ANYONE that knows me will tell you I’m hopeless at remembering people’s names. I have a brilliant sense of direction, faces I’m good at and I can accurately remember phone numbers, birthdays and all the items on a shopping list accidentally left at home. But names; it’s embarrassing...

‘So why didn’t you introduce me? Are you ashamed of me?’ The fact that I’d momentarily forgotten the name of a long-standing or close friend carries little conviction, and certain friendships have suffered due to my affliction. Christmas cards are challenging too. I know there are three children – two girls and a boy, but for the life of me, can I remember their names? I can see their faces… ‘Joe, Carol and family….’ I scrawl in desperation to catch the last posting date for Christmas.

My nadir came during a staff appraisal. Thirty minutes in and the mists descended. In a moment of horror that overshadowed the rest of the interview, I realised I’d forgotten her name. I soldiered on rephrasing and reframing each question, desperately racking my brains trying to remember, but she realised, ‘You’ve forgotten my name, haven’t you?’ Nikki said. I hung my head in shame. All my attempts at being a caring, understanding and considerate boss, undermined in one fell swoop.

A friend once suggested a ploy, successful on many occasions. ‘I’m sorry,’he’d say, ’But I’ve forgotten your name.’ ‘It’s Jane,’ would come the reply. ‘Yes, I know it’s Jane,’ he’d retort. ‘I meant your other name…’ Works for someone you’ve met only once or twice. Doesn’t work for close friends.

I have come to regard this as a weakness, but others are less forgiving, regarding it as a culpable failing that I wilfully and steadfastly refuse to do anything about. My usually understanding son rightly complains when I get him and the dog muddled up; the dog is more equanimous and ignores me consistently whatever name I use.

Reinhold Niebuhr famously articulated the dilemma as a prayer: “O God, give us the serenity to accept what cannot be changed, the courage to change what can be changed, and the wisdom to know the one from the other.”

I have no problem with the first two of these. Indeed, I’ve been blessed that, for most of my working life campaigning and fundraising for charities, I have been largely privileged with trying to change things for the better. But the wisdom to know whether my seeming affliction/inability to remember anyone’s name is something that can or cannot be changed continues to elude me.

As those around me (whose names I’ve momentarily forgotten) continue to remind me, if self-improvement is in order time is running out if they are to be its beneficiaries.