They've been very, very persistent, sending me letters, begging me to come and pay them a visit.
And when I eventually arrived, they were clamouring around me in their short, white skirts and tight blouses, demanding to know every little thing about me.
"What do they call you, handsome?"
"What's your star sign?" 1
"Hey, do you operate, you know, heavy machinery?" They get totally turned on by that.
"So, where do you take your holidays? San Francisco? Equatorial Africa? Anywhere that's had a recent outbreak of a communicable disease?"
"Man, have you done any good shit lately? Smack, crack, anything involving needles, basically?"
And then they got really personal, asking about my sex life and that. Not so much about all the prostitutes I'd murdered but whether I'd had unprotected sex with them, either before, during or after.
Then they gently laid me down and I barely felt the tiny, sharp sting as they began to suck out my lifeblood and I slipped into a daze...
Next thing I knew, I was sipping a nice cuppa tea with my chocolate Hobnobs.
Best thing about it? Not an angst-ridden Twilight fan in sight.
1 Technically, "What's your date of birth?" But anybody can work out your star sign from that, right? Right.
