Magdalena

In Britain's favourite department store asking the advice a thin lady with an Eastern European accent.  She had a short grey bob and bird-like features.  She recommended that I should look up curtain-making instructions on their website.  'They tell you how to eat your lunch on there', she said.  When she had first come to the shop to buy curtains with her husband (before working there) she had been shocked by the price of the made to measure service and gone straight upstairs to buy a sewing machine.  I asked if she was an expert.  'I wouldn't consider myself an expert on anything', she replied.  She guided me round the shop floor making sure I would have all the equipment I needed.  She talked of the need to balance aesthetics with frugality. 

Collecting a packet of curtain hooks, I made my request.  She grew shy.  'But I never use it', she said.  She told me she was from Poland but moved here forty years ago because it was difficult, 'not financially, but politically', she explained.  She has been working in the fabric and curtain department for ten and a half years.

'I wish you all the best', she said as she handed over the goods.  I wished her the same.  'I think you are very brave, making curtains'.  I left the shop with a bag full of fabric, lining and pleating tape feeling like a hero.

Vijay

Buying some milk and bananas for breakfast, I didn't ask the topless woman who was stalking the aisles of the supermarket demanding a refund.

Instead I waited until I was home and on the phone to a phone, broadband and television provider.  After a lengthy conversation in which we bashed out the details of my service plan, installment and direct debit, the girl on the other end asked if I had any more questions.  I said I only had one.  She seemed disappointed to be unable to help.  She told me that her parents had decided that her name was long enough already.  Not to be deterred, I asked if she had any siblings and whether they were equally bereft.  She told me that no one in her family had more than two names except her Dad.  She didn't know why.  I had my answer.  He still lives in Mauritius but the rest of them are over here.  She hasn't been back for eight years.  She recommended it highly as a holiday destination.  We agreed that if I had any left over from my phone, television and broadband expenditure I should save up to go.

I hung up the phone very satisfied with the level of customer service I had received.

Paul

In a pub in the early hours of the morning, my friend bumped into a regular late-night drinker whom she had met before.  A solitary wisp of grey hair hung down over his forehead.  He is a doctor.  He had a companion who told me that he is also a member of the aristocracy although I was unable to ascertain the whereabouts of his country pile.  It seemed natural to ask my question.  'My mother always said, 'I gave you two saints' names, but neither of them has done you any good'', he told me, tapping his nose.  As we were leaving, he suggested to my friend, 'Next week for a cup of tea and a sticky bun?'

Richard

Sat next to a keen cyclist with grey hair at a wedding, he introduced himself as an abbreviation of the surname on his place-card.  There followed a discussion of names in which the middle was mentioned in passing.  We acknowledged that it was the same as my first and went on to talk about music copy-writing, the potential of the internet and different approaches to mid-life crises.  He told me he hadn't recognised his good friend and fellow cyclist in a suit because they usually only see each other in lycra.

Ann (without an 'e')

Helping a friend with auditions, our fifth auditionee is a Scottish lady with blonde highlights and reading glasses.  Whilst acting she makes good use of gesticulation.  She is perky.  As she is leaving I decide to forgo professionality and ask my question.  'I wonder whether you can guess?' she says.  I try to wrack my brain.  'It begins with an 'A'', she hints.  I get it first time.  It is tradition in her family that the girls get given their grandmother's first name as their middle.  Luckily she had twins so she was able to give one grandmother's name to each.  'Not that anyone cares', she says.  They are eight and a half.  She tells us that she has just become a single Mum.  'Bastard', she adds.  Then, by way of explanation, 'He's a Leo'.  I ask hers.  She is an Aquarius.  Her time at drama school had opened her up and he didn't like it.  'I gained an acting training but I lost a husband', she says, 'I'm a tough old bird'.

Not being star-sign expert, I resorted to an oracle website to research the compatibility of Leo and Aquarius.  Apparently it is a case of 'opposites attract'.  They are easily charmed by one another but can also find each other quite frustrating.  Leo men do not like to waste their time on 'frolicsome matters'.  On the plus side, 'Leo man and Aquarius woman has one of the freshest and sweetest mating among all the zodiac signs ... Though Aquarius woman is fizzy and dreamy in her mind but once she is in the arms of her Leo man who has extreme emotions for sexual desire, their all arguments and differences turn into moments of passion'.

I'm sorry that 'the freshest and sweetest mating' did not prove enough for my auditionee and her Leo.

