Who needs a man when you’re having a full-blown affair with a city?

As a traveller away from home, I find myself caught in a vicious homesickness cycle – not dissimilar to lovesickness. Warm thoughts of my old faithful, Adelaide (South Australia) wash over me when I least expect it. More often than not, this fondness is paired with guilt because it happens when I’m in the illicit embrace of the vixen that is London.

People often ask me… “Why did you leave heaven?”.
I’m not talking dodgy pick up lines here… I’m talking geographical bliss. Think sun, sand, BBQs instead of ovens and a comfortable laid-back way of life that renders even the most hyperactive of people semi-comatose.

I can understand the disbelief – but think of it this way. Why the hell did Hugh Grant cheat on Liz Hurley? A pair of legs up to the sky surely constitutes the motivation for fidelity. I guess it happens to the best of us; like ‘Miss Divine’, boredom sneaks in and the lure of the unknown is too strong to resist.

Don’t get me wrong, my heart lies in Australia and one day I’ll return to my old haunt but this London fling is scary, fast, overwhelming and I love it. An average, run of the mill evening can take a sharp turn into the unknown. Blink and you’ll miss it, the whole damn lot. Take last week for example… I found myself in the midst of fame and fortune – minus the makeup.

In this case, the brush was with the woman who bared all and blew all on screen. The famous flesh baring Kim Cattrall – aka Samantha from Sex and the City.

I was at the opening of the opening of ‘On the Third Day’, the West End play causing a stir in headlines aplenty. The playwright was chosen by well know producer Sonia Friedman – a brave woman with an obvious urge for a challenge. There aren’t many West End big names who’d be prepared to choose a fresh new writer out of approx 2,000 entrants… then go on to produce their play. All I might add, with channel 4 filming and screening the whole process.

Now, I’m not one for approaching celebs; I wouldn’t dream of it… the untouchables are human too. Kim had plasters all over her little tootsies so I guess even leggy blonde screen goddesses have new shoe issues too. I wonder if SJP has that problem with her Manolos?

In a cruel twist of fate, my workmate found herself sitting next to ‘Sam’ but, much to my frustration, didn’t have a clue who she was. Dangerously high eyebrows were the only indication she had that she was in the midst of ‘someone’.

In hindsight, perhaps it’s a good thing we were kept at bay. My poor lad was so beside himself I thought he’d have an interval coronary. No such luck, after returning from the bar I discovered he’d relocated – directly in front of the ‘damsel soon to be in distress’.

Yes, he talked to her and yes, she seemed lovely. After chatting to him however, she did her own relocating act and moved to the front of the theatre. The friendship, it seemed – wasn’t in the stars (see the play and you’ll get the pun). Unfortunately for me, I found myself sitting between two scribbling theatre critics. What a miserable mob – they spend more time with noses in their notebooks than they do watching the stage.

The night before was much of the same. I donned my glad rags and headed down to the Adelphi Theatre for a star-studded evening of Evita. In typical Katie fashion, I didn’t notice I was in the midst of Rod Stewart and his own leggy blonde, Penny. I guess he’s lost that alleged spark that turns heads. Either that or his female sucking force field was down for the night.

Graham Norton and Tara Palmer-Tomkinson also made a show, although Tara didn’t return to her seat after the interval. Too much champagne maybe… or not enough culture in those raised veins?

The other hot West End must see is Avenue Q. Watching puppets practice the Karma Sutra is wrong for all the right reasons. See it – you’re butt will thank you. When you laugh you burn three and a half calories… one evening in front of this show and you’ll save yourself a trip to the gym. I’ll be meeting the dirty puppets this week so watch this space for the X-rated aftermath. It’ll be saucier than the hoards of gay revellers at Saturday’s Euro Pride parade.

Yep, there’s something about London…