Charles Joseph

Birthday drinks and all the girls round the table have statement hair.  A man with a bald head and a beard is in full tiger make-up.  Later, it is explained, he is going to a fancy-dress party.

We are introduced and I compliment him on his look.  He asks if I want to know his middle or confirmation name.  'Both', I suggest.

I ask how confirmation names work.  He tells me that, when you are confirmed, you get your pick of the names of the saints to add to your own.  I ask what St Joseph did.  'I don't go in for any of that stuff now', he replies.

(St Joseph was, of course, the husband of the Virgin Mary.  As well as bringing up the saviour of mankind for an absentee father, he was a carpenter.  Beatified by Pope Pius IX in 1870, he was, according to Wikipedia, 'the unofficial patron against doubt and hesitation, as well as the patron saint of fighting communism, and of a happy death'.  A lot of responsibility.)

Elizabeth Joy

Eating an omelette in the autumnal sunshine, the changeable British weather decides to change.  There is no space inside so the waiter brings out a large golfing umbrella under which we can shelter ourselves and our lunch.  He doesn't have another one for the couple sitting at the adjacent table with lattes.  I offer a poor substitute from my bag (it is small, broken and patterned with strawberries).  They accept with gratitude.

As the rain pours down around us I take the opportunity.  The man points to his partner.  'She's got two', he tells me.  'That's two-in-one'.  She gives me two answers.

Virginie

In a French cafe, the waitress is, appropriately, French.  While paying for my bowl of hot chocolate I explain my resolution.  'You want to know my middle name?' she asks.  She is very tall and slightly stooped.  On her left forearm is a tattoo that looks as though it spells 'Elvis' in Greek letters.  'Yes please', I reply.  She comes from Brittany. 

Tantademus and Sir Alfred Coca Cola

Drifting in and out of sleep, I find myself in my parents' front drive.  Three boys are playing hide-and-seek.  The youngest of the three runs off.  The two oldest are left dawdling.  I am not sure what they are doing there.  They have blonde hair and round faces and are about 14 years old.  They are wearing brown woolen tank-tops and shorts.  They are twins.

My sub-conscious decides to take the opportunity to ask and answer my question.

(Tantademus, one of the twins tells me, is the name of a famous mountaineer.  On waking, Google fails to confirm this.)

Holy, Harold or Haploid

Reading about the reputed saviour of mankind, it occurs to me that, whilst I am familiar with much of his work, I have never researched his middle name.  A quick search reveals that the Israelites did not go in for them.  But that leaves unexplained the mystery of the initial 'H'  that sometimes, at moments at exasperation, appears between his 'J' and his 'C'.

The rogue initial has been around for around two centuries (Mark Twain recalls a childhood prank involving it from around 1850) and nobody is quite sure of its origin.  The first suggestion is the shortening of an old Southern American oath.  The second a joke surrounding a common mispronunciation of the Lord's prayer ('hallowed be thy name').  The third is the term used when a cell has only one set of chromosomes.  A favourite explanation of biologists, it has never been clear whether God's paternity involved a full set of DNA.

Most likely, the initial comes from the monogram for his name is Greek which is IHS.  In fact the 'H' stood for the letter 'eta' but, what with the Romans and the course of history, things get a bit confused.

Patrick

A plumber comes to switch my cold water supply from tank feed to the mains.  His hair has a hint of ginger and he is wearing a boiler suit.  He is Irish but now lives locally.  We discuss the new supermarket, property prices around the area and the North London/South London divide.  He tells me I should put sealant round the bathtub asap.

Job done, I ask my question.  'Whaat!?' he replies (the punctuation is pronounced).  'That is weird'.  He wants to know how I've done it.  I explain that it has involved approaching quite a lot of strangers.  'That is hard, man', he says.  Then he gives me an answer.

Ailsa

In a newly-opened multinational supermarket I buy bananas, kiwi fruit and milk.  The lady behind the check-out seems approachable and asks nicely if I have a clubcard but, to my question, she laughs and claims not to have one.

Instead I turn to the girl behind me.  She has long dark hair and a basket full of groceries.  I explain myself.  'Aah', she says.  'That's nice'.  She gives me an answer.

'As in Home and Away?' I ask.  'As in the Scottish island', she replies.  I ask if she is Scottish.  'No', she says, 'but my mum obviously liked the name and she just stole it'.