A FEW years ago an old school friend came up to me in a pub in the village where I'd been brought up. "I see all those punk concerts paid off," he said. "What do you mean?" I asked, puzzled. He knew that I used to go out with the bassist from a punk band and got dragged along to concerts by bands I hated.

He told me how he had seen articles in the New Musical Express and other magazines, about different styles of music, including punk - all written by me.

Of course it wasn't me, but I was intrigued and looked up my namesake. There it was - Helen Mead, next to an article about house music. It was quite funny, considering I know as much about house music as I do about crop rotation in the 14th century.

It is odd finding someone has the same name as you, particularly when it is relatively unusual. Yet the internet reveals a world of Helen Meads, who I may be able to pass myself off as, if I ever want to step out of my own life.

Unfortunately, most pop up in areas that I don't think I could easily slot into. There's the Helen Mead who works in the emergency department at a hospital in Perth, Australia. There isn't a photograph, but with luck she might have red hair. The problem lies in her chosen career. I could have a go at writing a paper on the "accuracy of two pulse oximeters at low arterial hemoglobin-oxygen saturation", but I don't think it would cover the subject.

Then there's the Helen Mead who runs a restaurant in an old railroad dining car south of the rip yard near Swansonville, Missouri, and serves meals to railroad employees. I could be her, although my cooking leaves a lot to be desired and the workers may not take kindly to black bacon and split egg yolks. However, the main problem is the timing. This Helen Mead ran the caff in the early 1940s so, assuming she was in her twenties then, she'll be well into her eighties. Still, a few more fine lines around the eyes and I could get away with it.

When I spotted the site for 'Helen Mead at Blood Management' I thought we were back to the doctor in Oz. But a picture popped up of a goth with red streaky hair. In her late teens or early twenties, she performs rock/pop or string arrangements. I'm about as musical as our cat so it's not something that I could fob myself off as.

And, lo and behold, another singing Helen Mead, this time in California. The entry states: "After listening to Helen Mead's new CD I'm Dreaming, I was impressed with the creativity of her home-spun songs". There was a photo, very feminine - nothing like me.

Other entries include an RSPCA inspector in Skegness - too distressing - and a high-flying lawyer specialising in corporate finance. Now that's the one: the wig and gown will cover up my red hair, and I can just see myself unravelling the complexities of financial scandals. There's the small problem of my remedial maths, but I'm sure I can blag it.

Updated: 10:29 Tuesday, October 04, 2005