Michael (II)

Coming out of a busy tube station, ticket touts were lining the pavements.  As I made my way through, one of them asked if I was looking for tickets.  I said no.  'Are you selling?' he continued.  I said no.  He was wearing a hood over a baseball cap.  He rubbed his hands together and made to move on.  I managed to make my request.  He replied with a nod and left me for more likely customers.

Koirala

In search of a spoon with which to eat my Greek-style yogurt and granola, I decided to try my luck in a quiet Burger King.  The server gave me a choice of big or small.  I chose the smaller of the two he offered.

As an after-thought I returned to the counter.  This time he looked puzzled.  A supervisor approached and I had to explain myself a second time.  'It's quite strange', I said.  'Yes', she replied in clear disapproval.  I looked back to my server, 'Is there any chance you could tell me yours?'  I thought my luck had run dry.  'It's quite difficult.  I can write it for you'.  He wrote on the back of a credit card receipt.  By this time another member of staff was hovering in the background with a grin on her face.  'It's from Nepal', he said.  I thanked them and left with more than I had a right to expect.  Perhaps I should have bought a whopper with cheese as a sign of gratitude.

Elizabeth May Yin

She was carrying three bags from Morrisons, fumbling for keys.  I was carrying a chrome-plated clothes rail and didn't have a spare hand.  I introduced myself as a new neighbour.  She said she lived in number fifteen.  I said I lived at number eighteen.  I didn't mention that I had been flicking through her post.  She found her keys and let me in.  She was wearing fingerless gloves.  I told her I had been buying a lot of furniture from e-bay.  She asked if I lived with anyone.  I told her my brother was staying with me.  She said she lived with her sister.  I decided to risk neighbourly relations and asked my question.  She seemed amused.  'I've got three', she said.  She asked for mine in return.  We paused in the hallway.  She works in a comic store in central London.  She is also a freelance artist who wants to design computer games.  I expressed my pleasure at meeting her with an exaggerated shoulder gesture.

I don't know whether she is the same 'Yin' as yesterday, but the letter is still sitting in the hall.

Kwok and Yin

Returning home without a middle name, I noticed some post in the communal hallway.  I have not yet met the people who live at number fifteen and the letters that have accumulated for them seem to be addressed to a variety of names.  On the top of the pile was a letter to the couple whose names form today's post.  Strictly speaking I'm not sure whether they should be termed middle names as research indicates that they may be the English spelling of the second syllable of a first name.  Nevertheless, they were both positioned between two other names and, in celebration of the Chinese New Year, I have decided that they count.

I continued my celebrations with some crispy duck and spring rolls from Marks and Spencer.

Anthony

Passing the 'Spice and Nice Bakery' I noticed some packets of unidentified brown chips.  A man was standing behind the counter looking bored.  He wore a flat cap and a scarf emblazoned with red spiders sitting in the middle of white webs.  I opened the door and went in to investigate further.  'Coconut and sugar - very nice', he told me.  A younger colleague emerged from the back room, 'and ginger - delicious', he added.  I agreed that they sounded tasty.  'You're going to like them - guaranteed - share with friends'.  It sounded like an offer too good to be refused and, at one pound fifty, a reasonable price.  I handed over my change and used the opportunity to ask my question.  I checked whether or  not it had an 'h' and then found found myself demanding why.  'I'm a Christian', he said by way of explanation, 'or I'm not a Christian but my parents were Christians.  I used to go to church all the time as a child'.  'But not any more?' I said in an attempt at joviality.  'Alright', he replied, signaling an end to the inquisition.

Although lacking in friends with whom to share them, I have cracked open my packet of coconut bites.  They are a strange mixture of fudge and nut - quite nice but I'm not sure I could eat them all.

Valerie

Standing in the hallway of a National Trust property, we were being told about the early life of society hostess Margaret Greville.  A young couple had been given tailor-made blue plastic bags to put over their muddy walking shoes.  Behind me stood a silent stewardess.  She had a bouffant of grey hair and was wearing shoes, gloves and a jumper in different shades of red.  She also had on a suit jacket and smart trousers.  On her lapel was a badge.  It bore the same name as a Norwich football-supporting celebrity female chef. 

