I blame the parents

I was interested to see that sing-a-dozen-notes-when-one-will-do chanteuse Beyonce has decided, for reasons best known to herself, to adopt a new name. Sasha Fierce. An alter ego. A different persona.

Clearly she's keen to emulate the colossal success that followed Prince when he did the same. Oh.

Nevertheless, I suspect Ms Kno, um, Fierce is onto something. After all, giving yourself a different name is one way of allowing another character to emerge. And so, dear readers. I'm using this opportunity to introduce you all to my other side.

Dominic Thrust. Man of our age. He's confident, cool and urbane. He has a chiseled jaw and washboard abs.

If you've got a problem, Dom is your go-to-guy. Fluent in dozens of languages, including several that haven't even been invented yet. A master of the martial arts, Dominic is trained in fourteen methods of combat. Including one highly-efficient form involving cocktail onions.

But he's no automaton - he's a truly cultured man. Dominic can recognise not only the grape, but the year, vineyard, even the individual plant, from just one sniff. He can recite the Ring Cycle from memory. He knows which way to hang a Pollock.

Advisor to presidents, sage to kings, guru to princes, Dominic is in demand. But he's not some distant figure. Oh no, he's a man of the people. Give him a guitar, he's bashing out a tune. Put a golf club in his hands - hole in one. Darts? One-hundred-and-eighty! He can let his hair down with the best of them. In fact, I just checked, and he's not even wearing any underwear. What a guy.

Actually, I think we'll put Dominic back in his box. He's a bit of a dick, isn't he?