Menopause the Musical are words most people never thought they'd see in the same sentence, but as it finishes its five-month run, the popular show has come to represent something else: that topical issue of female bonding. Backstage at the Tivoli Theatre is one of the stars, a woman who has described herself in the past as 'strong and tough', a former talent-show judge with no qualms about putting star-struck teenagers straight. But there is no hint of the formidable diva as Linda Martin welcomes the Sunday Tribune with a beaming smile and a "Will you have a coffee? How do you take it?"

We had met before, almost 20 years ago. It was just after her 1992 'Why Me?' Eurovision win, when, as she proudly recalls, she also had the honour of knocking Bishop Eamon Casey off the front pages. There was talk of an international record deal for the former Chips vocalist. But first would come the makeover. I was a freelance stylist with the hapless photographer at the time. The PR company wanted to give the bubble-curled, stone-washed-jeans-wearing Martin of those days a Celine Dion-type image, all arty black-and-white publicity shots of her barefoot and wearing floaty chiffon dresses. She was having none of it. Especially the subtle hair and make-up. Definitely, a strong and tough era.

"I do remember it," she laughs. "It just didn't work. Less is more never applied to me. My make-up artist these days, Lisa O'Connor, knows she's to come in and just slap it on. None of that 'the older you get, the less you use'. There's no chance that's ever going to happen." If anything, Martin looks even better now than 20 years ago. Tall, slim, with long shiny hair and a fringe, and dark good looks inherited from those Italian ancestors who emerged during her stint on Who Do You Think You Are?, there are no sprayed-on jeans these days, just a fitted, floral-print shift dress to the knee and wedge sandals showing off naturally tanned legs. And by the way, she is 57, not 63 as it says on Wikipedia, she insists. "I didn't know about that until people began wishing me happy birthday – and it wasn't my birthday. People refer to the site, which is just bad journalism."

But don't be fooled by her elegant appearance either, she says. Although she doesn't diet, doesn't exercise, and the odd night slumped in front of the telly with crisps or chocolate hasn't resulted in any menopausal spare tyre just yet, getting all 'dolled up' isn't an everyday regime.

"This is all pretend. I got made-up and suited and booted because Mark took photographs at home earlier. The reality is that any other day I'm at home, I'm wearing the old tracksuit bottoms with holes in them and gone saggy in the behind, and hair pulled back in a ponytail."

Off stage, Martin is as well known these days as a veritable Brigitte Bardot for her passion for animals. At the latest count, she has 26 'rescued' dogs and is part of a network of fellow animal lovers who take in abandoned strays. "Sharon Ní Bheoláin is the labrador person. Anne Doyle is cats. I will take in anything. Four legs and a tail and you are sure of a good meal and somewhere to put your head. As a child if anyone was looking for me, my late mother would tell them, 'Look no further than the nearest dog and you'll find her.'" No surprise then that the young Linda Martin wanted to be a vet. We lapse into reminiscences about pets present and past. On hearing that our 19-year-old cat sadly had to be put down last Christmas, her prescription is, "You have to get another kitten right away."

She is, she says, 'a woman's woman', and has relished the camaraderie during her time on stage with the latest run of the musical. As for that other, and now much-maligned story of female bonding, Sex and the City, yes, she loved the first film version, she says, and will definitely go along to see the new one. She's read some of the negative features and previews of SATC2, but is not surprised so many have been written by women.

"One of the things I learned during all of my years singing in cabaret was that the hardest people to get on your side are the women. You quickly learn that while on stage you don't flirt with the husbands. You make eye contact with the women. You get them on your side. Obviously with this musical, the audience is 90% women, and I believe I can relate to every one of them. They are in the palm of your hand, and that is a fantastic feeling. At the end of each night, we have a kick line up on stage and one night last week, a woman came up and whispered that it was her 50th birthday the next day, and, best news of all, she had just got the all clear from breast cancer. I let the audience know and everyone stood up, clapping, cheering, hugging and kissing her. It was the sisterhood at work. And it's incredible to be part of that."

Her enthusiasm for feelgood female friendship is obvious. But hovering over the conversation is the spectre of Twink, aka Adele King, her former co-star on the musical. She has no problem discussing their falling out, first emphasising that for her, loyalty is at the core of any true friendship.

"When it happened, I didn't want to talk about it initially. That's because it was the first slap in the face I ever had in this business – although not literally, of course. Showbusiness is difficult. But you learn to get on with people. I'm a good friend, but if I have one fault, it's that I expect the same loyalty to be given back to me. Most of the friends I have now I've known for over 30 years, people who used to come along to see the band. I tend not to hang out with showbusiness people. I have another life. With the dogs, horses and cats. And the people I hang around with are invariably involved with that."

