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.