Bridget Jones's Diary

Monday 3 February

9st 2, alcohol units 5, cigarettes 24 (but last chance to enjoy before New Year's Resolution Relaunch for Lent).

Hideous week. Mark Darcy and me are still not speaking and have spent entire week trying to get Princess Margaret to come on Good Afternoon Britain with limited success in that she has not returned any of my calls. Was own fault: do not usually say anything in Morning Meeting as always leads to trouble but they started up about the Princess Margaret documentary and, suddenly, I found myself bursting out, "Well, to me, It's all wrong", as if one of the Madpeople who ring up to complain all the time had taken possession of me in manner of The Exorcist ... allowing people to make programmes which are just the same as bitching about someone behind their back for an hour only with millions of people watching and that stupid bit at the end with the footman clunking about closing all the shutters with pretend lonely Princess Margaret sitting looking miserable and you can make anyone's life look a disaster if you put scary music on. Well! It was like a party political broadcast for Smug Marrieds which is a bit rich being made by that woman who ran off with David Dimbleby. Honestly, the worst thing they could accuse Princess Margaret of was getting chucked by people and always having a drink in her hand and a fag on and what is so terrible about that?

There was a stunned silence, then stupid Richard Finch started smirking. "I don't think you need to worry, Bridget. They're not going to make a documentary about you unless you suddenly shag Prince Philip. Tell you what, get Princess Margaret on the phone, get her in to defend herself. If you do I'll let you DIRECT a spoof documentary about the life of Belinda Giles."

V. excited. Tom's favourite TV industry joke is about Mother Teresa getting to heaven and God saying she's been so good while on earth that she can have anything she wants.

"Come on," encourages God. "How about world peace?"

"Mmmm," says Mother Teresa with polite enthusiasm, "But it's just not quite ..."

"What about an end to poverty on earth for the Rest of time?"

"Yeees, that would be nice," says Mother Teresa doubtfully, "But ..."

"No more suffering?"

"Yeees, maybe."

"Come on," says God. "There must be something you'd like as your reward."

"Well actually," Mother Teresa eventually admits "What I really want, is to direct."

That is like me. Oooh telephone.

It was my mother: "Oh hello, darling, guess what?" she trilled, At that moment the whole lovely arrangement I had got set up with the chair tilted back and my foot balanced on the wastepaper basket collapsed. When I got back to the phone with everyone in the office sniggering she was still going on as if she hadn't noticed I wasn't there: "So anyway, darling, what do you think?" I paused and frowned, owing to not knowing what I was supposed to be thinking about.

"Aren't you thrilled?" Her voice changed to Axe Murderer. "Bridget," she hissed, "I hope you're not being silly."

"No," I hissed back, "I had a problem when you were talking so I didn't hear what you said."

"Oh hello, darling, guess what!" she started again. "We're doing a whole Suddenly Single on the effect of Working Mothers on their children and we want to film you. Imagine! You'll be in front of the cameras like me instead of toiling away in the back boileroom!"

"But you weren't a working mother when I was little," I said suspiciously, hoping this wasn't another of her refusals to let the truth get in the way of her television career.

"Exactly, darling! That's exactly the point. She's going to do it, everyone!" she yelled to the rest of her office.

"What do you want me to say, anyway," I muttered, thinking it might be a change from sitting ringing up Princess Margaret all the time.

"Oh nothing, really. We just want to film you sort of walking along."

Tuesday 4 February

4pm V. excited about being on TV. Is to be me walking along road this morning in Agnes B short navy wrapover coat, looking v. professional but at same time romantic in manner of French film, Charlotte Rampling or similar and voice-over saying, "Bridget Jones now a successful television researcher marvellous, marvellous, etc. etc. ..." Tee hee. Mark Darcy is coming round after work. Am going to pretend just to have telly on by chance, then turn sound up when it is me. That will show him if am to be taken seriously or not, when held up as example to nation of how well children can turn out. Will just have last packet of fags before Lent. Wonder if should make Mark Darcy pancakes? That will surprise him.

Midnight. Unfortunately Mark Darcy came round at bad moment for pancakes when seemed to have gone more into a pan smouldering balls, so was more than relieved when self appeared on TV. Rushed to turn sound up but then it cut immediately to my mother being interviewed "I thought if I stayed at home and sacrificed my career it would be best for Bridget," she was saying tearfully, "but now she can't hold down a job or a relationship for more than a few months." Scary Music started up as I walked away from the camera and the light started to fade. "She's always got a drink or a cigarette in her hand, she lives alone and is really quite -odd -socially. I think the Panorama findings are complete nonsense. If I'd gone out to work and Bridget had had proper pre-schooling it might have turned out better for everyone."

Am going to kill bloody mother.