It was a source of some amusement, this fan club of Mr Timberland's. Especially as some of the fans knew him, but didn't know that he was Mr Timberland. How would they reconcile the flesh-and-blood person they knew with the latte-drinking, kilojoule-counting SNAG they stalked on the blogspot?
The Cow sighed deeply. It was quite easy, she mused, to assume that the single dimension to which one was exposed each day constituted the whole personality. In far too many cases that was true, tragically, and once one had exhausted the Florentine Cinquecento, no further conversation was to be had, no further terrain to be uncovered - unless one was brave enough to release the straining buttons of the threadbare raiment sheltering the amoeboid corpulence from critical gaze.
But recently she'd been provided with evidence that this wasn't universally the case. She'd been sent a URL which provided an interesting new vista on someone she'd always suspected had another, secret, life. Only, this wasn't quite what she'd pictured. She'd be a little more cautious when approaching the reference desk, now...