Black hair, brown eyes, 168 cm and curvy, all of it dressed with real enjoyment. Roxi goes for colour where most of this list goes for restraint: a green dress, a red coat, earrings you can see from the far side of a room. Early twenties. She looks like an evening out, which is exactly what she is aiming for, and she has never once walked into a West End room and wondered whether she belonged in it.

She speaks English and she talks a lot, happily and well. She is enthusiastic in a way that is genuinely infectious, and she will have you telling her about things you have not thought about in years. She sees everything that opens, sings in the taxi home whether or not anybody asked, and can tell you which shows are worth the money and which are coasting on a name.

A West End evening with her ends rather than starts at the table. St Martin's Court and J Sheekey is where she wants to be at half past ten, the narrow panelled rooms off the alley where the fish is excellent and half the room has just come out of a theatre. She likes the oyster bar at the front. Pimlico is where she actually lives, so the run across town before a curtain is one the desk builds in properly.

If there is a curtain, say so first, because it changes the shape of the whole night. The West End page covers the district and the women who work it. Everything else, a date and a hotel, can go to booking in the same message.

Nothing has been written up under Roxi yet, which is usually what discretion looks like. A note goes on the board only when a client sends one in writing, she agrees to it, and the office has checked that it reads as a first name, a month and nothing private.