It’s the stuff dreams are made of, supposedly, and I could feel the wrath of thousands of avid female fans as The Dreamboys bounced into the office, ripping off their shirts as they entered.

It was like trying to contain a box of escaped puppies as they joked, laughed and whooped their way into the Oxford Mail much to the bemusement of the hundreds of staff who work here, flexing their pecs and unbuttoning their....

“Stop” I managed as they strode on, uttering words I never thought would leave my mouth “and keep you trousers on”.

Regardless, you could hear the ripples going around the building – ‘The Dreamboys are here, the Dreamboys are here’, as one by one girls left their desks and stood up or wandered to the corridor to watch their ceremonial entrance.

“I saw them last week,” one said, a dreamy look on her face, as they strode past majestically.

And even though I’m not a six-pack kind of girl I could appreciate the attraction.

My, my, they must spend every waking hour in the gym, when not having their spray tans applied and their teeth whitened. I didn’t know they had muscles in some of the places they bulged.

Like a species that escaped from a secret laboratory, these were men, or should I say boys, who defied the laws of nature and had redesigned their own anatomy.

It was like being in the midst of some strange testosterone- fuelled experiment. Not that I was complaining!

And they were proud, very proud, of who they were and what they were doing, or as one of them put it: “there’s no point going to all this effort and putting in all those hours in the gym if no one’s going to appreciate it.”

Fair point and who am I to disagree?

But the Dreamboys were more than just a sum of their extremely impressive parts, they were a laugh – gobby, flirty, brash, in your face, and fun to be around.

There is nothing subtle about them, but then if you want subtle you won’t be going to see them at the New Theatre on Wednesday, May 1 when they appear for one night only.

I, on the other hand, will be there like a flash.

Not because I’m enormously attracted to strippers (ahem) but because it’s such a laugh, a whole auditorium of screaming women shouting ‘get ’em off’ is really something to behold.

It’s modern day smutty sisterhood, and it rocks.

I left my final question, about whether they go the Full Monty, until last, expecting them to say no – it is the New Theatre after all.

“Yes, there is full frontal nudity,” came back the reply, which made my knees buckle and I had to sit down, as they all stared at me as if to say ‘and?’ “So will you be coming along?”

“I might be free,” I managed coyly. Wild horses...

  • See tomorrow’s Guide in the Oxford Mail for Katherine’s full interview.