Today I Googled my name. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last. Sure, it’s not the most productive thing I could have been doing, and some people might think the huge pile of washing up in my kitchen should have priority over pure entertainment in front of the computer. And to them I say, you’ve got some nerve, buddy! When your working day starts at 5.50am, you deserve some down time. Granted, at 5.50am I was waiting for the gym to open and shooting the breeze about what Killer Kowalski’s finishing move was, but it was still 5.50am, dammit!

Anyway, back to the Googling. It’s fair to say that almost everyone believes they are totally unique - except my old boyfriend Spotty, who once confessed that he had no opinions whatsoever, and would agree with anything anyone said, like a personality chameleon. He was a strange guy, but he had gorgeous eyes, and sometimes that means you can forgive almost anything. He also had dreadlocks, until he cut them off, and discovered some fairly horrible creatures had been living in them for ages - or so the folklore in Hobart went at the time. Hmm, maybe the eyes weren’t quite enough after all.

A person’s uniqueness is in question though when you discover there are thousands upon thousands of Google hits with your name involved - and they’re not referring to you in any way, shape or form. Which can be a good thing if it’s internet porn - or the website I found which is a systematic review on Chlamydia Trachomatis in the UK, which a doctor with my name had founded. Maybe starting work at 5.50am isn’t such a bad thing after all. I also found a lot of hits involving the Avengers, because my name is Emma, and my surname is Honey, and there were episodes where Emma Peel went to some remote village like Little Sworping on the Swuff (I didn’t make that up, either!) looking for honey, stumbled upon some crazy scheme the villagers were involved in, and had to karate chop her way out of danger in a leather catsuit. Definately cool.

And then, about fifty search pages in, there I really am. Back in the days of being a script writer/editor on Blue Heelers, probably on an episode I would rather forget my involvement in, my name is right next to John Wood’s. Even cooler (!), a couple of pages on, my name is right next to my super talented father’s, in some strange collation of television and movie writers. My listing says I worked in the 90’s (true, but I also worked after that - however forgettable it might have been!), and my father’s listing says he worked in the 70’s & 80’s (he also worked after that, but because it was damn fine work, he should really be annoyed it’s not included).

Oddly, I got less pleasure out of my real name than the Avenger listing with the comma between Mrs Peel and her search for honey. And a rather freaky listing involving someone called Cinnamon Buns, but in the words of Hammy Hamster, that’s another story!

Today I’m loving: Moby’s “We Are All Made of Stars”, which I’m going to use as the cooldown for my spin class tomorrow.