Some of you will ask: why do you call yourself Phillip Sandwich? How did you even come up with such a ridiculous nom de plume? Who even uses the phrase “nom de plume”? How can I go about becoming a Phillip Sandwich also? I’m hungry now: will you make me a sandwich?
The answer to the first two questions, dear readers, lies in a particular episode involving me and my dearest mother in the car. We had the radio turned on at the time, which was a peculiar occurence, owing to the abundance of compilation CDs I have floating around and the general terribleness of what is usually found on the airwaves. Anyhow, we were in the car and the radio was on. Someone rang
up and referred to a person whose name sounded something quite like “Phillip Sandwich”. “What a brilliant name!”, I exclaimed, wishing greedily to have it for myself, to own it, to have people come from far and wide to admire it. So Mother suggested I adopt it as a pseudonym. So I did.
Then she wagered that during my time at Music Camp (for I was to depart for that camp that very day!), I would not be able to convince at least five people to call me by my new name. I laughed heartily, and we shook on it (or least we would have, had her hands not been operating the motor vehicle in which we were currently travelling). Needless to say, my new name was a smash hit. Although, come to think of it, I’m not entirely sure she ever paid up…. HEY MA!
And in case you’re wondering, the answers to the rest of the questions rhetorically posed by my own good self at the commencement of this blurb are, in order: 1) I do, 2) You cannot. The name is trademarked and if you ever use it, winged monkeys will steal your children, or at least your receipts for this financial year; and 3) No, I have better things to do. Also, there’s no ham left in the house.