Anne

Buying yellow flowers for a friend's birthday, the girl in the cafe-cum-flower shop has a feather hanging from one ear.  She finds me a brown paper bag to carry my purchase.

'I don't have one', she says when I explain my resolution.  She turns to her colleague with red hair and a severe fringe.  'What's your middle name?' she asks for me.  The red-haired girl, making a cappuccino, has a mildly disapproving look but gives an answer.

Alan

A neighbour knocks on my door with a chartered surveyor in tow.  He hands me his card.  'You want to know who's poking round', he says.  He is bald with a grey moustache and an air of experience.  Together they investigate the layout of my flat.  'It's not going to be a problem', he says with authority.

I use the opportunity to ask about fixing a bookshelf to a stud wall.  He explains in detail about batterns and butterfly screws.  He draws a diagram.

Back at the door I ask my question.  A flicker of doubt crosses his face before a conclusive answer.

Mendes

As on 3rd February, I am again accosted to be told about the plight of the Siberian tiger.  The young girl in the orange t-shirt speaks fast and with purpose.  'Why do you think they're dying out?', she asks.  'They're being shot?' I suggest.  'Exactly', she replies. 

'All it takes is a text message', she says putting a number in front of my face but my bus arrives.  'I'm sorry', I say, 'I have to catch my bus'.

I do find time to quickly ask my question.  It is Portuguese.

Indiscretion

The self-proclaimed middle name of one of Hollywood's top female script writers who died today.  She knew the identity of "Deep Throat", source of the Watergate scandal, years before it was revealed to the world and 'dealt with the situation by telling pretty much anyone who asked me, including total strangers'.  She also claimed to be the only young woman who worked as an intern in Kennedy's White House whom the President did not make a pass at because he 'somehow sensed that discretion was not my middle name'.

About life she said she would not miss, amongst other things, 'E-mail', 'Bras' and 'The sound of the vacuum cleaner', but that she would miss 'Waffles', 'The concept of waffles' and 'Fireworks'.

'Be the heroine of your life, not the victim', she said.  I'm going to try.

Catherine

After a selectly attended university musical society concert, a small girl in a blue dress has made vegan and gluten-free chocolate buns.  She has red hair in a plait and her guitar (on which she had earlier played Jeff Buckley's Hallelujah) has a leopard print sash chord.

I take a bun and explain my resolution.  'Oh my god, yeh', she says.  Her accent is northern.  She tells me her middle name and explains that she used banana as an egg substitute.  The result is surprisingly tasty.

Alice

On the top floor of a bookshop the book I have requested in on the system but not on the shelf.

'This is really going to annoy me now', says the shop assistant when I tell her not to worry.  She has a nose-stud and bronze earrings in the shape of eagles.  Under her black uniform shirt she is wearing a green t-shirt.  'Perhaps someone put it in the Biography section'.  She looks to no avail.  'Usually they turn up', she says and goes back to scan the Poetry again.  By now I have found something else that I am taken by.  'Here it is', she says holding it aloft, 'I knew it would be here somewhere'.  Because I have a book token, I decide to buy both.

'My sister chose it for me', she explains when I ask my question, 'she's five years older than me'.  she tells me that she was named after Alice in Wonderland.  'It was her favourite book at the time', she says.

(Lewis Carroll wrote an acrostic poem for the seven-and-a-half year-old who inspired the Wonderland on a boat-trip down the Isis near Oxford.  It appears at the end of Alice Through the Looking Glass and in it is hidden another middle name... 

A boat beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July–

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear–

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die.
Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream–
Lingering in the golden gleam–
Life, what is it but a dream?)

John

In the garden at a party for a family wedding, I meet the young son of my aunt's sister.  He has been energetically hula-hooping on the lawn for much of the afternoon.  I ask my question and if there is any particular reason for the answer.  'Not really', he says.  'It's your father's middle name', corrects his mother.

Elizabeth

Back in Britain's best-loved department store and a middle-aged lady is being helpful about a particular bedstead.  After extending her telephonic search as far as Solihull, she suggests that there is a damaged one in their stockroom.  She allows me to  buy it at a discount on the condition that I ring her to arrange a return if the damage is 'too much to bear'.

As she is processing the transaction we talk about opening hours and the Jubilee.  We discuss the Olympic games, the problem of youth unemployment in relation to her three sons and the disparity between the Haves and the Have Nots.

Taking my receipt I ask my question.  She smiles broadly.  'It's not exciting', she says.  I tell her it is exciting enough for me.

