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Ellie-Maes, and other people who claim to have two first names

ONE was good enough for Jesus, Elvis and Buddha, but the greedy not only insist they have two first names but demand to be called by them. What can we learn from these freaks? 

Ellie-Mae

Actually has some pedigree as the name of the girl from The Beverly Hillbillies, though it’s unlikely the parent who bestowed this knows such acknowledged classics of the silver screen. Some children have their names put down for Eton at birth; babies called Ellie-Mae have their names put down on a waiting list for a trainee position at a local beauty salon.

Lily-Rose

Destined to be a waifish, pixie-like creature described with words like ‘enchanting,’ ‘elfin’ and ‘a bit wet frankly’. They spend most of their time buying scented candles and drawing pictures of unicorns. Nothing dramatic ever happens to a Lily-Rose, though they believe everything does.

Ava-Grace

An Ava-Grace is a woman who has her shit together. Forced to spell her name to everyone she meets, she naturally assumes she lives in a world of f**king idiots and takes command accordingly. Has never had a Pot Noodle and believes Love Island should be closed to shipping. Find her silently judging your shopping basket in Waitrose.

Charlie-Lou

Permanently the baby of the group. Wide-eyed, candyfloss-fuelled and incapable of outgrowing Christmas excitement, they move through adulthood with a baffling innocence. Even aged 43, a Charlie-Lou can be spotted clapping during the exciting part of a film.

Tommy-Lee

Could go either way. For men there is charisma, mischief and the faint promise of learning the guitar if not too busy attending appointments at sexually transmitted disease clinics. If female, will hang out at the same rock pubs but be f**king angry about a name that condemns her to a cleavage tattoo.

Ruby-Ann

Ruby-Anns appear to have wandered into British life from a 1950s Technicolor film. All wholesome smiles, cardigans and make-out sessions at Lover’s Creek. Permanently positioned next door to trouble, but never involved in it. How do two names add up to plain boring?

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'Then she got off at Bank and our love ended': The ten stages of falling for a stranger on public transport

IF only she had looked up from her phone, you would be engaged and choosing names for your first four children. This is how your Central line love slipped away: 

Stage one: The glance

You spot her across the carriage, an alluring silhouette with gorgeous hair, someone new and exciting who’s not blocked you or unmatched on Bumble. No ring. A promising start.

Stage two: The smile

She’s smiling slightly. This is kismet: Dante and Beatrice, Carrie and Boris, Molly-Mae and Tommy. You’re confident it’s not because she’s looking at photos of cats in trucker hats.

Stage three: The inner monologue

You must approach her, but how to do it without ending up the subject of a viral TikTok about Tube creeps? Perhaps you should rehearse different lines while not realising you’re mumbling them oddly until you catch your reflection doing so? Shit.

Stage four: Eye contact

She looks up and sees you staring. You panic, break off and focus on an ad about erectile dysfunction.Your gaze must remain fixed on it so you don’t seem a pervert, but this is also not helping.

Stage five: Call to action

What if she gets off before you? Must you follow? Love hangs in the balance but so does your job if you get off at Mile End. Also, if you follow her and she doesn’t notice you are now a stalker.

Stage six: Montage

In your head, you’ve introduced yourself. You’ve dated, you’ve kissed, you’re married, you have two cats and an expresso machine, you still have a very healthy sex life, and now you can’t stand up because you’ve got a stiffy.

Stage seven: Your chance

She’s shifted in her seat, laughing at a meme. This means she wants you to talk to her. If only you weren’t frozen in place by fear, desire, convention and not wanting to lose your seat.

Stage eight: Desperation

Your future wife is gathering her bags. You gesture, with your eyes, for her to remove the earbuds currently cock-blocking you but she doesn’t notice.

Stage nine: Goodbye

She stands and walks away out of your life forever. You cling to your backpack like a life raft. Will she be back tomorrow? Do they still do Rush Hour Crush in the Metro?

Stage ten: Mourning

It’s over. You watch her disappear into the crowds. She’ll never know she was The One and you’re now doomed to replay this 45-second encounter in slow motion for the rest of your life. Oh, this is your station, might get a croissant.

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