Blonde's Eye View: Named and shamed

Worried he might be a key client, I kept the small talk up for a couple of stops, till mercifully I had to get off.

It was only as I started to hurry up the escalator I noticed my security pass still clattering round my neck.

On it was written my name in big bold letters. No wonder I didn't recognise him: the jerk was a stranger taking advantage of me being a forgetful idiot.

I've always felt sorry for those who have to wear name badges for their job.

You always get some patronising git who thinks it's funny to say Tanya's name at the end of each request for a Big Mac and fries.

It's such an Americanism all this buddy buddy friendly service nonsense.

It's creepy for strangers to know your name - often it's an excuse to stare at a shop girls' breasts.

Can you imagine if we were all made to wear name badges? "Could you move your bag off the empty seat please Michael?" It would be like being back at infants school.

It's an invasion of privacy to display your name, and in the case of some Wharf security passes, the company you work for.

Like walking around with a corporate branded satchel or umbrella.

Since the banking crisis there seem to be a lot fewer of them around.

It's time to hold a little back. The return of anonymity. I'm doing my bit by "misplacing" my security card.

I might have to sign in each morning, but at least no freaks will be talking to me on the train tonight.