Marc

The side-burned cyclist who banged a bell at the opening ceremony and today won a gold medal for Team GB.  Hurray.

James

In despair and faced with a wall of crumbling plaster I am given the number of a 'man who can'. He offers to pop round and have a look.  He uses the phrase 'lovely jubbly'.  I am comforted.

He rings on the door bell and comes to inspect the mess.  He is tall and thin.  He has white paint on his t-shirt.  'Easy job', he says.  I express my concerns about the benefits of patching it up versus tearing more down and starting again.  'Well you can if you want, Richard', he says, 'but I guarantee you it's going to be just fine'.  He taps the wall.  'Really?', I ask.  'A hundred percent - pay me in ten years if you want'.  I am half-convinced. 

He agrees to do it tomorrow for forty pounds.  On the way out I ask my question.  'I used to be Catholic', he tells me.  He was being confirmed with his brother and they asked him for his middle name.  He couldn't remember and so copied his brother's answer.  'And now it's on all my documents'.  He laughs and waves as he goes down the stairs.  'See you tomorrow, Richard', he says. 

(The following day, we share cups of tea and plastering tips.  He tells me that his parents moved to London from St Lucia when he was six months old and left him and his brother with their grandmother.  When he was six the two of them were put on 'a banana boat I suppose you'd call it' with name tags round their neck.  The young boys arrived at Victoria station.  'We didn't even have electricity at home', he tells me, 'and now there's all this steam and white people'.  On the platform they saw a black couple walking towards them holding a baby.  They put out their hands and introduced themselves to their sons.

'I'm fifty now, Richard.  I've got five grandchildren and counting', he says.  'I've got a four year-old with my current partner and guess what...'.  'What?', I say.  'She's pregnant', he tells me.)

Dev

Asking about wire brushes, plaster and hard-wearing bin bags in the local hardware shop, I am helped by a man with rectangular spectacles and a string necklace.  He is wearing a blue shirt, cargo shorts and white trainers.  He suggests that I come back tomorrow if I want more informed advice.

On my way out, I ask my question.  'In Indian it means something to do with being Godlike', he says.  I say that it sounds like a good name to have been given.  'I don't like it', he says.  'People say that it does not go with me but I have not been bothered to change it'.

Joan

Thinking about leaving a brightly-coloured badminton stadium.  'You don't know whether you're coming or going', says the lady in the brightly-coloured polo-shirt.  Her hair is blonde and cut into a sensible bob.  I ask if she is a badminton expert.  'I used to play it, actually', she says, 'but it's a coincidence - they just posted me here'.

I say that I've got a strange question for her.  'Oh good', she replies.  I ask it.  'Mine's terrible', she says.  'It's after my aunt'.  I say that I quite like it.  'At least it's not as bad as my sister's.  She was named after my other aunt'.  She makes a face.  'Aida', she says.

Angharad

Watching dancing nurses on the television, I am sitting next to a doctor who specialises in throat cancer.  She is wearing a black polka-dot dress and red lipstick.  'I've got a really good one', she says when I ask for her middle name.  In Welsh it means 'much loved one' so I suppose she is right.

Roksana, John Buchanan and Kaja

In a pub with candles on the tables and sherry decanters on the bar, the girl behind the bar is tired.  'Only half an hour to go', she says as I pay my bill.  She has red hair and wears an apron.  As I ask my question the barman listens in.  I ask how it is spelt.  'With a 'k'', she says, 'I am from Poland'.

'As in rock and a hard place?', asks the barman.  He has curly hair and a spring in his step.  She says she will write it down for me.  While waiting the barman asks what is the most unusual middle name I have come across.  I can't think off the top of my head but tell him that Ann(e) seems to be the most common.  'In my family, we always give family names', he tells me.  I get the feeling he wants to be included so I ask him too.  One is after his grandfather and the other a Scottish tribe.  'It's got a great tartan', he tells me, 'you'll recognise it'.

The girl with red hair comes back with hers written on a till receipt.  'I like my name', she tells me.

'I'll show you some', says the barman running off in search of some tartan.  Meanwhile the girl writes another name on a different receipt.  'This is my sister's', she says, demonstrating the pronunciation - a rasping sound in place of the 'j'.  The barman returns with a tartan rug.  It is nice.  'Very nice', I say.

'You should see what it looks like as a suit', he says.  'Me and my brother have got it in trousers, jacket and waistcoat'.  I am impressed.  'It looks pukka', he tells me.  I am sure it does.

Franklin

At the Olympic Park people in purple and red polo-shirts with matching baseball caps are being helpful in directing the crowds.  Some sit on umpire chairs with loudspeakers, 'Welcome to London, people', they announce, 'Bear left for Bridge A and right for Bridge B.  We hope you have a fantastic time'.  There are high-tech looking stadiums on either side of us and a sense of anticipation in the air.

Two of us have tickets in Bridge A and two of us in Bridge B.  We ask a grounded member of the purple and green team whether that means we have to separate on our way in.  'I don't know I'm just a pleb like you', he says despite his outfit suggesting otherwise.  'I say just all go through together and if you have any problems just say Ken told you it'd be fine'.  He indicates the name-badge that hangs round his neck.

I use the opportunity to ask his other name.  'Think Benjamin', he says and gives me an answer.  I ask why his parents chose it.  'Well, I was very young when I was born so I didn't think to ask', he replies.  He tells me he is from Birmingham by way of Zimbabwe, 'Part Zulu', he says.  We wish each other a happy Olympics.