IS the Sex and the City movie sequel a good idea? No, probably not.

Am I getting ridiculously excited about it anyway? Hell, yeah.

If our office girls night out for the first film is anything to go by, it will be like a glorious get together of your greatest old pals.

The excitement has been building in certain camps – shoe lovers, hopeless romantics and well-groomed men – for some time and reached fever pitch when a trailer revealing just a bit too much of the plot was released recently.

Carrie’s walk-in shoe wardrobe actually produced audible gasps from an audience of rather well dressed ladies the first time around.

The series was always a fashionista’s dream, but the incredible array of Christian Louboutins, Jimmy Choos and Manolo Blahnik’s can’t be the only thing that keeps us wanting more.

No, Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte and their antics in New York represent another era. They’re a relic from a time when the series was on our screens, we were all a lot younger and the words mass and terrorism and global, financial and meltdown had never been used in the same sentence.

And none of us can wait to see how the girls adapt to their new lives as wives, mothers, and, in fabulous Samantha’s case, a trollop with hot flushes.

They will all live happily ever after I suspect, but I’m just speculating at this stage of course.

Perhaps Carrie’s successful writing career will fall foul of the shrinking page counts being suffered by all media, maybe Miranda will end up on the American version of Jobseeker’s Allowance.

But I doubt it. And we wouldn’t want it any other way.

After all, we all want our well-dressed happily ever after.