A voyage to the back of beyond

I was intrigued to see who would be in the audience. I was hoping for an utopian paradise of wall to wall geek chic.

Used to the testosterone tilt in the ratio of boys to girls on the Wharf, even I wasn't prepared for the sheer avalanche of men that filled the cinema.

There was me, three Japanese girls and some poor woman on a doomed first date.

The rest of the seats were filled with guys. No queues in the ladies' loos that night.

Before my single sisters start firing off orders for tickets, switch your phasers to stun for a second.

The guys were not really James T Kirk, more James The Jerk.

Hard nosed lawyers, suited bankers and aggressive accountants looked around in awe at all their brothers and visibly regressed to gawky teens.

It was like a cult. One after another, men entered on their own. No wife, no date, no friends, no life.

The quality was dire. Some kind of time space continuum had opened direct from planet butt ugly.

Klingon outfits were not necessary - there were already plenty of scary looking blokes to put you off your popcorn.

Fat guys with receding long hair, bespectacled freaks beaten with the mutant stick.

This looked less like a Trekkie convention, more like a Crimewatch line up for paedophiles.

Forget live long and prosper, go live a long way from me and don't ever reproduce.

Very disturbing when all a girl wanted was a little eye candy to go with her Maltesers.

The film was OK, but the audience was a failure not worthy of a sequel.

In grave peril of being marooned in a world of hideous men, it was a clear case of beam me up totty.