Bridget Jones's Diary Part 26

'Maybe you should get a quieter hair dryer or begin your toilette toilette a little earlier. Anyway. Come on,' he said laughing. 'Get your cameraman ready, I'll see what I can do for you.' a little earlier. Anyway. Come on,' he said laughing. 'Get your cameraman ready, I'll see what I can do for you.'

Oh G.o.d. How embarra.s.sing. Am complete jerk.

9 p.m. Cannot believe how marvelously everything has turned out. Have just played the Cannot believe how marvelously everything has turned out. Have just played the Good Afternoon! Good Afternoon! headlines back for the fifth time. headlines back for the fifth time.

'And a Good Afternoon! Good Afternoon! exclusive,' it says. exclusive,' it says. 'Good Afternoon 'Good Afternoon!: the only television program to bring you an exclusive interview with Elena Rossini, just minutes after today's not guilty verdict. Our home news correspondent. Bridget Jones, brings you this exclusive report.'

I love love that bit: 'Our home news correspondent, Bridget Jones, brings you this exclusive report.' that bit: 'Our home news correspondent, Bridget Jones, brings you this exclusive report.'

I'll just play it back once more, then I'll definitely put it away.

Friday 6 October

9st. (comfort eating), alcohol units 6 (drink problem), lottery tickets 6 (comfort gambling), 1471 calls to see if Mark Darcy has rung 21 (curiosity only, obviously), number of times watched video 9 (better).

9 p.m. Humph. Left a message for Mum yesterday to tell her all about my scoop so when she rang tonight I a.s.sumed it would be to congratulate me, but no, she was just going on about the party. It was Una and Geoffrey this, Brian and Mavis that and how marvelous Mark was and why didn't I talk to him, etc., etc.? Temptation to tell her what happened almost overwhelming but managed to control myself by envisaging consequences: screaming ecstasy at the making of the date and brutal murder of only daughter when she heard the actual outcome. Humph. Left a message for Mum yesterday to tell her all about my scoop so when she rang tonight I a.s.sumed it would be to congratulate me, but no, she was just going on about the party. It was Una and Geoffrey this, Brian and Mavis that and how marvelous Mark was and why didn't I talk to him, etc., etc.? Temptation to tell her what happened almost overwhelming but managed to control myself by envisaging consequences: screaming ecstasy at the making of the date and brutal murder of only daughter when she heard the actual outcome.

Keep hoping he might ring me up and ask me for another date after the hair dryer debacle. Maybe I should write him a note to say thank you for the interview and sorry about the hair dryer. It's not because I fancy him or anything. Simple good manners demands it.

Thursday 12 October

9st 1 (bad), alcohol Units 3 (both healthy and normal), cigarettes 13,fat Units 17 (wonder if it's possible to calculate fat unit content of entire body? I hope otherwise), lottery tickets 3 (fair), 1471 calls to see if Mark Darcy has rung 12 (better).

Humph. Incensed by patronizing article in the paper by Smug Married journalist. It was headlined, with subtle-as-a-Frankie-Howerd-s.e.xual-innuendo-style irony: 'The Joy of Single Life.'

'They're young, ambitious and rich but their lives hide an aching loneliness . . . When they leave work a gaping emotional hole opens up before them . . . Lonely style-obsessed individuals seek consolation in packeted comfort food of the kind their mother might have made.'

Huh. b.l.o.o.d.y nerve. How does Mrs. Smug Married-at-twenty-two think she knows, thank you very much? I'm going to write an article based on 'dozens of conversations' with Smug Marrieds: 'When they leave work, they always burst into tears because, though exhausted, they have to peel potatoes and put all the was.h.i.+ng in while their porky bloater husbands slump burping in front of the football demanding plates of chips. On other nights they plop, wearing unstylish pinnies, into big black holes after their husbands have rung to say they're working late again, with the sound of creaking leatherware and s.e.xy Singletons t.i.ttering in the background.'

Met Sharon, Jude and Tom after work. Tom, too, was working on a furious imaginary article about the Smug Marrieds' gaping emotional holes.

