This time last year, I had a crush on a guy who worked in Borders on Charing Cross Road. I can't tell you the number of times I popped in there just to look at books, peering over the top of a magazine to watch him at work. I don't know how many times I stood in the queue, waiting to pay for something I really didn't want, waiting for the Borders lottery: "Will he be the one to serve me? Oh look, he's almost finishing with that customer. Damn, she's picked up a copy of the Little Book Of Calm. Put it down, bitch! Oh no, I'm being beckoned by the spotty geek at the other till. No, I'll just ignore him. Damn!"

It wasn't like I was stalking him, honest. But I never did get to talk to him, and the last few times I went in he wasn't there. Perhaps I scared him off.

Borders have a habit of hiring sexy staff. They've continued that tradition Down Under. Good luck, Dave!