I had hoped that Katherine Jenkins would be a Cristal-quaffing turbo diva; the kind who wears a veil to bed and will eat only gold. After all, she did run the marathon in diamond earrings and was reported to have spent a squillion pounds a day on her hair. But actually she’s just a bit . . . pink.
She trots into the grungy recording studio in Camden Town, northwest London, looking like a cardboard cut-out from an OK! wedding special. She is in the middle of a gruelling promotional tour that involves 3am wake-ups to “warm up her voice” but still her hair is curled into waves, her eyelashes are coiffed and she is flashing a dazzling, chalk-white smile. “I am incredibly happy,” she