It’s an odd thing death. In fact, I died twice this year.
I’m still here, inhale health. And to tell the truth, it wasn’t me that actually died, but my namesake’s on the interweb.
I’m sure I’m not alone at Googling my own name and seeing what comes up. Some part of me is hoping that I appear as the number one search result with a glowing reference and a series of people from various parts of my life remarking on what a wonderful fellow I am. However, that hasn’t happened yet.
Instead, I get an insight into the other Dominic Murray’s out there in the world. So far I’ve found a one-man denim brand (I may need to make contact), a priest, an artist, a hotels brokerage director (seriously no idea what this is), a memorial foundation for cardiac arrest, a civil engineer, and my doppelganger who has held various positions as a secretary in London. Not to mention a load of results that think I’m looking to see how Andy Murray has done at various tennis championships.
And this year, my investigations turned up two Dominic Murray’s which had died. Neither of these worried me particularly but it is slightly perturbing to see “Dominic Murray has died” written in the world. The second of these was brought to my attention when my friend The Nocturnal Dad attempted to find more information about me and Google searched “Dominic Murray artist”. Well, apparently there were two of us and I had to reassure him that I was very much still of this earth and that my legacy wasn’t painting goats (but they were very good goats). Fortunately, he believed that I was still alive and hadn’t wandered into a remake of the Sixth Sense, so we are still working together.
So the question is, do I make contact with Dominic Murray’s around the world? I know that Dave Gorman did just such a thing some time ago, and probably in a more endearing and funny way. There’s nothing that would naturally hold us together bar our names. I wonder if we’re all searching our own names and somehow pass each other on the web while searching for ourselves. Maybe we’re all looking at each other through one-way glass and one of us needs to make the first move. Or maybe I’m up too late at night having drunk too much coffee.
But I’m really curious how good the South African, one-man denim company is. And you never know when you may need a decent secretary.