When I was a lad growing up in Rotherham in the 1950s there were Jimmys and Terrys, Michaels and Ronalds, Martins and Kevins but Gervases, you might be surprised to learn, were somewhat rare. Now, of course, children are given the most unusual, not to say bizarre, names. Brooklyn and Romeo Beckham, Peaches Geldof and the other children of the rich and famous are not alone in their unusual appellations.

Over the years as a school inspector I collected quite a list. I've met Barbie, Kristofer, Buzz, Curston, Mykell, Charleen, Kaylee, Scarlet, Egypt, Heyleigh, Jordana, Aztec, Blasé (pronounced Blaze), Gooey (spelt Guy) and a child called Portia but spelt Porsche for, as the teacher explained to me with a wry smile, the girl's father had always wanted a Porsche car. I've come across Shalott (pronounced Charlotte), Precious, Tiggy, Trixie, Terri, the twins Holly and Hazel Wood, Cheyenne, Tammy-Lou and a boy named Gilly. In one school there were two sets of twins from the same family named after great tragic heroines: Cleopatra and Cassandra, Desdemona and Dido. Then there were the brother and sister, Sam and Ella which, when said at speed, sounded like food poisoning.

A headteacher told me once she taught three sisters called Paris Smout, Vienna Smout, Seville Smout. "It is just as well," she told me, "that her parents didn't go on a city-break to Brussels."

In one infant school in Bradford, I came across a large girl with a plump face, frizzy hair in huge bunches and great wide eyes. "What's your name?" I asked the child. "Tequila," she replied. "I'm named after a drink." "Tequila Sunrise," I murmured. "No," pouted the child. "Tequila Braithwaite."

I was told by the headteacher of a Catholic school that it was the practice for children to be named after saints and he was at school with a boy called Innocent, a name adopted by a number of popes.

"I suppose it must have been difficult having to live up to the name Innocent," I observed.

"It certainly was," he replied, "and something of a cross to bear. His second name was Bystander."

"I have a pet theory about first names," another headteacher told me. "I have come to the conclusion that Shakespeare got it wrong when he said that 'a rose by any other name would smell as sweet'. I learned very early on that boys called Richard tend to be well-behaved, quiet
children who work hard, Matthews are very polite and thoughtful, Dominics are little charmers, Damiens have far too much to say for themselves and Kevins are accident-prone. Penelopes tend to be lively and interested, Jennys tend to be sporty, Traceys too big for their boots and Elizabeths are little darlings."

"And what about the boy called Gervase?" I asked. She had no answer to that. I tend to disagree with Shakespeare and go along with Oscar Wilde who said that "names are everything". I read about a riot at a christening when the grandfather, an old soldier, learnt that his first grandchild was to have the middle name Adolf.

You couldn't make it up.