My life's an open book

WOMEN AND MEN TESTIMONY A Booker Prize shortlisted novel is the sad tale of Nicholas Barber, a randy and weak-willed young priest. The cheek of it, says Nicholas Barber

You may have seen a lot about me in the press lately. A few weeks ago in this paper, Julie Myerson described me as a "23-year-old [with] lively, nervy goodness", which was very kind of her, but someone at the Times was a good deal less positive: "Nicholas Barber is a young priest who recklessly leaves employment as a sub-deacon because of his raging hormones and weak will."

I've a good mind to sue. I would do if they hadn't been reviewing Barry Unsworth's Morality Play, a novel shortlisted for this year's Booker Prize which should be disqualified on the grounds that it isn't a novel. Not always a hindrance where the Booker is concerned, perhaps, but Unsworth has gone too far. He has written a non-fiction work: admittedly, it's libellous and somewhat veiled, but it's an account of my life all the same.

He has depicted me as "young and well-favoured though short of stature" - unmistakeable, I think - and several people have suggested that the monastic tonsure of his Nicholas Barber is a deliberate slight on my own not entirely copious hair. He correctly asserts that I once joined a group of travelling players, or more accurately the Ayr Youth Theatre. But while my bold characterisations of the Tin Man and Bill Sikes were highly acclaimed by my whole family, they did not help solve a murder mystery.

And whatever Unsworth may tell you, I do not live - and have never lived - in the 14th century.

So maybe I'm just being paranoid. After all, in this very office there is a Max Walker, who had his name stolen by Jean-Claude Van Damme in Timecop (and who argues convincingly that it's cooler to be mixed up with a crime- fighting martial artist than it is with a destitute, God-fearing, am-dram ham). And there is David Lister, who periodically receives fanmail diverted to him from the BBC, intended for Craig Charles's character in Red Dwarf.

As my own homonym is in a book, rather than in a film or TV series, it's not very likely that people I meet will hear my name, flinch, stare at me to check if I'm joking, and finally inquire, "What, you mean as in ... ?" Or if they do, it'll prove that they're well-read and possess flawless memories, in which case they'll be too interesting for me to object. If, on the other hand, my name were Grant Mitchell or Indiana Jones, I'd head straight for the deed poll office. Mind you, if my name were "Indiana", I'd change it anyway.

Still, despite the relative obscurity of my fictional alter-ego, his very existence has been so disorientating that I have decided to set up a support group for fellow fame-names.

Among other great services, I'll equip members with sharp ripostes to use on people whose ribs are tickled by jokes along the lines of, "James Bond? Better get in the 'Q'! Got any Money - penny!" Sharp ripostes or blunt instruments, one or the other.

I'll dole out legal advice to anyone who plans to take to court the authors who have taken their names in vain. If you happen to be called Hannibal Lecter, for instance, you stand to make a killing.

I'll tell them to become better- known than their well-known namesakes, thereby turning the tables. I'm sure that every day in America, someone sees a copy of David Copperfield and wonders why some English guy has written a book about a magician who goes out with Claudia Schiffer.

I'll even help them deal with journalists who have been instructed to telephone 10 Mr Rambos or Mrs Doubtfires. Have mercy on them. It's their job.

But mostly I will encourage people to enjoy the phenomenon. There's that little heart jump when you see your name in an unfamiliar context; the surreal moment when you think that it's you; the narcissistic fascination which lingers even when you realise it isn't. Most people are unsophisticated enough to want to see their names in print. All journalists are. Why not have the pleasure of the experience while leaving the writing to someone else?

And remember, having your name bandied about will make it easier for other people to spell and pronounce. When The Simpsons cartoon reached Britain, my friend Bart no longer had to put up with people asking him to repeat his name. And now, when I have to clarify my own over the phone, I'll no longer add, "as in hairdresser, ha ha", I'll say, "as in 14th- century priest who forsakes his religious duties and becomes a vagrant actor, only to be entangled in an investigation of corruption, depravity and homicide, ha ha." It'll make a change, at least.