Leaving the smoking room, I approached the stewardess.  She was handing out bits of paper on which we could note down what we had made of the tour.  'Oh right', she said as I explained my odd request.  I admitted that it was her name badge that had attracted my attention.  I asked how long she had suffered the comparison.  'Ever since I got married', was the reply.  Then she corrected herself, 'Well actually I suppose she didn't really become famous until later'.  She gave me a comment sheet and I wrote in pencil, 'Interesting and informative - thank you'.  I had to remind her that it was actually her middle name that I needed.  She told me and then, as I returned the paper and pencil, she said, 'I hope I've given you what you were after'.  I said she had and thanked her again.  'What's your name by the way?'  she asked as I headed back into the grounds.  I replied and we agreed that it had been nice to meet each other.

Moira

A roll of luxury wrapping paper fell out of the bag of a statuesque lady with short grey hair as she was walking purposefully down a busy high street.  I chased after her with the roll in my hand.  She thanked me for my good deed.  I admitted my ulterior motive.  Her neck craned away from me.  'A maiden name?'.  I corrected her mistake.  'Moira', she replied, her eyes held in suspicion.  'Is that from Australia?' I asked.  I had detected an accent.  'No.  Zimbabwe', she replied, 'the black hole'.  I wasn't sure what she meant by this so I let her go.

Michael

Leaving it until late in the day and unwilling to scour the streets in search of a stranger, I persuaded my brother to pester any of his online friends who I had never met.  After a couple of failed attempts an ex-colleague replied to the request.  His facebook profile photo was a large yellow triangular-shaped creature made of foam with a big nose and angry red eyebrows.  Here is an edited transcript of their conversation.

- Hi Dave
- My brother wants to know your middle name
- don't ask

- Um, right...
- Michael
- I do kinda want to ask though...

- thanks
- he's writing a blog
- that writes about someone's middle name everyday of 2012
- and he hadn't got anyone yet today...

- Wow, I'm honoured to be Jan 19
- My ex's birthday

(They go on to discuss why his surname had changed.  He had decided to change it back to his Dad's original family name.  It had been changed in the past to make it sound more English - although the name they had chosen was actually Irish.)

- my brother asks
- why michael?

- My parents liked it

- boring

- When I was born, the two most popular names were David and Michael
- My Hebrew name is (in English) Jacob Morderchai
- Which I think is after family members
- but not sure which
- Why not David?  No idea
- It *is* a Hebrew name after all
- Got a link to the blog?

I tried to do some research to find in what year David and Michael were the most popular names in the UK.  David was a consistent high hitter from 1934 when it came in at 5th place.  It was in 2nd by 1944 and 1st through the 1950s and '60s before falling back to 3rd in the '70s and '80s.  By 1995 it has fallen in vogue and could only manage a measly 30th place and has been falling ever since to a disappointing 64th today.  Michael also came in strongly in 1934 in 7th place.  It found it's way into the top five in 1944 and hovered around there through to 1994, when it too fell out of the top ten to 12th.  It's decline has not been as brutal as David's but has been steady.  It now finds itself at 53rd.

The results do not, unfortunately, give a conclusive answer to the year that today's middle name was born except that it is unlikely to have been within the last twenty-five years.  The two most popular boy's names in 2011 were Oliver and Jack which would have left my brother's ex-colleague with a very different first and middle name had he been born today.

Euphemia

Having given up all hope of it's arrival, the doorbell rang at one o'clock this afternoon.  I ran downstairs and opened the door to be greeted by a courier in a black fleece and a florescent yellow gilet bearing my long-awaited box from Amazon.  In my excitement, I tried to sign the screen with the wrong end of the pen.  She told me it didn't matter.  I told her what was inside.  She said it sounded nice and began to be on her way.  My jubilation bubbled over and I told her about my project.  Her strict courier face crumpled into a coy smile.  'Me?'  she asked.  I wrote her name down on the side of the box.  It was her Dad's sister's name, 'from the Caribbean', she explained.  I waved her goodbye and shut the door.  I ran upstairs and ripped brown sellotape and paper.

(After yesterday's ban, I decided to Wikipedia 'Euphemia'.  The Great Martyr Euphemia is a Christian Saint from Chalcedon.  She lived in the 3rd Century AD and was consecrated to virginity from youth.  It is unclear whether this was her own choice or the choice of those around her.  One day, the governor of Chalcedon decreed that all in the city should take part in sacrifices to Ares.  As the "overwhelming, insatiable in battle, destructive, and man-slaughtering" god of war, it is not surprising that he and the consecrated virgin did not see eye-to-eye.  Instead she hid in a house with other Christians where she was discovered worshipping the Christian God.  Unfortunately, the result was that she was tortured on the wheel in the hope of breaking her spirit and eventually eaten by a wild bear in an arena.

