“Got you something spicy in a pitta, not sure what it is, that alright?” Andy asked. We were sprawled, feet on desk, in my office, having our regular lunchtime chat. He’d been out for the sandwiches.
“Fine” I said gazing with trepidation at the pinky red filling oozing out.

Andy was what you might call my best mate, not that I line them up in order of preference but he was the most readily available and amusing and wavelength-wise our dials were tuned to the same station. He worked up on the tenth floor in Human Resources but popped down whenever he could for a spot of lunch and a chat. At all other times, when he had no legitimate reason to be there, he would sneak down furtively - skulking or lurking around my office to gossip or watch the girls go by. However today was a perfectly above-board lunch hour pop. He had his eye on the new girl on this floor who’d started two weeks ago - a beautiful and fashionable girl named Mercedes who lived up to all the up-market, wealthy associations of her name. He was plucking up the courage to ask her out but he was unsure of how to approach her for fear of rejection and public humiliation.

“She’s a hard nut that one “, I warned him, “Ambitious too - she reckons she’s going to have a seat on the board in three years.”
“Do you reckon she will?”
”Well, I dunno, she’s got a lot to learn, she’s all style but no content at the moment. Lots of attitude but no real business sense.”
“Nice arse though.”
“True” I took a bite of the spicy modge that I knew would attach itself to my taste buds for the rest of the day. “So anyway, what’s your killer pick up line going to be?”

He knitted his brow,
“Well I thought: Allright doll, do you wanna be my bird?”
“Yes that might work or try Fancy a shag darlin’? - never fails for me.”
“Actually, I know a bloke who tries that and one time in every 300 it actually works.”
“Yes well you’ll need better odds than that for Mercedes D’Angelo”.

“Mercedes D’Angelo” he pondered, “that’s such a classy name isn’t it - do you think people evolve into their names? Would she have grown up be such a classy lady if she’d been christened Sharon Slagworthy? or Sheryl Slingback? or Tracey...anything.”
“Who knows? You’d better watch it though, she wraps men round her little finger that one, so I’ve heard - has them fetching and carrying for her, and squeezes them dry. They say she doesn’t go out with men, she just takes them for walkies.”
“Well I don’t care, she’s a babe - she can use me and abuse me however she wants. She’s the only woman I’ve really, really fancied since I split up with Portia.”

I chewed thoughtfully.
“Do you only date girls named after cars?”
He sighed,
“Its Shakespearean in origin actually” he said snootily. “And anyway that depends whether you pronounce Porsche in the German way or....”
“Because if you do”, I said before he rambled on, “I know a girl called Marina, if you’re interested, she could be right up your street.”

He considered that.
“Marina? Marina - not much class there.”
“Well she’s quite nice, and posh too but... no wait, actually she’s engaged to someone now anyway - now I think about it - bloke called Maurice.”

He paused a moment,
“Maurice? Marina ? he scoffed, “You just made that up.”
“I didn’t - its true. Scouts honour.”
“So what are they gonna be called then. Mr and Mrs Estate? Saloon? Crap-Old-Banger?
I shrugged, I really hadn’t made it up.
He finished his sandwich and wiped his mouth,
“What’s the wimpiest name you can think of?” he asked.
“Er.. I don’t know…Cyril Simpkins, Tarquin Simper, anyone called Nigel, why?”.
”Because there’s an old bloke just started in the post room called Cecil Prim, fancy that.”
“And your point is?”
”Well, you’ve got to ask what would he have become if his mother had called him....Rocky O’Houlihan or something instead - a prize fighter? a tug boat captain? a hell raising actor.? He wouldn’t be pushing a trolley full of envelopes about for a living that’s for sure”.
“Good point, makes you think.”

“It’d be interesting, if you had identical twin boys to call one, say…Jack…. Brannigan for example and the other one Timothy Fairycake-Jones and see how they turn out.”
“Hmmm,” I nodded, “Jack sounds like he’d become a maverick detective.”
“Oh yeah. Definitely a maverick, hard as nails too. And a bourbon drinker.”

“But Timothy might not necessarily be a big girl’s blouse - he might end up pretty tough too, he’d certainly have some battles in the playground. So he might triumph through adversity whilst Jack never made it to the top ‘cos he was too much of a maverick, and he could never keep a woman cause he didn’t treat ‘em right – he had it all but just ended up a lonely disillusioned alcoholic.”
Andy looked suddenly dejected.

“Poor old Jack. I liked Jack, he was a man’s man, they don’t make ‘em like that anymore.”

“A man’s man.” I nodded.

“If I have a son,” he sniffed, “I shall call him Jack.”