Meredith and Fraser

Bright red and peroxide blonde hair catch my eye from the corner of a pub.  A boy and girl are facing each other on a banquette.  She (the red-head - long and curly with dark roots) and he (blonde - combed back in a brisk side-parting) look as though they could be on a band.

I interrupt their tete-a-tete to ask my question.  The girl sits forward and, with authority, tells me both.  'We're brother and sister', she explains.  I bring up their opposing hair colours.  'We used to be the same', she says pointing at her brother, 'but mine started to fall out'.

We talk about my resolution, the difficulty of approaching strangers and the importance of human interaction.  On leaving them to it, I shake their hands.

David Victor and Victoria

On my way home wearing a tie, I approach a young couple who are leaning against the wall of the tube station smoking cigarettes.  'Only in London', says the boy with a mop of dark hair over his forehead.  They give me an answer.  'It's weird because we're going out', says the girl, with big eyes.  She tells me about the gig they have just been to.  'It was amazing', she says, 'why didn't you go?'  I tell her I was busy at the other end of town.  'You look very smart', she says.

(On the bus I think the omens are auspicious for this pair, their middle names resembling both Britain's favourite celebrity couple and a film starring Julie Andrews as a struggling soprano who finds work as a male-female impersonator.)

Michael Patrick

The German girl who is staying with me confirmed the statement of 26th March that it is posh in Germany to have a middle name. She is not posh. 

Instead I approach a man sitting by the window of the pub with neatly cropped grey hair and a tanned face.  On his knee sits a small and similarly well-groomed dog.  'I've not heard that one before', he says smiling to my request.  His companion has spiky hair and a brightly-coloured t-shirt.  The dog takes an interest.  'Are you Irish?' I ask on being given an answer.  'Couldn't be more so', he replies.  The dog is called Tayto.

Anastacia

'Have you got a child?' asks the large lady with wrap-around sunglasses and a polo-shirt at the entrance to a children's playground.  I tell her that there is one inside who I am going to visit.  'You'll have to phone them', she says.  I do.  She is wearing a plastic bracelet containing small portraits of the Virgin Mary.  Her earrings are two silver crosses.

While we wait, I ask my question.  'I've got a confirmation name', she says.  We agree that can count.  She tells me and my requisite child arrives in a sunhat with his mother.

Wesley

Alone in a large lido, I am approached by a lifeguard in a fluorescent yellow jacket.  He has a small wispy goatee and pointed teeth.  With a slight lisp, he asks me if I can collect the two pound coin he has dropped into the deep end.  I tell him I wasn't very good at swimming exams at school and that I can't really open my eyes under water.  'I'm sure you'll be able to do it', he says to me with confidence.

I brace myself, swim over to the deep and manage to touch it with my foot.  'You need to dive down and kick', he tells me.  I try a couple of times.  His colleague with dark aviator shades comes to watch.  The second time I touch the bottom but can't find the coin.  I am quite out of breath.  'I'll try and push it to the shallow end', he says, 'you continue your swim'.

Two lengths later, I notice he is struggling.  'It's got stuck in a groove', he says.  I manage to dislodge it with my toe.  'It's hard work', he says.  I offer to try again when an older gentleman in tight swimming shorts emerges from the changing rooms.  He is wearing goggles.  'Maybe I'll ask him', the lifeguard says.

'Did you get it?' I ask as I am leaving.  'Yeh, thanks for trying, mate', he says.  I apologise for my inadequate underwater abilities and then use the opportunity to ask my question.  'That's new resolution', he says, 'I've never heard that one before'.  His middle name is after one of his dad's best friends.

Grey

Admiring some stained glass angels in an open studio, the other artists call the man responsible to come and say hello.  'It's the angel maker', says my friend.  'Bet you've never been called that before', says one of his studio colleagues.

He is a middle aged man with hair that matches his middle name and a kind face.  He is wearing a pale shirt with thin vertical stripes of colour.  The shapes of the angels are designed by children at his son's school (they are appealingly wonky) and he turns them into stained glass.  He explains the method to us in detail.

He smiles and nods as we are about to move on.  I ask my question.  'I'd be glad to', he says and he answers.

Nickolai

A busty girl suggests a cupcake when I say I am looking for a bite to eat.  She is wearing a tight-fitting shirt with vertical stripes and a necklace of plastic hearts.  Her hair is dark and tied-back with a fringe.  She has heavy eye-liner and an Eastern-European accent.

