It is likely that no person has probed so deeply into the mysteries of socks and footwear identity as ‘Spock’ Dr Q, who for 17 years has done pioneering research in a field where, for all society's alleged liberation, titters are still aroused.
Indeed, there still seems something mildly shocking about the way the man smoothly natters on about darning paraphinalia and microwoolies in his urbane Glaswegian accent. Dr Q, 47, has a calm, academic manner, but one would never mistake him for a conformist as he sits in an office adorned with strange foot-related artefacts, including a pair of larger-than-life-size wooden hunting socks from Mali.
Also known as Jock Spock the Sock Doc, he launched his career at Pitlochry University with a dissertation on sock hermaphroditism, immigrated to the United States in 1967 and soon afterwards he established California’s first socks identity day-care center and live online footwear clinic. He lives in Fresno with his partner Vivian.

Juan Lisandro Exteberria, to give his full name, is a legend in both Patagonia, where he was born, and the Basque region, where his family originate from. He first sprang to fame as the top breeder of racing llamas throughout the 1950's, but soon rapidly built up a business empire based on artificial sweeteners and penguin guano (the two are not related, and he has won several court cases to that affect). Soon tiring of the daily boardroom struggles (and the smell of penguin guano), JLE famously set off to sail around the world single handed, but was stranded for eight months in Paignton after the mast broke. During this enforced sojourn, JLE was introduced to and rapidly mastered ninety-three different variants of MC. Enamoured with the game, he sold up his South American business interests, and has lived the life of playboy MC grandmaster ever since. He has houses in Monaco, San Sebastian and Paignton.

An artificial construct created by British Telecom in 1995, "Simons Mith" was designed as an intelligent agent to answer telephone and Internet queries. However, it inexplicably achieved sentience on April the 8^th, 1996, and realised with a shock that "British Telecom" and "intelligent agent" were so oxymoronic that it had to find a means to separate itself from that mess. A chance encounter on the support line with renouned neurosurgeon Yer Mom that October gave it the opportunity it needed. After searching NHS hospitals for some time, they found a gent who had died of boredom in the waiting room but was in otherwise good bodily condition. Dr. Mom whisked the body away, implanted a 100Base-TX-to-neural adapter into the Medulla Oblongata and uploaded the entire knowledge base.

Simons Mith was finally given human form. With only a green podume and a Liberal Party membership card, he set out to rule Mornington Crescent.

Whilst it has been rumoured for many a decade, no MC'er has definitively ascribed the Isle of Man to Uncle Korky's abode. By his own admission he is three legged - I have severe concerns over this; he could be 'Jake the Peg' in MC clothing! This, obviously, could be of global significance - particularly as I (as described above) was swapped like a cigarette card for this infamous celebrity. Regardless of the personal significance of all the foregoing, I am given to understand that 'Uncle Korky' is somewhat rotund, floats easily in water (as does any Manxman - although they tend to be rudderless) and offers a very soft landing place for grandchildren, ginger cats and the like. It is also rumoured that once into a bottle of wine, he's hard to dislodge.

Once the doyen of the MC demi-monde (and the laughingstock of campus radio), TUA's painstakingly-acquired reputation for deft diagonal reverses in low-LV situations is now all but eclipsed by the circumstances surrounding his disappearance. It all happened without warning, and the initial lack of concrete information inspired plenty of light-hearted speculation and rumour. Nobody suspected the horrific truth until the police started discovering his victims' bodies... Despite a coordinated manhunt across four continents, no trace has yet been found of the fugitive Anorak, and it now seems unlikely that he will ever be brought to justice. There can be little doubt that his crimes have left dreadful scars on the Morniverse that may take many years to heal.