When she starts to relate how she overheard the "character assassination" of her by her former friend, she becomes less articulate, struggling to find the right words to express her feelings.

"I had known Adele since I came to live in Dublin in the '70s. I've always regarded her as a friend, enjoyed working with her. I admire her talent and have made no secret of that. As we finished the last tour together, I was staying in the room next door to hers. My room was stuffy and so I opened the window to let the air in when I was going to bed. I could hear her, doing this character assassination of me to the rest of the girls. And... I don't think 'stunned' explains how I felt. I didn't sleep at all. The tirade went on for a couple of hours. She called me that word I can't say, the one with four letters beginning with 'C'."

Ask anyone who has ever worked with her, she says, and you won't find negative comments. She strives to get on with people.

"That conversation was so unwarranted, so unnecessary. The fact that these people were smiling at me, on stage, off stage, was awful. Oh, see the hurt... oh dear, dear. You suddenly realise you're not as tough as you think. And I did cry. I got through the next two shows okay, then just went home. One of the crew was driving his own car. He got me back to Dublin so that I didn't have to sit in the same vehicle. It was horrific."

She says she still doesn't know why it happened; there was no competition between her and King. "I just don't know where it came from. Why it had to happen. I tried to maintain my dignity over it all. But it has ended a friendship of many, many years. I'll eventually get over the hurt. But once it's over, it's over."

There's no going back either to her days as a starry-eyed teenager, touring with a pop band. That life is for the young, she insists, 17- or 18-year-olds with the stamina to go on the road. And anyway, that's all changed. Kids "think they can become stars overnight without all the hard grind now". Before she was dropped as a judge on RTé talent show You're A Star, her approach to young hopefuls was to be brutally honest.

"To give kids false hope is awful. I would hear people telling them, 'Oh, I can see your name in lights.' Oh no, they didn't. The kids that told me they just wanted to be famous, I would walk away from. Even if they can sing and move well, performers need a little bit of everything for it to work. They need personality. And the two most important phrases to remember in this business are 'Please' and 'Thank you'."

She speaks of getting a call from Louis Walsh, her former manager from the old days, during last year's X-Factor. He wanted her to give John and Edward, as they were known then, a crash course in showbusiness survival. "So I took them to the Olympia Theatre, showed them how to use a microphone, how to address people, meet producers, stress the importance of remembering everyone's name. It doesn't matter that they aren't the best singers or movers. I thing they have that little bit of everything, an innocent energy that other kids fixate on."

She will appear with the brothers in pantomime next Christmas, after taking an autumnal holiday abroad with Ronan, her partner for the past 17 years. He is, she says, "The easiest-going character on this earth – which is probably why our relationship works so well. His passion is football, he's a Man U and Bohemians supporter. He wouldn't touch showbusiness with a barge pole, though. He doesn't come with me on tour, but it's never a case of 'Oh, no I don't want you to go there, or don't want you to do that.' He's supportive, he encourages me to take chances, do the things I want."

With a houseful of animals, but no children, she has occasionally encountered the charge that the pets are a substitute for maternal feelings.

"Apparently, growing up, I was never interested in playing with dolls. It was always animals. Babies never came into the picture at any stage. Anyway, in this business, you could never plan. Everything outside work was put on the long finger. And I suppose if you are not in the right relationship, then you don't have anything to fall back on. I never saw myself as a single mother in showbusiness, either. And now that window has passed. Plus you get more selfish as you get older. And I would have been a bad mother. I don't mean that I would have been cruel. I would just have been over protective – and I reckon they would have hated me for that."

Her nieces and nephews, on the other hand, are a source of great pride. The eldest niece is a forensic pathologist, living in Manchester. "I love them to bits. I enjoy being Auntie Linda. And of course the great thing about nieces and nephews is that they go home to their mams."

Her own mother passed away 26 years ago, and she says if she could change one thing, it would be to bring her back, bring her along to the musical and just share her life. "I overhear kids in the panto giving out about their mothers, and I always scold them and stress that the mammies are sacred."

As the clock ticks towards showtime, the mistress of the menopause musical, the woman who has gone through many a change in her professional life, insists that away from the stage, she is genuinely "as soft as putty". But as she heads towards the dressing room, she calls back, direct and firm, "And don't forget to get that kitten, now."