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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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'.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.  

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.

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.

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'.)

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.

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.

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'.

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.