The first film's nervy response to this was to include a black character, but as Carrie's assistant, played by Jennifer Hudson, who is cravenly grateful for Carrie's designer cast-offs, and then returns in the end to St Louis, where black people more belong. It is minutes long, which means that I entered the theater in the bloom of youth and emerged with a family of field mice living in my long, white mustache. If the movies have killed the Sex and the City dream, then, in retrospect, its death throes could be seen in the last series with its insistence that Carrie had to get together with Mr Big in the end, never mind if it was totally out of character for both of them, never mind if it went against everything the show once said about women not needing to put up with men who make them feel like crap. She rubs yams on it, okay? Also, one time her little child got finger paint on a piece of vintage cloth. Even leaving aside the question of why anyone would go on holiday to Abu Dhabi, everyone who has ever watched a TV show knows that the first rule is: I just don't want to be sick in my mouth. Then they toast their disgusting glasses of pink syrup. Reader, I must confess that while attending the sneak preview with its overwhelmingly female audience, I was gob-smacked by the delightful cleavage on display. Did they just never get it? It sang with lines that you knew had come from real life "How can I have this baby? And leave poor old bony Carrie all alone again?