Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason (Bridget Jones 2)

"Where am I going to get F-7,000?"

"YOU could get a second mortgage," he said. "It would only cost you another hundred a month."

Fortunately even he could see I was late for work so managed to get him out of the house. F-7,000. Honestly.

7 p.m. Back home. Surely it is not normal to be treating my answerphone like an old-fashioned human partner: rushing home to it from work to see what mood it is in, whether it will tinklingly confirm that I am loveable and an acceptable member of society or be empty and distant, like now for example. Not only is there no message from Mark for the 42nd day running, but also no message from anyone else. Maybe should read a bit of The Road Less Travelled.

7.06 p.m. Yes, you see love is not something that happens to you but something you do. So what didn't I do?

7.08 p.m. Am assured, receptive, responsive woman of substance. My sense of self comes not from other people but from ... from ... myself? That can't be right.

7.09 p.m. Anyway. Good thing is am not obsessing about Mark Darcy. Am starting to detach.

7.15 p.m. Goody, telephone! Maybe Mark Darcy! "Bridget, you're looking so thin!" Tom. "How are you doing, my baby?"

"Crap," I said, taking my Nicorette gum out of my mouth and starting to mould it into a sculpture. "Obviously."

"Oh come on, Bridgelene! Men! Ten a penny. How's the new interviewing career?"

"Well, I rang Colin Firth's agent and got out all the cuts. I really thought he might do it because Fever Pitch is coming out soon and I thought they might want the publicity."

"And?" "They rang back and said he was too busy."

"Hah! Well, actually that's exactly what I'm ringing about. Jerome says he knows. . ."

"Tom," I said dangerously, "would this be Mentionitis by any chance?"

"No, no ... I'm not going to go back with him,," he lied transparently. "But anyway, Jerome knows this guy who worked on the last film with Colin Firth and he said do you want him to put in a good word for you?"

"Yes!" I said excitedly.

Realize is just another excuse for Tom to keep in touch with Pretentious Jerome but then all kind acts are a mixture of altruism and self-interest, and maybe Colin Firth will say yes!

Hurrahs! Will be perfect job for me! Can go all over the world interviewing famous celebrities. Also with all the extra money could get the second mortgage for the office and roof terrace then give up hateful Sit Up Britain job and work at home. Yes! Everything is falling into place! Am going to ring up Gary. You cannot expect anything to change unless you change. Am taking things into my own hands!

Right, am not going to lie in bed being sad. Am going to get up and do something useful. Like. Um. Have a fag? Oh God. Cannot bear the thought of Mark calling up Rebecca, going through all the little details of the day like he used to do with me. Mustn't, mustn't be negative. Maybe Mark is not going out with Rebecca and will come back and be with me! You see? Hurrah!

Wednesday 12 March

9st 2, alcohol units 4 (but am journalist now so obviously must be drunk), cigarettes 5, calories 1,845 (g.), lights at end of tunnel 1 (v. tiny).

4 p.m. Tom just called me at work. "It's on!"

"What?" "The Colin Firth thing!"

I sat straight up in my chair, quivering.

"Yes! Jerome's friend called up and Colin Firth was really nice and said if you can place it in the Independent he'll do it. And I'm going out for dinner with Pretentious Jerome!"

"Tom, you're a saint, a God and an archangel. So what do I have to do?"

"Just ring up Colin Firth's agent and then call Adam at the Independent. Oh, by the way, I told them you'd done loads of stuff before."

"But I haven't."

"Oh, don't be so bloody literal, Bridgelene, just tell him you have."

Tuesday 18 March