I braved the chattering hoards to see Sex & The City. As we walked in Kate wondered aloud if people might think she was my beard - the audience was 95% chicks, whiling away the time until the chick-flick started by gossiping loudly through the trailers and adverts. Whole rows were filled instantly when parties of 20 turned up. Their anticipation was palpable.

Never likely to be the most cinematic offering - it's basically an extended episode of the TV show - it was, however, probably the most communal experience I've had at the cinema since nerds came out of their sweaty bedrooms in their masses for The Phantom Menace, many years ago.

That the film turned out to be rather more melancholy than expected is not necessarily a bad thing. And although it didn't produce uncontrollable shrill hysterics among the more-than-willing audience, it does have a couple of killer jokes and enough chuckles to keep the whole thing rolling along. And, gratifyingly, there are no concessions to the male audience, no attempted broadening of the fanbase. Here the women are centre stage all the way.

One crucial error that threatened to deflate the whole event was the odd omission of the idiosyncratic theme tune - such a scene setter that half the screenwriter's exposition has been done already. Instead there's a strangely muted sort-of disco remix of the original, which accompanies some bland stock footage of Carrie's beloved Manhattan. It's a duff opening, but the only one in an otherwise polished product.

All in all, a great night out with the girls!