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.