanistan', he says.  Instead I ask the man behind me in the queue.  He is wearing a black beanie and has a diamond stud in each earlobe.  He is holding two cans of Special Brew.  He shakes his head.  'It's not good', he says.  I tell him it doesn't matter.  'It's not good', he repeats.  I ask him what's wrong with it.  'It's a bit...', he scrunches his face, 'feminine', he says.

He mentions a television doctor who has the same name.  'Now I'm an adult', he says, 'I accept it'.  He tells me that his father was a Catholic.  'He dies last year', he says.  He thinks that may have something to do with the choice.

I pack up my purchases and make to leave.  We wish each other good evenings.

Friday 21 September 2012

Audrey

I ask the girl behind the counter if the haloumi and avocado on sourdough bread is a good choice.  She tells me that she doesn't think you can go wrong with haloumi.  The boy behind her, witha black t-shirt and blonde hair says, 'Haloumi makes the world a better place'.  I decide I better order it.

As I leave I ask the girl my question.  She is wearing high shorts over black tights and a loose-fitted polka-dot blouse.  Her hair is tied back and she is wearing glasses with an opaque orange rim.  '

After Hepburn?' I suggest.  'No, after my grandmother', she corrects.

Thursday 20 September 2012

Richard

Waiting for the lift in a converted tea factory with some friends, we are approached by a man a floppy grey parting.  His face is pointy and his voice is a bit like that of the actor Bill Nighy.  'Have you ever been anywhere like this before?' he says.  'It's like Andy Warhol's fucking art factory'.  He is wearing a bright blue anorak with white chinos over white loafers.  When speaking he holds his hand to his breastbone.  I ask if he knows any of the artists.  He nods and mumbles something uncommitted.  The lift arrives.

As the doors shut and over a crowd of faces I explain my resolution.  'Is it really?' he asks.  'Yes', I say.  The lift descends and I tell him that his middle is my first.  He asks for the rest of my name.  I tell him.  He talks of an industrial town south of London.  We reach the ground floor.

'What are you up to now?' he asks.  I say that I am probably heading home.  'I thought you might at least invite me for a drink', he says.  'I feel used'.  I apologise.  'I feel like a discarded fucking condom flung to the side when it's served its purpose'.  We are in the way of someone's photograph.  We move.  I tell him that I didn't mean to use him.  'Yeah well', he says.

I thank him for his help and move away.

Wednesday 19 September 2012

Amma

Buying fish-fingers and a trifle at the local supermarket the check-out assistant looks up at me in despair.   She is wearing a black fashion turban at the back of which emerges a long black ponytail.   Feeling empathetic, I ask if it has been a long day.  She nods sadly.  ‘You look as though you are about to cry’, I say.  ‘I wish I could’, she says.  ‘It might make me feel better’.  I wonder whether asking my question might cheer us both up.  So I do.

Her eyes show the hint of a sparkle.  ‘Do you want to know mine?’ she asks.  ‘Yes please’, I say.  It was chosen, apparently, because she was born on a Saturday.  We agree that it is a good day to be born.  I pack up my shopping and wish her a good evening.  ‘You too’, she says more cheerful than when we met.  ‘Have a good evening’.

Tuesday 18 September 2012

Jerome

In the pub and the football is over.  A man in sports-shorts and a t-shirt is returning to his table with beer.  At the table are several other men of the sporting variety.  Also in shorts, despite the obvious approach of autumn, I feel a certain camaraderie and approach the table with my question.

He puts the beer down.  He crosses his arms.  He tilts his head.  He gives me an answer.  His friends guffaw.  ‘That is a weird…’ he says, ‘weird resolution’.  I nod.  He nods back.  ‘But keep it up’.   I put my hand out in thanks.  He shakes it.