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.