The Year in Stats

Or: "The Most Fun I Can Have With My Clothes On"

Hello again!

If you read my previous blog, you'll know that I have an unhealthy relationship with spreadsheets.

Actually, "relationship" might be underselling it. It's more of a full-blown personality trait.

I recently spent an entirely unreasonable amount of time analysing my first full year working from hotels and serviced apartments. The result was my last blog, The Year in Numbers (And Everything They Couldn't Measure), which was really about the human stories hiding behind the statistics. The home-life. The work-life. The balancing act. The heart behind the numbers.

This isn't that blog.

This is for my fellow spreadsheet goblins. The people who have voluntarily created colour-coded tables for fun. The people who genuinely enjoy sorting things into categories. The people who have ever uttered the words, "Ooh... that's an interesting pivot table."

(Please tell me I'm not alone).

Now you’re probably thinking, what more could I possibly say about those darn spreadsheets? Haven’t I rambled on enough?

Apparently not, but that’s why it’s called my diary, right?

Today's blog is all about the juicy bits. The oddities. The patterns I never noticed while I was living them. The statistics that made me laugh. And the discoveries that had me staring at my screen saying:

"Huh. I absolutely did not expect that."

The driving force behind this little project was pure curiosity. Once I'd opened the spreadsheet, I simply couldn't stop asking questions.

What's my most popular booking time?

How much have I actually spent on parking?

Which hotel has quietly become my second home?

And perhaps most importantly...

Just how much of my business is powered by a tiny handful of ridiculously loyal regulars?

Now, before anyone gets too excited, there are a few statistics I'll be keeping to myself. No, I'm probably not going to tell you exactly how many men I slept with over the year. Not because I'm ashamed, but because some of those men almost certainly don't want to know either. My spreadsheet knows the answer, I know the answer, and I think that's probably enough. A little decorum is just good business sense.

What I will share are the weird, wonderful, and occasionally surprising little discoveries that paint a picture of what this job actually looks like behind the scenes. No deep emotional revelations this time. Just numbers, nerdiness, and an entirely unreasonable amount of statistical analysis.

Time to let my inner Spreadsheet Goblin loose.

Apparently 2pm Is Peak Jasmine

The very first statistic I looked up was my booking times. What I really wanted to know was what time of day I was statistically at my most... Jasmine.

The answer?

2pm.

Closely followed by 1pm, 11am and midday.

In just a four-hour window, sat almost half of my entire year's bookings.

I stared at the spreadsheet for a second.

"Really?"

I double-checked the pivot table because those start times felt oddly... specific. But no. The spreadsheet was adamant.

Peak Jasmine.

When people picture an escort's schedule, I imagine they think of dimly lit hotel bars, midnight rendezvous, and mysterious women drifting through city streets in impossibly high heels. The data painted a rather less glamorous picture. It turns out my natural habitat is somewhere between lunch and the afternoon coffee run.

Digging a little deeper, it actually makes perfect sense. Hotel check-in times. School hours. Clients ducking out of work for an extended lunch break (you cheeky things). And, if I'm being completely honest, my own preferences.

I've never exactly been a creature of the night. I'm always tucked up in bed embarrassingly early.

The numbers certainly back that up. Across the entire reporting period, only 17 bookings started after 8pm. Just four began after 9pm.

And my latest booking of the whole year?

10pm (I wonder if I was stifling my yawns throughout that one).

Yes, that's right. The woman who makes a living in the adult industry apparently keeps approximately the same hours as a suburban café. I suppose there are worse reputations to have.

I am not a mysterious woman of the night.

I am, statistically speaking...

...a creature of the late lunch.

The Curious Case of the 76.1-Minute Booking

The next rabbit hole my spreadsheet lured me down was booking duration. The proportion of one-hour bookings didn't surprise me in the slightest. They absolutely dominated the year, accounting for 62% of all bookings. What did surprise me was how uncommon 30-minute bookings actually were. Just 14%.

