My dear friend S has returned from her fortnight hols extremely worked up about the opening of Sex & The City. (Bless her, she texted me from St Lucia airport to ask me to book tickets for tomorrow.) Having been out of town, she’s missed the two weeks of Carrie & co mania in Grazia, the NY Travel guide S&TC-style in The London Paper and the ‘anyone and everyone was there’ hoo-hah of the London premiere (where my other friend A was perturbed to find himself wedged in a Nicky Clarke and Kelly Hoppen sandwich). So she’s still mad keen to see it and has insisted we dress up in our finest and find somewhere to sip champagne beforehand. Do cinemas even sell champagne? Who knows, the best I could do was suggest the 8 o’clock screening at the Odeon West End with a drink or two in Soho before the main event. I huffed and puffed but secretly I’m quite excited.