I choose a bakewell slice but there is not enough change in the till.  'Wait one minute', she says and finds just enough coins from her own purse.  I thank her and explain my resolution.  'In my country the middle name is after the father', she says.  She has an identical twin sister who has the same name, 'except that she has blonde hair now'.  She tells me that her sister has gone back to Bulgaria for medical reasons.  'I think they look after her very well there', she says.

Cwfan Glynn

During a clowning workshop I find myself asking a curly-haired boy whom I have never met to get on all-fours and moo like a cow.  Afterwards I ask for his middle name.  It is Welsh.

Mafic

The evening in a historic palace and there is a rush to buy ponchos.  One lady is holding a basket-full, the other is scanning and taking the money.  'I know you' says the lady at the till.  She had tried to sell me one earlier.  'I told you you'd want one'.  She has a a sky-blue polo-shirt and long dark hair.  She is cheerful and I ask her my question.  'It's Muslim - my father's name', she tells me efficiently.

The lady carrying the basket calls out to me as I am making my way out of the shop, 'I love your new year's resolution'.  She is older, her hair is grey and her teeth crooked.  'Thank you', I say.  She asks my middle name.  I tell her.  We share a smile.  But the rain is coming down harder and there are more ponchos to be sold.

Tariq

With five minutes to spare, I pop into an empty bath shop to ask about mixer taps and shower fittings.  The man with a blue shirt and a heart-shaped face is happy to help.  The sides of his head are shaved with a flat-top of curly black hair.  He explains the relative merits of pumps and combi-boilers and the problem of limescale on valves.

He laughs when I ask my question and puts his hands on his hips.  He has dimples.

Andrew

Leaving a tribute night to a local poet, I am accosted by a young rap artist with straggly blonde hair who hands me his card.  'You should check us out', he says.  His blue baseball cap is emblazoned with the slogan 'Only' and he wears a tartan baseball jacket.  'It's old school hip hop though', he assures me, 'proper stuff'.  His duo is called Too Many T's and the card claims them to have 'Premium Rap Skills'.

I tell him about my resolution.  He laughs.  'Do you have to guess it?' he says.  'Not necessarily', I reply.  'Go on'.  He smiles.  His face is thin and lightly stubbled.  I suggest John.  'Ooh.  So close', he says.  I try Tom.  'It's a real English name', he says.  I try a few more before he gives me the first letter and I guess.

I thank him and tell him I will look up his stuff.  As I go down the stairs he asks for my name and puts out his hand.  We shake.

(I do look up his stuff.  I like it.  My favourite is Lovin' Life for it's generally affirmative and upbeat attitude.)

Ann

On the phone the lady with the northern accent is very helpful in advising over tiling options for my bathroom.  She suggests a silver trim as the colour that I am interested in does not come with border tiles.  We discuss the material of my bathroom fittings.

'Oh right', she says when I ask my question, 'I'm afraid I've got quite a boring one'.  I assure her that that is not the point.  'It's just plain old Ann', she says. 

I tell her that I think it's a good one, check whether it has an 'e' and thank her very much for all her help.

Karin Rosemary

The German lady who is staying for three nights is a swimming instructor for over-weight women.  She has blonde hair and bold glasses.  She stands in her pyjamas in the door of her bedroom while I talk to her from the kitchen.  Without my glasses I can't see her face.

Her middle names are after her aunts'; one from her father's side and one from her mother's (I don't know which is which).   

April

The middle name of the blue-eyed girl and friend's three month old baby who I met over a home-made burger and a glass of quince cordial.

Alexander Robert

In a charity shop on the high street of a small town, I take six pint glasses to the counter.  'Where's the price tag?' asks the shop assistant.  He is young with shaggy hair and a light sprinkle of acne.  His t-shirt bears the slogan; 'All my life I have dreamed of being a gangster'.  There is a picture of a pink gun.

'They're £1.99', I say pointing at the label.  'That's good value', he says.  I agree.  He does not have any suitable bags so I suggest that I don't need one.  'You'll look cool carrying them down the street anyway', he says.

He seems glad to offer his middle names.  'I'm part Scottish, part English and a little bit Irish with about ten percent Swedish but that's been forgotten about', he explains.

I thank him, stack the glasses and leave looking cool.

It has been blocked from my memory

On the fringes of a literary festival in Wales, a French chanteuse is reading erotic poetry into a microphone.  Her voice is sultry; 'His spunk (and there was a lot of it), in my hair, all over my cheek and on my punk records'.  She looks up at her selected audience, 'Don't tell me you've come for nothing', she says.