If you read my previous blog, you'll know I have rather strong opinions on the myth that a 30-minute booking is somehow "half the work." I won't climb back onto that soapbox today… but I did feel quietly vindicated seeing just how rarely those bookings occurred.

Apparently, my clients and I have reached an unspoken agreement: We all simply love to linger.

The spreadsheet certainly thought so. In fact, the average booking wasn't one hour at all.

It was 76.1 minutes.

In case your Year 6 maths is a little rusty, that doesn't mean I have clients booking oddly specific 76.1-minute appointments while I calculate bizarre dollar amounts for them. One hour was still the most common booking length (the mode, for any fellow spreadsheet goblins keeping score), but all those 90-minute, 2-hour and 3-hour bookings quietly nudged the average (or mean) upwards to just over 76 minutes.

Which is just a nerdy way of saying that the average booking lasted a little over one hour and fifteen minutes.

Another pattern emerged almost immediately. New clients overwhelmingly gravitated towards shorter bookings. Regulars, on the other hand, became increasingly comfortable booking longer and longer encounters.

Which makes perfect sense.

When you're meeting someone for the first time, you're both quietly asking the same question: "Are we going to click?"

Nobody proposes marriage on the first date.

It seems the same principle applies to booking lengths.

The Extended Encounter statistics told an interesting story too... I enjoyed eight lunch, brunch or dinner dates, two all-day encounters, and just one overnight across the entire reporting period.

This is probably where my statistics start looking a little different to many full-time escorts. I'm partnered, I'm a Mum, and I'm fairly selective about the kinds of extended bookings I accept. Keeping overnights to a minimum is one of the few boundaries my partner has asked for, and I think that's entirely fair. And as I mentioned in my previous blog, I simply don't enjoy being away from my little one for too long anyway.

All-day encounters and dinner dates, however? Those are absolutely my sweet spot. They strike the perfect balance between companionship, adventure and intimacy.

Spreadsheet Goblin's official recommendation for the coming financial year? More all-day adventures, please. Preferably with the inclusion of banana pancakes.

The Eleven Men Running My Business

Then my spreadsheet uncovered something I genuinely wasn't expecting.

Half.

Half of my annual booking revenue came from just eleven men. I actually paused for a moment and wondered whether I'd filtered something incorrectly.

Surely not.

I checked the formula.

I stared at the pivot table.

I briefly blamed Excel.

I questioned my life choices.

Nope.

The numbers remained absolutely adamant. My business is powered by eleven very loyal gentlemen.

People often assume escorting involves a revolving door of strangers. My data painted a completely different picture.

It looks much less like speed dating...

...and much more like a neighbourhood café where everyone has "the usual."

Then it got stranger.

Just three clients accounted for one-third of my entire year's bookings. If you read my previous blog, you'll already know them by their aliases: Husband. Boyfriend. Lover. I won't revisit all of their stories here, but statistically speaking, they are absolute overachievers. Together, they occupied almost one-third of my calendar.

Or, to put it another way... If my spreadsheet were casting a television series, those three would have permanent recurring roles.

Looking a little closer, each one quietly carved out their own niche. Boyfriend won the award for sheer number of bookings. Husband narrowly claimed first place for total hours spent together. And Lover somehow managed to almost match Husband's annual spending despite considerably fewer appointments.

The spreadsheet's conclusion?

Apparently there isn't one blueprint for becoming a regular. Everybody has their own favourite way to spend time with me.

Another statistic made me laugh. There was one occasion during the year when the same client booked me twice in a single day. But twice in one week? That happened fifteen times! I guess some people subscribe to the "when you know, you know" philosophy.

Now, before anyone starts wondering whether my regulars receive secret VIP discounts, complimentary upgrades or a secret menu hidden behind the minibar...

No.

Absolutely not.

The service itself is exactly the same.