'Euphemia' also means 'well-spoken' which is perhaps more suited to my courier.)

G-Gbengus

A break-through.  Today, for the first time I discovered a middle name without having to reveal the purpose behind my inquisition.

Buying three pints of Kronenberg and some sweet and spicy nuts at the Queen Elizabeth Hall, I noticed the barman had a badge with his first name followed by an initial.  I knew I had been given an opening.  I asked what the initial stood for.  He told me.  Another barman had the same name and they needed a way to distinguish themselves.  I didn't ask whether that was for the benefit of customers or colleagues.  Then, smoothly, as though out of mere idle curiosity, I asked what his middle name was.  Without prompting, he said he would write it down for me.  I asked what it meant.  'Prince', he replied.  His co-worker asked him how he knew.  'My parents told me it means prince, so it means prince', he said quite fairly.  As I left the co-worker began to chant his middle name.  I suppose it was a compliment.

Hugo

I was stopped in the street by a tall man with strawberry-blonde hair and stubble.  He was part of a group and he asked if I knew any good local pubs.  'We are five stranded Swedes and a Spanish', he told me.  I pointed him in the direction of the river and told him to go to the one down the cobbled street and on your right.  In the spirit of tit for tat I asked him for his middle name.  He began by saying that he had a few, then seemed to think better of it and settled on 'Hugo'.  'Hugo?' I asked.  'Yes, Hugo', he said.  'Why Hugo?'.  He replied that it was his grandfather's name.  On his mother's side.

I realised afterwards that there were probably nicer pubs that I could have recommended.

Frances McKenzie

Standing by a fire at a thirtieth birthday party, I found myself talking to the mother and godmother of the birthday girl.  They quizzed me about my career and I tried not to make it sound too disappointing in comparison to their more successful daughter/god-daughter.  We discussed the trails of creativity and the godmother talked of the importance of making one's life viable.  I agreed.  Our conversation was interrupted by the excited arrival of two new party guests and the reaction to their dresses but I managed to accost the godmother before she left.  I explained what I was doing.  'An honour', said the mother.  I asked whether Frances was spelled with an 'i' or an 'e'.  She leaned in.  ''i' for a boy, 'e' for a girl', she said.  I should have known that.

Thomas and Ahmed

In the Indian take-away again and waiting for my order on a high stool, I exchange eye-contact with a friendly-looking white man with a bald head and a padded quilted jacket.  Next to him sat a small Asian boy with his head bowed to the ground.  I plucked up the courage to ask the older man and he seemed delighted to have a cause for conversation while we awaited our curries.  He had lived in the area for 25 years and printed government papers until his recent retirement.  He is enjoying his new life.  Gardening was a mentioned hobby.  Although he did say he missed the company.  He and his wife have got holidays booked including a short one to Berlin and a longer one to Australia.  'It's alright', he said.

I asked whether the small boy was his grandson.  My guess turned out to be correct and he quietly revealed his middle name too.  They were having a family meal.  His son and daughter-in-law have two other children, although he didn't think one would be eating a lot of curry as she was less than two-years old.  His daughter was coming round too so it was quite a party.  They had spent £69 on the take-away and the grandson was going to help carry it.

James McCallum

In the pub I ordered a pint of Guinness and a pint of Carlsberg standing beside a medium sized black bear.  It had been found in France by the landlord's father and now takes pride of place on the bar.  I stroked it's foot.  The barman was young with boyband-style hair swiped across his forehead.  He was from Australia and has been here for 18 months.  In researching the name of the type of ear-piercing that he had (one imprinted in the earlobe), I came across an article about the history of earrings for men.  It didn't give me my answer but it did inform me that 'Regardless of what the women would have us think, earrings have suited the men fashion.  Throughout history they have been worn by soldiers, sailors, local Indians and many other nations. So wear these earrings with a sense of pride'.  I later found that they are called 'flesh tunnels' or 'flesh plugs'.  I wondered whether the soldiers, sailors and local Indians would have been familiar with the term.

I didn't ask the Australian barman if he wore his flesh plug with a sense of pride but he did give a smirk of satisfaction about the fact that he had two middle names.  I didn't tell him that I'd met a shop assistant with seven.  'McCallum' is his mother's maiden name.

