I f you are even remotely au fait with the motifs of Sex and the City, the scene will be instantly familiar. A female journalist, at work in her city apartment, ponders the blank screen of her laptop. Her fingers hover, the cursor winks invitingly and this week's pressing question is tapped out. But the person at the computer is me rather than Carrie Bradshaw, there is not a strappy shoe in sight and my question would never have appeared on the show, namely: is it really possible to call yourself a feminist and still like Sex and the City? And yet I'm still no closer to working out if the SATC gals could do with a few remedial consciousness raising classes, or if they are, in fact, le dernier cri in empowered womanhood.

Charlotte: The women's movement is supposed to be about choice and if I choose to quit my job, that is my choice. Miranda: The women's movement? Jesus Christ, I haven't even had coffee yet.

I was 14 when we got a second cable television box. It was decided it would go in my bedroom — characteristic of the naivety that parents of millennials had about domestic technology, from late night television to unsupervised internet access. Naturally, within a week, I was up watching late night cable on school nights after having supposedly gone to sleep.