The only real perk of becoming one of my wonderfully loyal regulars is that you usually get first pick of my availability before everyone else does. And perhaps the occasional sighting of me wearing minimal makeup and pyjamas, rather than the carefully curated smoke and mirrors version of Jasmine.

Six years of loyalty, it seems, earns you access to "Off Duty Jasmine." And trust, it turns out, comes with remarkably ordinary benefits.

Perhaps the most surprising statistic of all wasn't actually how often these men booked. It was how few people it took to build such a thriving little business. I had expected a crowd. Instead, I found a community.

Which, frankly, seems much easier to keep track of.

The Regulars Economy

Remember those eleven men?

Well...

It gets worse.

The spreadsheet had yet another revelation waiting for me. Over the reporting period, 83% of my booking revenue came from existing clients. Just 17% came from people I met for the first time.

I blinked.

I stared at the numbers for a moment.

The more I looked, the more it started making sense. People often imagine that independent escorts spend most of their time chasing new enquiries, advertising themselves, and constantly meeting strangers.

My business appears to operate rather differently. It's much closer to your personal trainer, hairdresser, or yes, psychologist (in more ways than one). Or the little café where the staff start making your coffee before you've even reached the counter. The regulars quietly become the backbone of everything.

In fact, the longer somebody remained a client, the more likely they were to book longer appointments, social dates and Extended Encounters. Trust, apparently, has a habit of expanding the calendar.

I also stumbled across another statistic that I absolutely loved.

There were:

·       41 clients who booked at least twice.

·       23 who booked three or more times.

·       14 who reached five or more bookings.

·       Just 4 who booked ten or more times.

·       And only 3 who crossed the twenty-booking mark.

Watching that little loyalty pyramid narrow with each tier was strangely satisfying. Most people dip a toe in the water. A smaller group come back. A tiny handful become the Frequent Flyers. And those are often the names that quietly shape my year.

It's funny. The spreadsheet began this project determined to count appointments. Instead, it accidentally mapped relationships. Apparently even Excel has a soft side.

...Don't tell it I said that.

Of course... None of this explains why November apparently lost its mind.

November Chose Violence

There was one month in my spreadsheet that had main character energy. I didn't notice it while I was living through the year. It was only once I started sorting everything month by month that November kept popping up like an overachieving student desperate for another gold star.

Highest revenue?

November.

Most bookings?

November.

Most new clients?

November.

Most booking hours?

...November again.

At this point I was convinced the spreadsheet had accidentally duplicated a month. It hadn't. November had simply understood the assignment. Naturally, I started trying to work out why.

Had I advertised more?

Not really.

Dropped my prices?

Definitely not.

Worked more days?

Only slightly.

As best I can tell, it was simply one of those magical little periods where everything aligned. Regulars booked more frequently. New enquiries converted unusually well. People booked longer appointments. Even the calendar itself seemed unusually cooperative. Sometimes business is like that. You can spend weeks trying to manufacture momentum...and then one random month arrives and everything is coming up Jasmine!

The funny thing is, if someone had asked me in December which month had been my busiest, I honestly don't think I would have guessed November. I probably would have said February. Or maybe October. Memory, it turns out, is surprisingly unreliable.

Thankfully, somebody was taking notes.

The opposite end of the spectrum was just as interesting. There were months where enquiries slowed. Months where new clients almost disappeared. Months where I wondered whether every man in Perth had simultaneously decided to take a vow of celibacy.

Then, almost without warning...everything picked back up again. Which is probably the biggest lesson the calendar taught me. Looking at one week in isolation tells you almost nothing. Looking at twelve months tells you a story. And apparently, that story belongs to November.

Hotel Roulette

One of the biggest questions I wanted answered was surprisingly simple. Where on Earth had I actually been working all year?

I'd spent twelve months bouncing between hotels and serviced apartments, so surely I was spreading myself fairly evenly across Perth...

Right?

Wrong.

Very wrong.

