Regine

Having considered the matter for eight months (25th February), I finally get round to joining my local leisure centre.  In my hand is a bunch of Halloween berries.

'Are they for me?' asks the girl standing behind the counter.  She is tall and thin.  Her long, braided hair is tied in a ponytail.  On her black dress is a small stain, possibly yogurt.  I say she can have them if she wants.  'Only joking', she says.  I fill out a form.

'You've got the same birthday as my mum', she tells me as she inputs my information to the computer.  She is helped by a man in a light-blue polo-shirt whose size belies his place of work.

With the transaction complete, I explain my resolution.  She seems perturbed.  'What's your middle name then?', prompts her colleague.  She tells him.  I ask what it means.  'Is it something to do with queens?' I suggest.  She gives me a look of suspicion and shrugs silently.  'I'm sorry', I say making a rapid exit.  'But thank you very much'.

She waves goodbye with her fingers.

Ferdinand

Buying a cup of chicken soup and a latte from a multinational lunchtime eatery, I notice that my server's badge merely says 'TRAINEE'.

'You don't have a name', I say.  'No', he replies.  'I'm still waiting for one'.  He has floppy hair and an enthusiastic attitude. 

I decide to counter his corporate anonymity by asking my question.  He pauses to froth the milk before giving me an answer.  I ask if it is from The Tempest.  'No', he replies, 'It's after the bull'.  I remember reading about the sensitive bull who would rather smell flowers than compete in bullfights.  'From the children's story', he confirms.

Simone, Beulah and Mary

At the adjacent table in the cafe of Marks and Spencer, sit three elderly ladies with three pairs of spectacles of different shapes and sizes.  They discuss flu jabs and coo over a baby in a pram.  They are drinking tea from teapots.

Apologising for my interruption, I explain my odd request.  'Do you want to know mine?' says the smallest of the three with short grey hair.  She tells me that her mother was Swiss-French.  The tallest, and most imposing of the group, offers hers as well.  Her companions are impressed.  'I think it's mentioned in the bible somewhere', she says.  The third, whose hair is curly and defiantly brown, waits to be asked.  She is dismissive of her own.  'Are you doing some kind of project?', she asks.  I explain the inexact premise of my eccentricity.  'Well, I think that's lovely', she says.

I say thank you and leave them to their afternoon gathering.

(Beulah is a Hebrew word from the book of Isaiah relating to a prophesied attribute of the land of Israel.  It is also used to describe the place between heaven and earth in the works of John Bunyan and William Blake.  I don't know whether her first and last names complete the trinity.)

Jerzy

Crossing the road in the rain, I see two men smoking cigarettes outside a pub.  One is bald the other is not.  Someone approaches and asks them for money.  They oblige.  Witnessing their amenability, I decide to make my own request.

'What does this mean?' asks the one without any hair.  He is wearing a jumper with a zipped neck.  I explain myself.  He gives me an answer.  He is from Poland.  I tell him that his help is much appreciated.  'No.  No problem', he says giving me a thumbs up as I depart.  'You're cool man'.

Ralf

A man is tying his bicycle to a post on the pavement.  On the front is attached a shopping basket.  He is wearing a large woollen scarf that envelops the lower part of his face.  I approach to ask my question.  He grins, seemingly pleased to be asked.  'Yes', he says.  'I have a middle name'.  On his nose are perched a small pair wire-rimmed spectacles.

I have to ask him to spell it before I can decipher his accent.  He is from Germany.  He puts out his hand to shake mine.  I wish him a good evening and leave him to his D-lock.

Aemilia

Standing in a pub in a tube station with three other people, we are approached by a a young woman.  'Do you want tickets to see Dara O'Brien?' she asks.  She is wearing thick black glasses and her coat has a fur-trimmed hood.  'I've got four'.  She takes out the tickets and shows them to us.  'They're free'.

For a moment, we consider.  'Only if you want', she says.  'You don't have to'.  We decide against but thank her anyway and I ask her middle name.  She is unfazed and gives me an answer.

Ann

The nineteen year-old German model who has come to stay in my spare room is wearing an 'I heart London' hoodie.  She tells me that, three years ago, she came sixth in 'Germany's Next Top Model'.  She has done a lot of work in South Africa but doesn't have a middle name.

Instead, I look up the most famous supermodel of my youth.  Famous for swimsuits, a well-placed mole and a Buddhist ex-husband who may or may not have had a penchant for gerbils, her middle name is disappointingly mundane (and the most common of this project).

Her first name used to be Cynthia.