Hilbert's Hotel

I'm trying to remember which writer muses on the Hibert's Hotel paradox, calling it the ultimate expression of kindness: that a fully-booked hotel with an infinite number of rooms can accommodate a new guest by asking every guest to move one room further up the infinite corridor, thus freeing up room no. 1. Anyway, dear guests! My home is your home, but you're all going to have to move up a few rooms to make way for the new arrivals! They turned up at 2am, without so much as a by-your-leave, and they all want extra pillows, an infinite supply of candles, and organic milk in their coffee. I hear rumours that a charming young couple with a baby in tow may be on their way, too.

Anyway, my point is, that even though most of you have met most of you in the futon dimension, if it took the Landlady a whole afternoon to work out the hidden pun in Tarzanmatch's pseudonym, then it's a fair bet that everybody else is wondering who the hell their neighbours are. So, what I propose, is that everybody leaves a comment to this post giving a few intriguing clues as to their identity. You can even post a photo, though I think you have to start a new post for that.

To start you off, here's a photo of New-And-As-Yet-Unpseudonymed-Flatmate, cunningly disguised as a section of yesterday's Independent on Sunday.