'Their influence affects everything from the kind of houses being built to the kind of food that stocks the supermarket shelves,' Tom's appalled article was going to rant. 'Everywhere we see Anne Summers shops catering to housewives trying pathetically to simulate the thrilling s.e.x enjoyed by Singletons and ever-more exotic foodstuffs in Marks and Spencer for exhausted couples trying to pretend they're in a lovely restaurant like the Singletons and don't have to do the was.h.i.+ng up.'

'I'm b.l.o.o.d.y sick of this arrogant hand-wringing about single life!' roared Sharon.

'Yes, yes!' I said.

'You forgot the f.u.c.kwittage,' burped Jude. 'We always have f.u.c.kwittage.'

'Anyway, we're not lonely. We have extended families in the form of networks of friends connected by telephone,' said Tom.

'Yes! Hurrah! Singletons should not have to explain themselves all the time but should have an accepted status - like geisha girls do,' I shouted happily, slurping on my tumbler 0f Chilean Chardonnay.

'Geisha girls?' said Sharon. looking at me coldly.

'Shut up, Bridge,' slurred Tom. 'You're drunk. You're just trying to escape from your yawning emotional hole into drunk.'

'Well, so's b.l.o.o.d.y well Shazzer,' I said sulkily.

'I's not,' said Sharon. 'You's blurr are,' I said.

'Look. Shuddup,' said Jude, burping again. 's.h.a.gernothebol Chardonnay?'

Friday 13 October

9st 3 (but have temporarily turned into wine bag), alcohol units 0 (but feeding off wine bag), calories 0 (v.g.).*

*Actually might as well be honest here. Not really v.g. as only 0 because puked up 5876 calories immediately after eating.

Oh G.o.d, I'm so lonely. An entire weekend stretching ahead with no one to love or have fun with. Anyway, I don't care. I've got a lovely steamed ginger pudding from M&S to put in the microwave.

Sunday 15 October

9st (better), alcohol units 5 (but special occasion), agarettes 16, calories 2456, minutes spent thinking about Mr. Darcy 245.

8:55 a.m. Just nipped out for f.a.gs prior to getting changed ready for BBC Just nipped out for f.a.gs prior to getting changed ready for BBC Pride and Prejudice Pride and Prejudice. Hard to believe there are so many cars out on the roads. Shouldn't they be at home getting ready? Love the nation being so addicted. The basis of my own addiction, I know, is my simple human need for Darcy to get off with Elizabeth. Tom says football guru Nick Hornby says in his book that men's obsession with football is not vicarious. The testosterone-crazed fans do not wish themselves on the pitch, claims Hornby, instead seeing their team as their chosen representatives, rather like parliament. That is precisely my feeling about Darcy and Elizabeth. They are my chosen representatives in the field of s.h.a.gging, or, rather, courts.h.i.+p. I do not, however, wish to see any actual goals. I would hate to see Darcy and Elizabeth in bed, smoking a cigarette afterwards. That would be unnatural and wrong and I would quickly lose interest.

10:30 a.m. Jude just called and we spent twenty minutes growling, 'Fawaw, that Mr. Darcy.' I love the way he talks, sort of as if he can't be bothered. Jude just called and we spent twenty minutes growling, 'Fawaw, that Mr. Darcy.' I love the way he talks, sort of as if he can't be bothered. Ding-dong Ding-dong! Then we had a long discussion about the comparative merits of Mr. Darcy and Mark Darcy, both agreeing that Mr. Darcy was more attractive because he was ruder but that being imaginary was a disadvantage that could not be overlooked.

Monday 23 October

9st 2 alcohol units 0 (v.g. Have discovered delicious new alcohol subst.i.tute drink called Smoothies-v. nice, fruity), cigarettes 0 (Smoothies removes need for cigarettes), Smoothies 22, calories 4265 (4135 of them Smoothies).