It turns out I am a creature of habit. The numbers revealed a very clear hierarchy of favourites. Some hotels quietly became regular fixtures. Others received a single visit before never hearing from me again. Who knew I had standards after all?

Over the course of my first year living the hotel life, I worked from 19 different hotels and serviced apartment venues. Some became firm favourites. Others were one-time experiments. And a few taught me that online photos can be... optimistic. Catfishing isn't exclusive to dating apps, apparently.

Nineteen venues later, I've developed surprisingly strong opinions about parking, lift placement, room layouts, lighting, shower pressure, heater efficiency, and room service menus. Despite all that experimentation, almost half of my entire year's bookings ended up taking place in just three favourite venues. Much like my regulars, I become fiercely loyal once I find somewhere that feels just right.

When I first gave up my permanent apartment, I imagined I'd constantly be trying new places. And, to be fair, the first few months really were a bit of an adventure.

Some rooms had beautiful natural light. Some had dreadful lighting that made me look like I hadn't slept since 2019 (or was it motherhood to blame?) Some had luxurious bathrooms. Some had... character. Let's leave it at that.

Gradually, though, a pattern emerged. I found the hotels that suited me. The ones with easy parking. Comfortable beds. Quiet hallways. Reliable check-in staff. Good mirrors (because I like to see what’s going on… IYKYK).

I also discovered that convenience is surprisingly addictive. Once you've successfully navigated the lifts, figured out the quickest parking entrance and memorised exactly where to find the complimentary hot chocolates...it's remarkably difficult to convince yourself to start somewhere new.

Looking back now, those hotels slowly stopped feeling anonymous.

Different rooms.

Different views.

But the same suitcase...

The same makeup bag.

The same carefully packed emergency supplies.

Apparently home isn't always a place. Sometimes it's just whichever hotel room you've unpacked your hair straightener in.

Spreadsheet Goblin's verdict?

Hotel roulette eventually becomes hotel loyalty. By the end of the year, I wasn't really choosing hotels anymore. I was choosing between my hotels.

A little collection of selfies from some of my favourite hotels over the past year. See if you can guess which ones they are... If I'm not proving too much of a distraction.

The Cost of Convenience

The next spreadsheet tab wasn't nearly as glamorous.

Expenses.

Or, as I now prefer to call it... "The Anti-Fantasy."

People often ask whether working from hotels is more expensive than having a permanent apartment.

The short answer?

Yes.

The slightly longer answer?

Also yes. But less so when you only work part-time.

When I had a permanent incall, I paid rent whether I worked or not. Electricity. Internet. Cleaning supplies. The endless little costs that quietly accumulate simply because a property exists.

Hotels flipped that equation on its head. Now, I only pay when I'm actually working. The trade-off, of course, is that every workday starts with pulling out my credit card.

One expense, however, offended me far more than the hotels themselves.

Parking.

Across the year I spent... $1,425.

On parking.

I don't know why this particular figure irritated me so much.

Thousands of dollars on hotel rooms?

Perfectly reasonable.

Over a thousand dollars to leave my car on a rectangle of bitumen?

Outrageous!

Apparently this is where Spreadsheet Goblin draws the line.

Parking can get in the bin.

I also came across one statistic I’d rather forget. One absent-minded trip downstairs to farewell a client resulted in a forgotten room key and me locked out of not just my room, but the entire apartment building. After hours. With no staff in sight. One security call-out, one hour-long wait, and one $83 fee later...

...and I became significantly more attached to those little cardboard key cards.

If the expenses tab could talk, it would've filed that under "Lessons Learned.”

While I was poking around the expenses tab, one figure genuinely surprised me.

Advertising.

Across the entire reporting period, I spent only $841.56 on advertising. I genuinely wasn't expecting it to be so little. I know sex workers who spend more than that in a single month.

