LAST week my colleague Janet and I met for our monthly catch-up after work in a nearby bar.

“Ahh... It’s lovely and warm in here.” I stated the obvious as we settled down.

However, our comfort was soon cut short when an icy blast of Arctic air whooshed by us.

This happened several times which really started to irritate me.

Noticing that my coat was on and off every 10 minutes the guy next to us butted in.

“It’s the chef, you know.”

“The chef?” We wondered how on earth a chef could conjure up such freezing conditions.

“Every time he goes out for a fag,” our new drinking buddy explained, “he leaves the back door wide open.”

Now that conversation had taken place between us, he casually reached over and grabbed our menu.

Next minute, “Oops,” he apologised. “I’ve lifted the vegan menu by mistake, which is no use to me as I love a bit of meat.”

In unison we loudly echoed. “I love a bit of meat too.”

Next second, bottle of beer in hand, a young guy appeared from the crowd who were watching the football.

“How are you ladies?”

“Good thanks.”

“What’s your name then?”

“I’m Janet and this is Janice.”

Undeterred by the fact that there is barely anyone in existence under 45 years of aged called Janet or Janice, he continued.

“Looking good, ladies,” he winked.

“Looking good.”

“My name is Gary.”

“Gary?” We repeated, but soon wished we hadn’t.

“Yep, Gary,” he confirmed slurping his beer. “I used to be a bad boy, you know.”

But we didn’t know and didn’t want to know.

“I used to set fire to things, but I’m behaving myself now cause I’m a dad.”

And we wondered why a stranger would feel the need to share information on his life of crime, but eventually Gary put his jacket on.

“Well, pure dead good to meet you, Janet and Janice.”

“And pure dead good to meet you too Gary.” I had temporarily adopted the local lingo.

But then Gary turned and added: “You know ma name is actually Gary Barlow.”

“Eh?” Janet nearly choked on her wine.

“Aye,” he said proudly. “My maw just loves Take That.”

Gary Barlow left, which got Janet and I chatting about how people came about their name.

I regaled to her the day I got on the train to Glasgow and couldn’t help overhearing a conversation between two young mums who obviously hadn’t seen each other for a while.

“I see you’ve had the wean then?”

“Yep.” The new mum proudly pulled back the hood of the pram, as her pal added: “I take it it’s a wee lassie?”

I reckoned that as the pram was heavily draped in pink wool and lace and was covered with dangly pink toys that might have given the game away.

“Whit’s her name, then?”

“Tracey,” the baby’s mum replied. “Same as me.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Her pal lied.

“Well...” Tracey explained, “it means when she’s older she can get my gold name chain.”

Janet was in fits as she asked: “How did your name come about, Janice?”

We topped up our drinks as I set the scene.

“I was at a family gathering about 10 years ago when I dared to ask, ‘Dad, how come I’m called Janice?”

You see, it had been obvious for my siblings. Eddie was named after our grandpa, Ian after our uncle, Jean after our gran, Jim after our dad and Craig is our mum’s maiden name. But Janice?

My dad finally revealed all.

“Well you see, when I was working in Aberdeen, I had a stunning secretary called Janice, and I thought, that’s the name for my girl!”

Janet didn’t quite know what to say when I turned the tables.

“How about you then Janet, who are you called after?”

I reckoned this would be a simple one and that Janet would be named after a glamorous 60s film star.

However, according to Janet, whilst her mum Mary was in hospital having just given birth to their beautiful baby girl, her dad John decided he would take the bull by the horns and head to the register office to register the birth.

John arrived back at the hospital and proudly announced to Mary that their new baby girl was called Janet.

“Janet.” She beamed.

“That’s a lovely name, but why Janet?”

Turns out that the only book John had ever read was the Janet and John book he got when he started school, and therefore, it was the only name he knew how to spell!

“Oh well, Janet,” I laughed.

“Baby Tracey is forever more Tracey due to a cheap gold name chain.

“I’m called Janice because my dad had a fancy for a blonde in Aberdeen, and you’re called Janet because your dad couldnae spell!”

Cheers!