Ugh. Just about to watch Panorama Panorama on 'The trend of well-qualified female breadwinners - stealing all the best jobs' (one of which I pray to the Lord in Heaven Above and all his Seraphims I am about to become): 'Does the solution lie in redesigning the educational syllabus?' When I stumbled upon a photograph in the on 'The trend of well-qualified female breadwinners - stealing all the best jobs' (one of which I pray to the Lord in Heaven Above and all his Seraphims I am about to become): 'Does the solution lie in redesigning the educational syllabus?' When I stumbled upon a photograph in the Standard Standard of Darcy and Elizabeth, hideous, dressed as modem-day luvvies, draped all over each other in a meadow: she with blond Sloane hair, and linen trouser suit, he in striped polo neck and leather jacket with a rather unconvincing moustache. Apparently they are already sleeping together. That is absolutely disgusting. Feel disorientated and worried, for surely Mr. Darcy would never do anything so vain and frivolous as to be an actor and yet Mr. Darcy is an actor. Hmmm. All v. confusing. of Darcy and Elizabeth, hideous, dressed as modem-day luvvies, draped all over each other in a meadow: she with blond Sloane hair, and linen trouser suit, he in striped polo neck and leather jacket with a rather unconvincing moustache. Apparently they are already sleeping together. That is absolutely disgusting. Feel disorientated and worried, for surely Mr. Darcy would never do anything so vain and frivolous as to be an actor and yet Mr. Darcy is an actor. Hmmm. All v. confusing.

Tuesday 24 October

9st 3 (b.l.o.o.d.y Smoothies), alcohol Units 0, cigarettes 0, Smoothies 32.

On marvelous roll with work. Ever since Elena whatserface interview, seems can do no wrong.

'Come on! Come on! Rosemary West!' Richard Finch was saying, when I got into the office (bit late, actually, sort of thing that could happen to anyone), holding up his fists like a boxer. 'I'm thinking lesbian rape victims, I'm thinking Jeanette Winterson, I'm thinking Good Afternoon! Good Afternoon! doctor, I'm thinking what lesbians actually do. That's it! What doctor, I'm thinking what lesbians actually do. That's it! What do do lesbians actually do in bed?' Suddenly, he was looking straight at me. lesbians actually do in bed?' Suddenly, he was looking straight at me.

'Do you you know?' Everyone stared at me. 'Come on, Bridget-f.u.c.king- late-again,' he shouted impatiently. 'What do lesbians actually do in bed?' know?' Everyone stared at me. 'Come on, Bridget-f.u.c.king- late-again,' he shouted impatiently. 'What do lesbians actually do in bed?'

I took a deep breath. 'Actually, I think we should be doing the off-screen romance between Darcy and Elizabeth.'

He looked me up and down slowly. 'Brilliant,' he said reverently. 'Absolutely f.u.c.king brilliant. OK. The actors who play Darcy and Elizabeth? Come on, come on,' he said, boxing at the meeting.

'Cohn Firth and Jennifer Ehle,' I said.

'You, my darling,' he said to one of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, 'are an absolute f.u.c.king genius.' I always hoped I would turn out to be a genius, but I never believed it would actually happen to me - or my left breast. my left breast.

NOVEMBER

A Criminal in the Family

Wednesday 1 November

8st 13lb 8oz (yesss! yesss!), alcohol units 2 (v.g.), cigarettes 4 (but could not smoke at Tom's in case set Alternative Miss World costume alight), calories 1848 (g.), Smoothies 12 (excellent progress).

'Just went round to Tom's for top-level summit to discuss the Mark Darcy scenario. Found Tom, however, in a complete lather about the forthcoming Alternative Miss World contest. Having decided ages ago to go as 'Miss Global Warming,' he was having a crisis of confidence.

'I haven't got a hope in h.e.l.l,' he was saying, looking in the mirror, then flouncing to the window. He was wearing a polystyrene sphere painted like map of the globe but with the polar ice caps melting and a large burn mark on Brazil. In one hand he was holding a piece of tropical hardwood and a Lynx aerosol, and in the other an indeterminate furry item which he claimed was a dead ocelot. 'Do you think I should have a melanoma?' he asked.

'Is it a beauty contest or a fancy dress contest?'

'That's just it, I don't know, no one knows,' said Tom, throwing down his headdress - a miniature tree which he was intending to set alight during the contest. 'It's both. It's everything. Beauty. Originality. Artistry. It's all ridiculously unclear.'