Tony

Seizing the opportunity I asked the ginger-haired electrician who came to fix my kitchen light.  He had an earring and three kids.  He recommended Comet for cheap kitchen appliances.  He had just bought an American-style fridge/freezer from them but the freezer compartment was smaller than he had expected.  He didn't seem perturbed by my question.

Ronald Reuel

I failed to capitalise on the gas men who visited this morning and mended my heating.  Or the waitress who absent-mindedly started laying the table again after I had already finished my Welsh Rarebit.  Or the shop assistant in Marks and Spencer with whom I discussed the incongruity of an album by Twiggy.

Instead I have resorted to Wikipedia and discovered what the 'R.R' stands for in J.R.R.Tolkein.  A cheat.  But a good bit of trivia.

Anne-Marie

Again in a supermarket, this time a more upmarket one in a smarter part of town, I am buying a baguette with proscuitto.  The lady serving me has black hair piled on top of her head and a pair of thin dark glasses.  I remark on the busyness of the shop.  She agrees and says that she has been called off her section to help deal with it.  I ask what her section is.  She replies 'ambients'.  I think.  I say 'Sorry?'.  She replies 'ambience'.  Perhaps.  I say 'ambience'?  She says 'yes'.  I am none the wiser.  I make use of my confusion to ask her middle name.  She gives me a wry look and an answer.  'Are you French?'  I ask.  'Not likely', she replies.

Olutola

I moved today and didn't dare ask my new neighbour who answered the door when I had locked myself out.  After a failed attempt at asking a shop assistant in the local supermarket for carrot batons and his middle name (neither received a positive response), a friend accosted a customer for me on my second trip of the evening.  He was wearing a snowflake jumper under a padded sleeveless gilet.  He was carrying a basket and, with a nod, he smiled.  He was quite specific about the spelling and asked how we would remember it.  I kept it in my head until I got back and wrote it on the wrapping paper that had come off a house-warming gift.

Mutha

In desperation I decided to try and find someone on an internet chat room.  Terrifying.  I found myself being confronted with moving images and being told to 'say hi to the stranger'.  Most flick quickly past me.  I think I wasn't conforming to etiquette by having my camera switched off.  I see underwear, I see penises, I see a reclining figure in a sari with hairy arms.  It does not seem like a salubrious meeting place.  Eventually someone pauses on me for long enough to type a '?'.  On the screen is the bottom half of a stubbled chin and a red T-shirt.  It seems less intimidating than the previous fleeting encounters.  I quickly respond.  Here follows the transcript of my first online chat with a stranger.

You're chatting with a random stranger on Omegle!
Stranger:  ?
You:  I'm trying to find out someone's middle name
Stranger:  ok
Stranger:  um
You:  it's a new year's resolution
Stranger:  uh
You:  do you have one
Stranger:  whos name
You:  your middle name
Stranger:  have one what
You:  a middle name
Stranger:  yes
Stranger:  mutha
You:  wheres it from
Stranger:  first name crazy last name fucka
You:  hahaha that's good
Stranger:  hahahahaha
Stranger:  peace now blackie
You:  peace
You:  thanks
 Your conversational partner has disconnected.

Aminatta Olafunke Abosada Adsubomie

In Liberty buying a teapot for a friend's birthday, I get into a discussion with the shop assistant about the relative pouring merits of different spouts.  She expressed concern over my choice although the water cooler was broken so she was unable to test it for me.  She told me that the best pour was from metal industrial teapots (she uses these at home) although sometimes the lids can come loose.  Having scoured the shop floor for alternatives, we settled on my original choice.  As she wrapped, I asked my question.  She said she had seven because she was from Nigeria but she couldn't remember them all and didn't know how to spell them.  In the end she wrote down an approximate spelling of those that she remembered on the back of a receipt.  'Adsubomie' means 'the crown surrounds you'.  She told me that her first name meant 'nurtured from birth', which is, I suppose, what we would all wish to be.  She was born in Ladbroke Grove, moved to Willesden and now lives near Luton with her parents.  They call her on her phone to see if she is in because they don't like shouting.

I apologised for the randomness of the question but she told me that she gets a lot worse.  Her colleague thought that my resolution sounded 'cool'.  As the purple ribbon was tied round the tissue paper we agreed that I would be back if the teapot was not a success.

