Bob Over the Road

Sometimes it is people we do not even know, sometimes it is people we know very well. Either way, once you have been given a nickname, that is it. It sticks. Forever. 

I can’t remember exactly when it started. It might have been on our first package holiday together. You know the kind—sunbeds, questionable entertainment, and people-watching at its finest. 

That is where we met “Triple Nipple.” 
A man, possibly Russian or German (we were never quite sure), who appeared—at least from a distance—to have three nipples. Once you have seen it, you cannot unsee it. 

Then there was “There Are Kids in the Pool.” 
Another holidaymaker, also possibly Russian, who very loudly disapproved of the men messing about in the pool during one of the entertainment team’s games. He only shouted it once, but that was enough for it to stick! 

But I think the moment it became an actual thing in our house was when I discovered my husband had saved someone in his phone as “Bob Over the Road.” 

Now here is the best part—Bob was a great neighbour. Not some random stranger. My husband went running and cycling with him. They got on really well. 

And his real name? 

Bob. 

Yet somehow, he was still saved as Bob Over the Road, as if there were dozens of other Bobs, we needed to distinguish him from. 

Since then, it has only got worse. 

We have had “Crack Head Karen” from down the road… I feel like that one needs no further explanation. 

Then there was “Roadkill Man.” 
One of our lovely neighbours from our old house who once popped round… and, for reasons known only to him, left a piece of roadkill outside our front door in a bin liner just the period that he called in to see us and then took it home with him. 

You cannot really come back from that. The name just writes itself. 

And then there is us. 

Linda and Debs. 

Yes, it has even happened to us. 

Our daughter started calling my husband Debs, after repeatedly accusing him of being a “Debbie Downer.” It stuck so well that she saved him in her phone as Debs—and now that is just who he is. 

My name, however, has a much more random origin. 

It came from a video—one of those clips you watch once and then end up watching a hundred times because it makes you laugh every single time. It was a little boy trying to convince his mum to give him a cupcake, calling her “Linda” then saying “Listen, Linda” in the most dramatic way possible. 

Our daughter loved it. And just like that… I was Linda. 

Fast forward a few years, and now we are Linda and Debs to our grandchildren. 

It has become so normal that I barely respond to “Mum” anymore when my daughter calls me. In fact, I have been accused of ignoring her—when in reality, my brain is just waiting for her to say “Linda,” because that is what it recognises now. 

And that, right there, is how deep this nickname thing has gone. 

It is odd, really. These names start as little throwaway jokes, moments of humour that probably shouldn’t stick—but they do. And somehow, they become part of everyday language, part of how we remember people and the stories tied to them. 

Because that is what all these names really are—little snapshots of moments. Holidays, neighbours, funny incidents, random memories that we have captured in the most ridiculous way possible. 

And honestly? I would not have it any other way. 

Although I do sometimes wonder what people would think if they ever knew or saw how they are saved in our phones.