Henry

At the tube station a girl is sitting on a low ledge straddling a large red bag.  She has short hair and high-top trainers.  I approach and explain my request.  She listens to the end and then says, 'I'm sorry.  Please.  More slowly'.  I take the direction.  I am slow.  And clear.  And use gestures.  'Ah, I don't have one', she shrugs.

'Oh no', I say.  And in desperation, 'Are you sure?'

'No', she says (by which I think she means 'Yes').

'That's strange', I say, for want of something better.

'Why strange?' she asks defensively, 'I think it's normal'.  I try to explain that in England most people have a middle name.  'For example?' she says.  I rack my brain.  'Yeh.  Well.  I'm from Italy.  So...'  I tell her it was nice to meet her

Immediately, I move on to an older woman who is loitering in a lime green coat.  'Sorry, don't have one', she says in a Northern accent.  'This is not a good day', I tell her.

Instead, today's middle name is the answer I gave to the Italian girl when asked for an example.  I don't know why.  But it seemed as good as any.