Mary

Unable to pluck up the courage to ask one of the staff in an Indian take-away, I resorted to texting a friend who put me on the phone to his boyfriend's flat-mate.  She sounded mildly weary but amenable.  We discussed the difficulty of the task.  She expressed amused concern that I should be saying such things only six days in.  I asked if she could suggest any tactics.  She thought that it might help to reveal my own middle name but when I told her what it was she changed her mind.  She said it would be easier if it was something boring like Richard before remembering that was my name.  I said I didn't mind (I have been used to the idea that people might not like my name since my cousin said as much by a lake in the south of France at the age of 12) and it is going rapidly out of fashion anyway.  She said that her middle name was too.  I went on to discover that she was brought up near to where my Dad's family have a house in Wales, she is a team-leading gardener and she is a good Catholic girl.  We wished one another a happy new year and left each other to our respective Friday nights.

Catherine

Two young Hungarian men with pints of lager and prematurely receding hairlines tell me that middle names are very uncommon in Hungary.  I hadn’t considered the cultural difficulties when taking on this project.

Instead I find a blonde-haired girl sitting alone at a table with the remains of a glass of red wine.  A second glass signalled a temporarily absent companion.  After an initial wide-eyed concern, she was happy to help.  She was from Washington DC but with a valley girl accent and Irish roots.  This was her first time in Europe.  She had arrived on 29th December and been to Hogmanay in Edinburgh for the New Year.  She recommended it, especially the Ferris wheel and ice rink.  Tomorrow, she was  flying back to America.  I wished her a safe flight.

Jung

In my favourite cafe in Bermondsey sitting diagonally opposite a student with thick-rimmed black glasses and a pony-tail annotating a text.  Posters of Phillip Schofield and Barry Manilow on the wall.  For an hour we pursue our separate tasks.  She puts away her papers and begins to roll a cigarette from a packet of Drum tobacco on the table.  I decide she appears approachable and she responds with reassuring interest to my question.  My heart sinks when she explains that they don't really have middle names in Korea but she resourcefully provides me with the second half of her first name.  I ask if it is passed down through families.  She says she shares it with her sister but no one else.  She spells it for me and then offers to write it for me in Korean.  It looks like an upside-down 'Y' next to a 'T' on it's side with a circle underneath.  She puts on a hoodie, picks up her bag and I say thank you.  She says it was her pleasure.

(I caught the hat of a wandering parking inspector today.  It had blown off in a gust of wind.  He was grateful for it's return.  We shared a pleasantry about the weather but the opportunity to ask him his middle-name, unlike the hat, was never grasped.)

In Turkey they don't have middle names

I was accosted on the Hammersmith Road by a man in a black leather jacket holding a black fold-up umbrella with a large wart by the side of his nose.  Beside him was a younger and taller man with dark spiky hair.  He asked whether I was local.  After considering for a moment, I remembered that I was and was able to inform him that he was not yet within the congestion zone.  I took the opportunity to pounce and followed him down the road.  He looked suspicious.  He told me that he didn't have a middle name.  I didn't know whether to believe him.  "Sorry mate, I can't help you out", he said shaking his head.  I asked about his friend.  "My cousin.  In Turkey we don't have middle names" he replied.  They walked away from me at a faster pace.

I asked the question to Google and it appears that, whilst not an absolute truth, middle names are less common in Turkey although they are becoming more popular.

Anne (with an 'e')

On the till in a large Tesco was a thin lady with short dark hair, a craggy face and a voice that sounded like cigarettes.  She was cleaning her fingers with a folded J-cloth.  Her first name was printed on a badge.  I approached with a banana, a bottle of water and a packet of McCoys flamed steak crisps.  She seemed happy to answer my question.  I asked why it was with an 'e'.  She said I would have to ask her mother but that she had always preferred it with an 'e' anyway.  I said that was lucky.  She asked what made me to decide to take up this project.  I mumbled something about new year resolutions.  She said she had never made a new year's resolution and never intended to.  The total owed was £1.30.  She said that her new year's resolution could be not to make any new year's resolutions.  I said that sounded like an achievable goal.

John and Liz

Across a stile on a cliff-top in Devon I explained my New Year’s scheme to a middle-aged couple in matching black cagoules.  Her hood was tightly drawn to her face against the elements.  She wore blue-rimmed glasses and was short.  He had white facial hair and said “guinea pigs?” when I asked if they might help me out.  I didn’t need both their names but they seemed keen to offer.  I should have asked whether ‘Liz’ was short for Elizabeth but I didn’t.  They were from Basingstoke.