On her head is a black bandana emblazoned with a silver skull-and-crossbones.  In her left hand is a plastic tumbler of red wine.  A string of black sequins hangs, unraveled from her black dress. 

We wait patiently as she checks her phone for messages and refills the tumbler.  She staggers back to the microphone and sings a song from the seventies that, she tells us, went into the charts just below the top forty.  Her final erotic poem ends with the line, 'I licked his balls for comfort and then we fell asleep'.

Afterwards, I approach to tell her how much I enjoyed the show.  She has put on a fur coat and diamante sunglasses.  She asks where I am from.  I tell her about my resolution.  She leans towards me.  'In reality I have two first names and two last names but they have been lost in time', she says adding that they have been blocked from her memory.  'I don't like to think about them', she says.  And, pulling her coat around her, she goes in search of her piano player.

Jane

At a cinema underneath a railway arch, I ask the girl behind the bar whether she might tell me her middle name.  She is wearing black and a checked neck-scarf.  Her forehead wrinkles at my request.  'What are you going to do with this information?' she asks.  I explain that I am writing a sort of blog.  She looks at me with faint pity.  'Well, I'm glad I could help you out', she says.

Roy and Lynne

The pavement in front of me is blocked by a group of five grey-haired sexagenarians.  They are crowded round number 138 bearing cameras.  The '8' has come loose and is hanging at an angle.  'Is this an important house?' I ask, waiting for them to clear a way.  'We used to live here in the sixties', says a bald man with a round face and glasses, 'when we were students'.  He looks pleased.  A woman with sensibly cut hair and a bright blue rain-jacket asks if I live here.  I tell them I live at number 96.  'We haven't come down specially for this', she says hurriedly.

I explain my resolution.  The bald man who has a short but upright posture offers his straight-away.  The woman in the blue rain-jacket adds hers more sheepishly afterwards.

Oliver

In a garden under some bunting I approach a couple to tell the girl that I know her middle name from a telephone conversation on 6th January.  She remembers and asks me how I am getting on.  I tell her that I am still going strong.

Today's middle name is her boyfriend.  'I don't think my parents liked the name', he tells me.  'I think they just wanted my initials to spell COW'.

Alexandra Mary

A tall woman from Washington arrives at my front door to stay for two night's over the Jubilee.  She is wet from the rain.  'Are you a fan of the monarchy?' I ask over a cup of tea.  'I suppose I am a bit', she says, her legs crossed on my sofa, 'I came over for William and Kate's wedding'.  I nod.  'Actually I also came over for the Golden Jubilee - it was a fantastic occasion'.  'You're quite keen then', I suggest.  'And the Queen Mother's funeral was really beautiful'.

Sadly she doesn't have a middle name so today's instead belong to the object of her affection and the reason a thousand boats floated down the Thames on a grey afternoon.

Anthony

Looking for a cable in a South London market, I ask at a stall that sells mobile phones and plays loud beats from a ghetto blaster.  Th man behind the stall turns down the volume to hear my request and then puts it up again and tells me to wait for the owner.  A tall and thin man approaches the stall.  His dress is dapper; a black waistcoat over a red, white and blue striped shirt.  He also wears a patriotic baseball cap made up of the national colours except it is emblazoned with the words 'Los Angeles'.  He is black and his two front teeth are missing.

He tells me to come behind the stall and look for the cable.  He does not have the one I am looking for.  Before leaving I ask my question.  'What's your motive?' he asks.  I explain.  He tells me.  'How's it going for you?' he asks.  I tell him that I do have a name for every day so far.  He nods his head in approval and proffers a hand.  I shake it.  It is very big.

Agatha

Waiting to watch a film about sex addiction, I accidentally kick over and break a glass.  'Ooooh', say the two black ladies in front of me, 'We know it was you'.  They laugh.  I go to find a dustpan and brush.

After the film I approach and tell them my resolution.  'Oh is it now?' says the one closest to me.  Her hair is done up in a high bun and she is wearing an ivory necklace.  Her friend leans back on her chair.  She looks dubious. 

'It's just something I've been trying to do everyday', I say trying not to sound perverted.  The one closest to me gives me an answer.  'After Christie?' I ask.  'I don't think after Christie', she replies, 'I don't know.  I never asked'.  I thank her for her help.  'Good luck with your quest', she says as I leave. 

Her friend watches me go.  She remains dubious.