Bridget Jones's Diary

Thursday 1 May

9st 1, cigarettes 12 (vg) alcohol units 7 (bad)

6.30pm Really there is a fantastic atmosphere today: Election Days are one of the few occasions when you realise it is we, the people, who are in charge and the Government are just our mutatedly bloated, arrogant prawns and now our time has come to stand together, wield out power and... Hmmmm wonder whether to wear Agnes B short skirt tonight, or long skirt with slit and platforms? Happily Rebecca, who was taking Shazzer to glittering Hampstead party, has decided she doesn't want to so Shaz is having all people round. Therefore to all intents and purposes have been invited to an Election Party.

7.30pm Just got back from shop. Is amazing out there. Everyone spilling out of the pubs completely drunk. Really feel part of something. It is not just that people want a change. No. It is great rising up of we, the nation, against all the greed, lack of principles and of respect for real people and their problems and... oh goody telephone.

7.45pm Humph. Was Tom.

"Have you voted yet?"

"Actually I was just on my way," I said.

"Oh yes. To which voting station?"

"The one round the corner."

Hate it when Tom gets like this. Just because he used to be a member of Red Wedge and go round singing "Sing If You're Glad to be Gay" in a morbid voice, there is no need for him to behave like the Spanish Inquisition.

"And what candidate will you be voting for?"

"Um," I said, looking frantically out of the window for red signs on the lamp-posts.

"Buck!"

"Go on then," he said. "Remember Mrs Pankhurst..."

Honestly, who does he think he is - the three-line whip or something? Obviously I am going to vote. Had better get changed, though. Do not look very lefty in this.

8.45pm Humph. Just got back from polling station. "Do you have your voting card?" bossy whippersnapper asked. What voting card? That is what I want to know. Turned out I was not registered on any of their lists even though have been paying poll tax for bloody years so have to go to another voting station. Just come back for A-Z.

9.30pm Humph was not bloody well registered there either. Have to go to some library or other miles away... Mind you, love being out on the streets tonight. We, the people, uniting for change. Yessssssss! Wish had not worn platforms, though. God, is long way. Had better run.

10.30pm Cannot believe what has happened. Have let down Tony Blair and my country through no fault of own. Turned out although flat was on list, am not registered to vote, even though I had poll tax book with me. Honestly, all that fuss about not having the vote if you don't pay your poll tax and turns out you do not have vote even if you do.

"Did you fill the form in last October?" said snooty baggage in ruffy collared shirt and brooch.

"Yes!" I lied. Obviously people who live in flats cannot be expected to open every brown boring looking envelope with "The Occupant" on which plops through the door. But what if Buck looses by one vote, then entire election lost by one seat? Will be my fault, my fault. Walk home from polling station was hideous walk of shame. Also cannot wear platforms now as feet too crippled so will look short.

2.30am Argor was blurbill. DaviMellor, out! out! out! oops.

Friday 2 May

6am Hurrah! Could not be more pleased about Landslide. That will be one in eye for shaming Tory-Party-Member mother. Ha ha. Cannot wait to gloat. Cherie Blair is fantastic. You see she too would probably not fit into tiny bikinis in communal changing rooms. She too has not got snooker ball bottom yet somehow is able to obtain clothes which encompass bottom and still make her look like role model. Maybe things will change under Blair, who will order all clothes shops to start producing clothes which will fit attractively over everyone's arses. Worry, though, that New Labour will be like having a crush on someone, finally being able to go out with them and then when you have your first row it is cataclysmically awful. But then Tony Blair is the first Prime Minister I can completely imagine having voluntary sex with. Actually Shaz had a theory that the reason he and Cherie were always touching each other was not the spin doctors but that Cherie was becoming increasingly aroused as the landslides came in - the aphrodisiac of power or... ooh telephone.

"Oh hello, darling, guess what?" My mother.

"What?" I said excitedly, preparing to gloat.

"We've won, darling. Isn't that marvellous! A landslide! Imagine!"

A cold shudder suddenly went over me. When we went to bed Peter Snow was striding marvellously but incomprehensibly about and it seemed pretty clear the swingometer was to Labour but... Oh my God... Maybe we misunderstood. We were a bit squiffy and nothing made any particular sense other than the blue buildings being blown up. Or maybe something happened in the night and turned it back Tory. Oh my God.

"Bridget, are you listening to me?"

"Yes," I managed to whisper.

"Una and I are absolutely delighted. We're in! Must whizz, Malcolm and Elaine are just leaving. Byee.

Is all my fault. Labour has lost and is all my fault. Me and people like me who, as Tony Blair warned, had become complacent. Am not fit to call myself British citizen or woman. Doom. Dooooom.

7am Have just thought of something. Maybe mother's positive-thinking- gone mad, made her just immediately decide she was Labour supporter all along instead of admitting she was wrong. Hmm. Think will go back to sleep till it is time to ring Shazzern