If there's one thing the Welsh are good at, apart from starting "Oggy! Oggy! Oggy!" chants, it's producing nicknames. Of all the nationalities I've met, only perhaps the Japanese can match the Welsh at their unofficial national pastime.

Back in the day in my A level politics class was a guy who was the absolute godfather when itcame to nicknames. I'm convinced there was divine inspiration going on as he seemed to go into a trance moments before the coining of a new moniker. There was one occasion when he seemed to be having a fit, but we were all relieved when it turned out he was on the verge of producing his most surreal, yet memorable, sobriquet of "Rissole!" (even to this day the guy is still known as Rissole, although nobody knows exactly where the inspiration came from).

However, I think the sorcerer needs to make way for his apprentice, based on some of the nicknames I've produced over the past couple of years.

Behold!

The Riddler
An extremely irritating trainee counselling psychologist I once had to endure. She looked like one of the Riddlers, but became the Hairless Dog on days when being nicknamed after a riddler seemed too flattering.

Boy
An assistant chaplain who made weekly visits to the inpatient wards, but who was apparently female and called Imogen.

Bad Santa
If Santa had his hair and beard dyed black, didn't sleep for a week and carried a ghetto blaster wherever he went he'd look like an inpatient where I work.

Air Guitar Man
A social worker who looks like the first thing he does when he gets home after work is bounce on his bed to classic rock while playing air guitar. Let's rock!

Captain Pugwash aka Happy Photoshopper
A ward manager where I work. Just an uncanny resemblance to the Captain, and also an avid Photoshopper. Just as well, as his photography skills are minimal.

Big Bird
Some mad six foot Australian female student in my former SU bar who attacked me for no apparent reason. Well perhaps I was slightly rude to her in the minutes leading up to her attack, but I am a peaceful man, ma'an.

Pigeonhead
My 'esteemed' work colleague. Unfortunate speckled distribution of gray hairs, gait, beaky schnozz, facial expressions and unshooable intrusiveness means she fits the pigeon profile.

Darth Vader
A less than personable manager at my last place of employment. I made sure I shared that one with the entire department.

Trainee 1.0
One of the many anonymous white middle class female trainee clinical
psychologists who worked at my last place of work. She was so bland that she probably didn’t recognise her own reflection.

Kenneth Williams
A rather effete consultant psychiatrist where I work. He's actually a very nice guy, but a pro doesn't allow a guilty conscience to get in the way of a good nickname.

Platform Announcer
A former patient cursed with a particularly nasal tone that made everyone think she was about to say: "the 16.30 train from Luton has arrived on platform two!".

Father Bert
C of E chaplain who ruins my Thursday mornings with his interminable hovering around the office. Looks uncannily like Bert from Sesame Street.

The Worthies
The assistant chaplains who hover around Father Bert, and are just so damn worthy! They'll be accompanying him when he walks the donkey down Camden High Street for Easter (I'm not making that bit up!). I for one hope that of them starts to feel tired and rides the donkey for a time. Palm branch, anyone?

But despite the paternal pride I feel for some of the above, I think that my Rissole moment was the bestowing of the Captain Bullshit mantle on Sir Alec Weston.

If only blog tags had been around back in the day with Rissole.