I only advertise on Ivy Société these days, after making the personal decision to leave Scarlet Blue almost two years ago when the platform changed ownership and began requiring advertisers to provide government-issued identification. Many workers, myself included, felt uncomfortable with that shift. There were widespread concerns within the industry about how that sensitive information might be stored, handled and protected, and I simply wasn't prepared to take that risk with my privacy. I acknowledge that I'm in an incredibly privileged position to be able to make that call. Ivy, on the other hand, was built by sex workers, for sex workers, and has always struck me as a platform that genuinely understands and prioritises the interests of our industry.

That certainly comes with trade-offs. Ivy generates less traffic, which almost certainly means less revenue than I could earn by casting a wider net. But for me, there's something reassuring about not being visible to every man casually browsing the internet. It adds another little layer of discretion. Not perfect discretion, of course, but enough that it aligns better with the kind of business I want to run.

Looking at the numbers, I suspect another factor is at play too. When 83% of your revenue comes from existing clients, you simply don't need to advertise as aggressively. The spreadsheet had quietly connected those dots long before I did.

The rest of the overheads were refreshingly unremarkable. $220 on my yearly supply of condoms and lube. $540 on my work phone. One professional photoshoot costing $1,550. None of them particularly exciting on their own. But together they formed another little reminder that a great deal of this job happens long before anyone knocks on the hotel room door.

Looking over the whole picture, though, I came away pleasantly surprised. After adding everything together, the total cost of hotels, parking and the occasional locked-out-of-the-building debacle, was still lower than a year’s worth of rent at my previous permanent incall apartment (and I was only paying half of the rent there!) In fact, it actually cost me around $3,000 less per annum to take the leap into working from hotels.

And, in addition to this little saving, I gained something that's much harder to put a dollar value on.

Flexibility.

Different locations.

Fresh rooms.

No lease tying me down.

No apartment sitting empty on the days I was busy in Mum-Mode, drowning in study, or simply taking a well-earned day off.

Spreadsheet Goblin's verdict?

Convenience isn't free. But it turns out it was still cheaper than paying rent on an empty apartment five days a week.

The 45-Day Drought

Every spreadsheet has one graph that makes you sit back in your chair.

This was mine.

Not because it was busy... But because it wasn't.

There were long stretches throughout the year when I saw hardly any new clients at all. In fact, at one point, there was a 45-day drought without a single new client.

Forty-five days.

If you'd told me that at the beginning of my career, I would've assumed I'd be quietly updating my résumé and perusing the classifieds.

Instead... Business hummed along as though nothing had happened. I still completed 21 bookings. Twenty-one. Without a single new client.

But by this point, the spreadsheet had already established that 83% of my business came from existing clients. So it was simply presenting Exhibit B.

It seems that my inbox and my calendar weren't always telling the same story. My business had quietly reached the point where it could sustain itself for a month and a half on relationships I'd already built.

It also reminded me of something I don't think I fully appreciated while I was living it. When you're self-employed, it's incredibly easy to become emotionally attached to new enquiries. A quiet inbox can feel unsettling.

You start wondering:

"Have I accidentally become unattractive?"

"Are all the men watching football or something?"

"Has Perth collectively decided to become celibate again?" (Yes, apparently that's still a recurring concern.)

The spreadsheet, however, had no interest in my catastrophising. It simply slid the graph across the table and said, "You're fine."

And, for once... It was right.

Of course, this isn't me saying that new clients aren't important. Far from it. Every wonderful regular was once a first-time booking. New clients are the seeds. Regulars are the garden. One simply can't exist without the other. I just found it fascinating that my day-to-day emotions didn't always match the reality of what was happening in the business.

Apparently Spreadsheet Goblin is considerably calmer than I am.

Who knew?

The Accidental Hotel Critic

One unexpected side effect of working from hotels for a year? I've become an insufferable hotel critic. Not in the glamorous, luxury travel influencer sense. In the "I have unexpectedly  strong opinions about lift placement" sense.

Before this experiment, I don't think I'd ever consciously rated a hotel's shower pressure. Or heater efficiency. Or whether the room lighting made me look radiant or vaguely unwell. Or how long it took to walk from the car park to reception.

Now?

These things occupy an alarming amount of mental real estate.

I've also become strangely appreciative of the little things. A full-length mirror. Plenty of power points. A hook on the back of the door for my damp towel. Fast lifts. A kettle that doesn't require an engineering degree to operate. And, of course, the true mark of a quality establishment...

A decent complimentary hot chocolate.

Every profession develops its own oddly specific expertise. An engineer notices structural flaws. An IT professional notices cable management. An electrician notices power points.

Apparently I notice mirrors.

And somewhere along the way, I became the sort of person who mentally scores hotels based on their hallway carpet, air-conditioning and whether the bedside table is actually close enough to the power point to charge my phone.

If nothing else, this little experiment has taught me one thing. You can tell an awful lot about a hotel… by the quality of its mirrors.

Spreadsheet Goblin, naturally, has already started a ranking system.

Busy Girl Things

I thought identifying my busiest week of the year would be one of the easiest statistics to calculate.

Open spreadsheet.

Sort by week.

Done.

Excel begged to differ.

It quickly became apparent that I first needed to answer a surprisingly difficult question: What did "busy" actually mean?

Was it the week with the most bookings?

The most hours spent with clients?

The most days worked?

Depending on which metric I chose, I got a completely different answer. The highest number of bookings in a single week was 13 bookings, spread across four working days during the first week of November.

Impressive...

...until another week quietly stole the crown.

In April, despite the month being heavily disrupted by illness and family responsibilities, I somehow packed 21.5 hours of face-to-face time into just three working days. That's an average of more than seven hours with clients per day.

Suddenly, November didn't seem quite so unbeatable after all.

Then I looked at what my average workday actually involved. Looking only at the weeks where I was actually working, I averaged just 2.1 working days per week.

Only two.

People often imagine part-time escorting means working every second day, or every weekend. Reality looked rather different. A couple of concentrated workdays. Then back to university. Back to motherhood. Back to ordinary life.

In many ways, my schedule probably resembles a touring escort more than someone working consistently throughout the week. Stacking my bookings over a couple of workdays may not seem conducive to maintaining a high libido throughout all bookings, but I like to make the most of my long commute and those hotel costs.

Luckily, in my case, my libido grows exponentially the more I ignite it.

Use it or lose it, I say. 

Then I looked at what an average workday actually involved. Across the entire reporting period, when I booked a hotel or serviced apartment specifically for work, my average day consisted of 3.4 bookings and 4 hours 43 minutes of face-to-face client time.

Apparently three to four bookings is my sweet spot. Busy enough to feel productive. Not so busy that I completely drain my social battery.

But only four hours and forty-three minutes of face-to-face client time? That sounds surprisingly... relaxed. Until you remember everything else squeezed into the gaps.

Checking in. Checking out. Room setup. Room resets. Showers. Freshening up. Answering messages. Updating my advertisement. Taking the occasional photo for my OnlyFans. Budgeting. Eating. Driving. Finding parking (and complaining about it).

And, if I was lucky, spending a little time writing blogs like this one.

And yes... occasionally I enjoy a little solo encore with my toys between bookings. Sometimes a booking leaves me wanting. Other times it's because the previous booking was so scorching hot, or the anticipation of the next one so delicious, that my body simply refuses to let the mood go.

I'm a very reactive kind of girl. Sometimes, the more I have... the more I want.

Of course, there were also weeks where I barely worked at all. In July 2025, I had 24 days off. In August, 27 days off. Not because business disappeared... but because I did. University placement temporarily became my full-time job.

March and April were heavily disrupted by illness, both mine and my daughter's. In April 2026, I ended up taking 25 days off out of the month's 30.

Looking at those months in isolation, you might think the business had ground to a halt. Looking at the whole year... they simply became part of the rhythm.

Apparently being "busy" isn't measured solely by the hours someone sees. Sometimes it's about knowing exactly when to switch hats. Student. Mum. Jasmine. Then back again.

