Actually that is quite right. Ooh, telephone.
Was Jude. She and Shazzer are coming round. Fear they will make me laugh when Mr Darcy rings but on other hand need something to take mind off it or will burst.
Saturday 12 April
9st 3 (but can definitely lose 3lbs before tomorrow using Hospital Frankfurter diet), alcohol units 3 (v. g.), cigarettes 2 (perfect saint-style person), Frankfurters 12, 1471 calls to see if not heard Colin Firth ring owing to sudden unnoticed deafness 7, sq. ft of floor space not covered in pizza boxes, outfit choices, ashtrays etc. 2 (under sofa), no. of times watched Pride and Prejudice video where Colin Firth dives into lake 15 (top-flight researcher), calls from Colin Firth 0 (so far).
10 a.m. Colin Firth hasn't rung.
10.03 a.m. Still hasn't rung.
10.07 a.m. Still hasn't rung. Wonder if is too early to wake Jude and Shazzer up? Maybe he is waiting till his girlfriend has gone out shopping to ring me.
5 p.m. Flat looks like bomb has hit it, due to Mr Darcy stakeout: all sprawled all over sitting room like in Thelma and Louise when Thelma's house is taken over by police and Harvey Keitel is waiting for them to ring with tape recorders whirring in background. Really appreciate Jude and Shazzer's support and everything, but means have not been able to get on with preparation, apart from physical.
6 p.m. Mr Darcy still has not rung.
6.05 p.m. Still has not rung. What am I supposed to do? Do not even know where am meeting him.
6.15 p.m. Still has not rung. Maybe girlfriend has just refused to go out shopping. Maybe they have just been having sex all weekend and sending out for Italian ice cream and just laughing at me behind my back.
6.30 p.m. Jude suddenly woke up and put her fingertips on her forehead.
"We must go out," she said in a strange, Mystic Megstyle voice.
"Are you mad?" hissed Sharon. "Go out? Have you gone out of your mind?"
"No," said Jude coldly. "The reason the phone isn't ringing is there is too much energy focused on it."
"Phwnaw," snorted Sharon.
"Apart from anything else it has started to stink in here. We need to clean up, let the energy flow, then go out and have a Bloody Mary," she said, looking at me temptingly.
Minutes later we were outside, blinking in the unexpectedly spring-like not-dark-yet air. I made a sudden bolt back towards the door but Shazzer grabbed me.
"We are going. For. A. Bloody. Mary," she hissed, marching me along the road like a big policeman. Fourteen minutes later we were back. I flung myself
across the room and froze. The light was flashing on the answerphone.
"You see," said Jude in a horrible smug voice. "You see." Tremulously, as if it were an unexploded bomb, Shazzer reached forward and pressed ANSWER PLAY.
"Hello, Bridget, this is Colin Firth." We all jumped a foot backwards. It was Mr Darcy. The same posh, deep, can't-be-bothered voice that he proposed to Elizabeth Bennet in on the BBC. Bridget. Me. Mr Darcy said Bridget. On my answerphone.
"I gather you're coming to Rome to interview me on Monday," he went on. "I was calling to arrange somewhere to meet. There's a square called the Piazza Navona, sort of easy place to find in a taxi. I'll meet you about 4.30 by the fountain. Have a safe journey."
"1471, 1471," gabbled Jude, "1471, quick, quick. No, get the tape out, get the tape out!"
"Call him back," screamed Sharon like an SS torturer. "Call him back and ask him to meet you in the fountain. OhmyGod."
The phone had rung again, we stood there rigid, mouths open. Then Tom's voice boomed out, "Hello, you pretty little things, it's Mr Darcy here just calling to see if anyone could help me out of this wet shirt."
Shazzer suddenly de-tranced. "Stop him, stop him," she screamed, flinging herself at the receiver. "Shut up, Tom, shut up, shut up, shut up."
But it was too late. My answerphone recording of Mr Darcy saying the word Bridget and asking me to meet him in Rome by a fountain has been lost for ever. And there is nothing anyone in the world will ever be able to do about it. Nothing. Nothing.
6 Italian Job
Monday 21 April
8st 13 (fat consumed by excitement and fear), alcohol units 0: excellent (but is only 7.30 in morning), cigarettes 4 (v.g.).
7.30 a.m. Really it is a marvellous step forward to be setting off on journey with so much time to spare. It just goes to show, as it says in The Road Less Travelled, that human beings have capacity to change and grow. Tom came round last night and went through questions with me. So am pretty much all prepared with clear brief though was tiny bit on pissed side, to be perfectly honest.
9.15 a.m. Actually have loads of time. Everyone knows when businessmen whizz between European airports they turn up forty minutes before lift-off, with just a briefcase with nylon shirts in. Plane is at 11.45. Must be at Gatwick at 11, so 10.30 train from Victoria and tube at 10. Perfect.
9.30 a.m. What if it all gets too much and I just, like, burst out and kiss him? Also trousers are too tight and will show stomach. Think will just change into something else. Also maybe need to take sponge bag to freshen up before interview.
9.40 a.m. Cannot believe have wasted time on packing sponge bag, when most important thing, surely, is to look nice on arrival, Hair is completely mad. Will have to wet it again. Where is passport?
9.45 a.m. Have got passport, and hair is calm, so better go.
9.49 a.m. Only problem being: cannot lift bag. Maybe had better reduce sponge bag contents to toothbrush, paste, mouthwash, cleanser and moisturiser. Oh and must take 3,500 out of microwave and leave for Gary so he can start getting materials and stuff for new office and roof terrace! Hurrah!
9.50 a.m. Goody. Have ordered mini-cab. Will be here in two mins.
10 a.m. Where is mini-cab?
10.05 a.m. Where the fuck is mini-cab?
10.06 a.m. Have just rung up mini-cab firm who say silver Cavalier is outside.
10.07 a.m. Silver Cavalier is not outside or anywhere in street.
10.08 a.m. Mini-cab man says silver Cavalier is definitely turning into my street at this moment.
10.10 a.m. Still no mini-cab. Fucking fucking mini-cab and all it's ... