Sticks and stones

I've not got the stupidest name in the world. To have a stupid name you need to be in a haircare advert, you find people called Demetrius Pombo or Doutzen Krouze. It wasn't like that when I was young, we had Vosene and we were happy.

But my name has always caused minor issues. It's not stupid, it just isn't spelt like it sounds. If I had a pound for everytime it was spelt Coleman rather than Colman (no e) then I'd have £5,235. Sadly I'd probably get it in the form of a cheque made out to Mr Coleman and be unable to cash it.

As the years have gone by I've had various methods of explaining it to people. I used to say "Colman, as in the mustard" but as most people seem to buy supermarket mustard these days they look at you puzzled "what? as in wholegrain?". Latterly I've been saying "Colman, like a teetotal clubber - without an 'e'". But people just think you're mental.

Anyway, names is what I wanted to talk about, or rather the names I've been given over the years. Yes, contrary to my gentleman-thief-spy-bon-viveur appearance these days I wasn't the coolest cat at school. I developed early (stay with me), by that I mean I was the first person to have spots. So early on I was Pizzaface. Cruel, but then I did have large deposits of dough for cheeks, tomato coloured skin and pepperoni for eyes.

Then I developed dark rings around my eyes, I still have them. Instead of looking like some sort of superhero with a mask I got called Chi-Chi, after the giant panda in a Chinese zoo. Again it felt unfair, although I did get through a lot of bamboo and have no knowledge of reproduction at the time.

The good news that I've come through all these names with no real pyschological scars. In fact, I love pizzas, especially with sliced panda on top.

As I've got older, and people have been kinder, I've found that people called me TC a lot, mainly after the cartoon Top Cat. Fittingly, I even had a gang at the time. And lived in a bin, constantly thwarting the plans of the local police officer. No I didn't, that would be silly.

What's more silly, and why I shall never worry about my name, is that I've known plenty of people over the years who I am most glad I am not, simply because of their monickers. So thank to the following - Pat Mycock, Mustapha Arshed, Roger Boyes and Cliff Wanklyn (that last one always seems like an obscene extreme sport)- for making me feel normal.