I’d always stare at the lightly greased laminated menu that was displayed on the counter for a couple of minutes, whilst feeling slightly nervous at the thought of the queue of people waiting close behind me — all probably wishing I’d just hurry up and get out of their way. I also didn’t really like the anxious, shallow breathing kind of feeling I got from having the young girl behind the counter stood right in front of me silently waiting whilst my eyes hurriedly scrambled to and fro across the sea of words on the page, almost bumping in to each other. I’d put myself through this gruelling ritual almost every time I went in there, and then I’d give up and just end up ordering the same boring old thing that I always ordered.
‘Could I take a name please?’
I gave a pathetic hesitant cough. ‘Yes....West.’
‘Your order will be about fifteen minutes.’
‘Thank you.’
I turned around and walked through a group of people, trying not to make eye contact as I went to wait near the back of the room with the other awkward people.

I hated giving my name for things, and I was glad I only needed to give my surname for a takeaway. The problem was that I had a strong, confident sounding name. My name is Leighton West. It’s the name of a person who lives an interesting, edgy life. Someone that has an interesting job and a cool...