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


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.