Gabrielle Lucie

In the early stages of a wedding reception, I meet a large middle-aged lady from Paris.  She is a pharmacist and dressed from head-to-toe in shades of grey and silver.  She wears strappy shoes and has a feathered fascinator in her hair.  I ask my question in broken French.  'J'ai une resolution de la nouveau anee', I begin.  After some time we come to an understanding and I get my answer.

Eight hours later we bump into each other again collecting our coats.  Hers is a silver mackintosh with a matching handbag.  I am impressed by her consistency.

Paulo Angelo

Looking for swimming shorts in one of Europe's biggest shopping malls, I go into a trendily over-priced clothing shop.  'What do you think of the store?' asks a shop assistant at the door.  The sides of his head are shaved and the top is a distressed quiff of curly brown hair.  He has defined facial bones, heavy-rimmed black glasses and a ring in the end of his nose.  He is Italian.  'We just opened today', he tells me.  I say that I feel privileged to be amongst the first customers.  He tells me that the second part of his middle name is after his grandmother with the 'a' changed to an 'o'.  I thank him and continue my tour of the shop.

As I am heading out empty handed, he approaches me again.  'So have you collected lots of other middle names today?' he asks.  I explain that I only need one and that his is it.  He asks what it is for and I tell him about the blog.  'Ah.  You're a blogger', he says.  I say that I'd never thought of myself like that.  He accompanies me to the entrance, 'See you around', he says.

I buy my swimming shorts elsewhere.

Raymond

Coming out of the men's toilets in a local pub, I run into two elderly men on a bench facing the door.  They have the look of an institution.  I approach the elder of the two.  He is wearing a shooting hat and a corduroy jacket and his lips are turned into his mouth.  His skin is papery.  On one hand is a glove, in the other is a folded handkerchief.  I have to lean in to hear what he is saying.  He tells me his name and then that he has lost the feather for his hat and is looking for a new one.  His companion, younger and more rotund with a colourful knitted jumper, shakes my hand and starts a conversation.  We discuss how long I have been in the area, music venues and the fact that they used to come to this pub before it was renovated.  The elder of the two tries to remember the name of the big venue in Brixton.  'Fucking huge', he says.  He has a badge on his lapel that says 'Oxjam'.  I leave them to finish their pints.  'It's nice to meet someone who's willing to engage', says the younger.

Gilbert

An art gallery in South London.  I watch a piece of video art about what is inside and what is outside.  On the way out, I approach the curator with my question.  He stands up from where he is seated.  He has thick dreadlocks tied back from his face, a protruding beard and multi-coloured canvas trainers.  Upright, he is surprisingly short.

He answers my question.  'As in ... and George?' I ask.  'No', he replies, 'After my Dad'.  He sits back on his chair and leans back, 'Although I'd never thought of it like that'.

Victoria

On the phone to an important-sounding PA, she asks for my date-of-birth and middle name for administrative purposes.  I ask whether she would mind giving me her middle name in exchange.  There is a pause, a laugh and an answer.

I don't ask for her date-of-birth.

Saskia

'In Germany middle names are mainly for royalty', a young German girl tells me in a traditional London pub.  She has a pink shell-suit jacket made by a fashionable brand and a calmly sardonic tone.  Her hair is tied back in a rough ponytail.  She is not impressed by London.

She tells me that her middle name is not on any official documentation but that her mother had given it to balance out the softness of her first name.  She says she may be related to royalty but only very distantly.

Lee

In an unfamiliar part of north London, I find myself in a hotel conference room on the outskirts of a circle whilst people hand round a microphone.  I have come to meet a friend who has just taken part in a three-day personal development course and am invited in for the final moments.  The participants seem positive, if a little shell-shocked.  There is a lot of smiling, touching and applause.  There are other visitors but when the organiser asks if anyone in the room has never done one of his courses, I am the only one to put my hand up.  He is kind and tells me not to be afraid.

'All you need is love' plays over the tannoy as people begin to disperse.  I sit in a corner whilst my friend does a round of goodbye hugs.  At my request she sends someone over to give me his middle name.  The first is an Israeli with a red T-shirt and a fashionably pulled back woollen hat.  He tells me that middle names are very rare in Israel.  The second is a shyer man with glasses over a hooked nose.  He smiles at my request and gives me an answer.  I wonder if we should talk more and break down our personal barriers but we don't.

I collect my coat and my friend takes me to have a pizza and a beer.