Dear Mr SkyBox,

I am really sorry that you, only just beginning your shift had to deal with me this morning. I realise that you hope for attractive, interesting customers who provide you with jovial conversation and a lively laugh. Instead, you met with me. Wearing my summer mini-shorts - in my defence I am always hot - my anime print pj top and a pink cotton hairband. I then managed to choke out some kind of reply to your technical questions, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. Despite it being 12:03pm, you must have wondered about my attire. I am deeply lazy.

Then, at your request to see where the aerial linked to the tv, my pale, Casper-like visage must have warned you to your fate. My room. Covered in sweet wrappers, hopelessly rumpled covers and a laptop with a possibly contentious wallpaper photo. I am sorry for your struggle, trying to find the cable through my wardrobe ceiling, with old Billie Piper and Spice Girls' albums raining onto your head. I am also sorry that I so obviously lied, claiming the episode of 'Girls of the Playboy Mansion' was taped by my brother. It's my only vice.

Although - to be fair though, you are a bit too hot to be working for Sky. No wonder I nearly invited you to move in.