Julie McGowan is a Welsh writer, living in Usk, south Wales. Her first novel, ''The Mountains Between'' was a regional best-seller on its first release and is now in its third edition, having received much acclaim in Wales (including promotion on BBC Wales radio). ''Don''t Pass Me By'' is also set in S. Wales. It was released in 2014 and has achieved great sales and reviews.'' Buy ''Don''t Pass Me By'' here

In this article Julie talks about nicknames in Wales:- " It’s a ‘gift’ which we here in Wales have had for generations - the adaptation of people’s names, derived either from a notable physical feature, or their personal habits, jobs, or pastimes. All done completely without malice, and with mutual appreciation of wit at its best, or silliness at its worst. In fact for many years receiving a nickname from one’s work colleagues and friends was a mark of social inclusion and a sign of popularity. "

Her latest publication is an anthology of short stories - 'Close To You'. Buy 'Close To You' here

Have you noticed how, in recent years, people in the public eye have been given nicknames simply by shortening their surnames or adding ‘ers’ to the end? So we have Sir Paul ‘Macca’ McCartney, and David ‘The Hoff’ Hasselhoff. Or couples’ names are blended together, as in ‘Brangelina’ or ‘Posh & Becks’.

The boringness of these names is due possibly to our much more politically correct society, or else it could simply be that none of these people have Welsh families, because, if so, they would have been given much more inventive names.

It’s a ‘gift’ which we here in Wales have had for generations - the adaptation of people’s names, derived either from a notable physical feature, or their personal habits, jobs, or pastimes. All done completely without malice, and with mutual appreciation of wit at its best, or silliness at its worst. In fact for many years receiving a nickname from one’s work colleagues and friends was a mark of social inclusion and a sign of popularity.

My parents’ generation were past masters of the genre, with friends who included ‘Basketass’ – no explanation needed, really; ‘Morgan Bucket’, the origin of which I think had something to do with the shape of his head, and ‘Organ Morgan’ (no relation to Bucket), whose nickname derived not from a reference to any anatomical attribute, but from his musical performances at Sunday chapel.

Best of all, though, was ‘Titty’ Lewis. This chap went through his whole life with this moniker because it was claimed that he was breastfed until he started school. I’ve no idea what his real name was, but there is no evidence to suggest he ever minded this nickname, and, eventually, he was so universally known by it that no-one actually took any notice of its origin or its connotations.

Then there was ‘Gobby’ Davies – not, as one might think, a slangy reference to him talking a lot, but because he started so many sentences with ‘I go’be honest’, while his mate was known as ‘taters n’ gravy’ as he always said that potatoes and gravy was his favourite meal. Yet another friend was called ‘Bonar’ Thomas because apparently, like Bonar Law, the political contemporary of Lloyd George, he talked a lot. For many years my parents referred to a neighbour only as ‘The Widow’, as she moved to the area on the death of her first husband. They continued to call her this even after she re-married, so that her new spouse became confusingly known as ‘The Widow’s husband’.

The local greengrocer was known as ‘Up-and-down Mike’ because his prices varied so much from week to week, and, in my present town, an undertaker was called ‘Ted the Box’, while one of our best known publicans is referred to as ‘Fatty Keys’.

Many of these people are long gone, and with them, possibly, the ability to laugh at each other and themselves and the knowledge that to be given a nickname within the community was a badge of affection and inclusivity rather than the reverse.

My children, however, seem to have inherited the habit from their grandparents. One daughter always calls her younger brother ‘Fatman’, even though he is now very slim, because, as a toddler in a nappy, he resembled a sumo wrestler. He, on the other hand, calls her ‘Gimli’ as her small stature and wild curly hair reminds him, he claims, of the dwarf character in ‘Lord of the Rings’, and our youngest is known to everyone as ‘Titch’ just because she was the last in the line.

A life-long friend of my son is known as ‘The Ginge’ because of his auburn locks, and another is called ‘Dodgy Dave’ because he wheels and deals, even though his real name is Joe. Meanwhile, one of my daughter’s circle is known as ‘Chainsaw Rhys’ to differentiate him from the other Rhys whose skull didn’t have an unfortunate collision with a piece of machinery.

They are already passing the habit on, too. Younger daughter, convinced her sister was expecting a large boy, nicknamed him ‘Tank’. When scans confirmed a girl was on the way, she became ‘Tankini’, although we are all hoping a more regular feminine name will stick once she’s here.

It would be a shame if affectionate nicknames, bestowed with no malice and received as such, were to be sacrificed on the altar of correctness. After all, they haven’t hurt the likes of Twiggy or Whoopi Goldberg, have they?

Julie McGowan