Spreadsheet Goblin's official conclusion?

“Busy” is a surprisingly difficult thing to quantify.

Odds and Ends

By this point, I had well and truly fallen down the spreadsheet spiral. The big questions had all been answered. So naturally, I started asking increasingly unnecessary ones.

Here are some bonus statistics that absolutely nobody asked for.

The highest number of bookings I completed in a single day?

Six.

Twice.

I honestly don't know whether I should be proud of that or quietly concerned for Past Jasmine. It's a miracle I'm still alive to tell the tale.

Fridays turned out to be my quietest workday by a mile, with only 13 bookings over the 12-month period. Most of those happened during 2025, usually brunches and lunches with one particularly special gentleman.

Nowadays, Fridays belong to somebody else. It's the first day of the kindergarten weekend, and after three school days apart, Mummy-and-Daughter Day has become non-negotiable. The spreadsheet couldn't measure playground trips, elaborate Barbie scenes, or impromptu ice cream runs... but I know that's what filled those empty spaces.

Then there were the client cancellations.

Across twelve months, only 13 bookings were cancelled on short-notice. Personally, I think that's lower than I would expect. But those forfeited deposits quietly added up to $1,950.

Not bad for doing a little admin. It almost made me feel better about spending so much on parking.

Almost.

Another little pattern emerged with new clients. They never seemed to arrive in a steady trickle. Instead, they travelled in packs.

My biggest influx came during the week of 24–30 November, when I welcomed six new clients. Three of those happened on the very same day.

My theory?

When I'm rested, feeling confident, less stressed, and emotionally resourced, I'm much more willing to meet unfamiliar people. When university placement is intense, life is chaotic, and my social battery is running low... I naturally gravitate towards familiar faces.

Which, honestly, makes perfect sense.

Speaking of bookings that don't happen every day...

Here’s a statistic that was just too juicy to end up on the cutting room floor. Over the course of the year, I enjoyed five threesome bookings and one group booking (yes... the infamous six-some).

Every one of these threesomes was shared with my gorgeous partner-in-crime, Chelsea Lockhart. It was five over five months, from October 2025 to February 2026, when Chelsea briefly stepped back into the industry.

On that note, a little life update for those who have been wondering...

Chelsea has taken a step back from the industry for now. I'm hoping she'll make a return one day, but for the moment she's off enjoying a different chapter of life. I know many of you adored meeting us together, and I have some incredibly sexy memories of those bookings too.

One final question I was curious about... What was the most popular request from my Lover's Choice wardrobe?

I expected one clear favourite. Instead, the votes were wonderfully scattered.

Freya and “any schoolgirl costume will do” shared first place, but only just. Activewear, Kayla and my little black dress weren't far behind.

I'd suspected it for years.

There isn't one fantasy.

There are hundreds.

Spreadsheet Goblin's Awards Ceremony

After twelve months of colour-coded spreadsheets, questionable life choices, and asking questions absolutely nobody else was curious enough to ask, I think it's only fair we recognise this year's outstanding achievements.

Final Thoughts

Well...

I think that probably concludes the most unnecessarily thorough analysis of one woman's escorting career ever committed to Excel.

And now we all know what happens when the semester ends and Jasmine suddenly has far too much spare brainpower.

Left unsupervised, I apparently start analysing parking invoices, booking times and hotel hot chocolates with entirely inappropriate levels of enthusiasm.

I can't promise Spreadsheet Goblin has retired.

If anything, she's probably already planning next year's annual report.

Thank you for indulging this gloriously unnecessary little experiment, and for humouring me while I satisfied every tiny curiosity that popped into my head.

I hope you've enjoyed this slightly nerdier peek behind the curtain of my little business.

And if you've made it all the way to the end...

...I'm afraid you might be a Spreadsheet Goblin too.

As always, thank you for reading.

Yours, unpredictably,

Jasmine x