Say my name. Say my name.

Posted in Old blogger by Twenty Major on May 16th, 2006

For a time in my life I lived in Paris in a rather swish apartment building in the St Germain district. I was there for various reasons, none of which were are very important or interesting now, but I wasn’t one of those wankers who went to Paris to write poems or other arty-farty bollocks like that.

Anyway, downstairs from me lived a rather portly man called Fernando. I met him on the first day I moved in as I lugged a couple of boxes up in the juddery old lift. At that time my French was terrible and he spoke reasonably good English in a very posh English accent. He welcomed me to the building and let me know that it was a quiet place and that was the way the residents liked it. I told him I understood and I’m not the kind of person to have parties in my own home.

To be honest I hate having people I don’t know in my home. It bothers me, but that’s besides the point.

I would run into Fernando a few times a month.

“Good morning, Fernando!”, I would say.

“Ahhh, good morning to you Henry”, he would say.

I never had the heart to tell him my name was ‘Twenty’, not ‘Henry’. This went on for the nearly 2 years I lived in that building. He’d call me Henry every time he saw me.

Anyway, my time there came to an end. As I was leaving the building for the final time I saw my neighbour coming in. As I said goodbye I told him that he’d been calling me by the wrong name the whole time.

“I’m not Henry, Fernando, my name is Twenty.”

“Funny you should say that. My name is Albert.”

True story.