Crouching down, I scan the hallway to make sure it's empty, then dart along the passage to catch the door just before it latches. I've been following a cleaning robot that methodically zigzags across hallways, and, thankfully for me, through doors.

I couldn't believe my luck when those technicians came outside to smoke. They almost flattened me behind to door, but didn't notice me. I was able catch the door and slip around it as they walked away, then let it close naturally behind me. Definitely less conspicuous than shooting the lock with my blaster.

The cleaner robot was just going through a door, so I followed and started my journey into Area 51's inner bowels.

An hour later, I still haven't seen anyone.

The robot is heading into a cavernous room full of soft grey light.

Strange clicking sounds go off when the robot enters the room, and I freeze. I snicker quietly. It sounds like a robot convention.

Pressed to the smooth beige wall, I slowly peer around the corner. All I can see is some great dark grey machine that gleams from inside itself. An alien ship!

I wiggle in excitement. Maybe - just maybe! - I've found the long-rumoured alien chamber! It's been so long since I went to space.

I crane my neck to see up the gleaming grey machine. It stretches to the ceiling where I'm standing, but seems to slope down toward the front.

Slowly pressing a finger to the ship's side, I'm rewarded by a zing that makes me jump slightly, as if I've touched a live wire.

The robot beeps somewhere off in the room, reminding me time is short.

With my neck craned up, I hurry forward, elated when the spaceship shape becomes clearer near the front. She's a beauty!

"Yes!" I whip out my phone to take a picture, backing up to get as much in as possible - but then I connect with something and there's a loud crash and the hollow thud of something metal.

Frantic beeping - no, annoyed beeping - fills the chamber.

An tall, grey alien bends over me clicking and beeping and waving its long arms around gesturing at an overturned table, then puts its hands on its non-existent hips in anger.

"Errrr..." I jump up.

It throws one hand up in the air in frustration, takes two steps and touches my cheek.

Suddenly my ears can hear the words the alien is shouting at me.

"You've ruined my pizza!" it says, pointing.

I blink. Totally not what I was expecting.

With a nervous smile, I peek over the table. Sure enough, pizza ingredients and big blob of dough are strewn across the floor.

"Don't worry! I work at a pizzeria." It's this alien's lucky day to have me make him (her?) a pie.

Quick as a flash, I right the table and clean up the ingredients. The alien just stands, arms crossed and tapping its super long feet. He'd have a tough time finding trainers for those.

"How do you cook it?"

Another long grey finger points to an obviously broken table-top grill on the floor.

I tap my lips. "Got it!" I yell.

Clearing the table, except for the gorgeous pizza, with pepperoni, olives and mushrooms in the middle - I must say this alien has good taste - I squat down, take out my blaster and aim it at the underside of the table. (I once had to do this to heat rocks when I was on a mission in deep space.)

The tantalizing smell of pizza begins wafting through the air.

"Awesome!" says the alien. "What model blaster do you have? They took mine away."

So we settled back for some blaster-cooked slices and swapped space stories all afternoon. Never once did any Area 51 guys find me. Even on the way out. Strange, huh?

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