Well.
When Justin and I were travelling in India, we bumped into two English girls called Kate and Annabel, who were a) both very nice and b) (and this will become relevant) both quite short. We got chatting, as you do, realised we were all going to Agra (to see the Taj Mahal) and decided to travel around together for a while.
They were great travelling companions, just generally lots of fun. At some point, we swapped addresses, they went West to the beach, and we went North to the Himalayas. I know who got the better of that deal, but we wanted, bless us, "an experience". We kept in touch and for quite a long time, I used to go and visit Kate at her University, and Kate and Annabel used to come and see Justin and me.
Around about this time, I guess 1993/94, the student rag Viz ('The magazine that's better than nothing') was in it's heyday, and Gav, Andy and I, clearly having nothing better to do, would sit around, probably on bean bags, guffawing happily away at the adventures of Mr Logic, or Morris Stokes:Paranormal Grocer. One day, naturally just after Kate and Annabel had been to visit, one of the strips was called "Scotty Trotter and his Tottie Allotment" about a bloke who - of course! - grew short ladies in his back garden. Without even looking up from his copy of the magazine, Andy said, so Scotty Trotter, when's your tottie allotment coming back?
And, of all the things to stick, that one did. I became Trotter. I suppose I should be grateful. It could have been The Vibrating Bum Faced Goats that week, or Bertie Blunt (look it up - actually don't. Really, don't).
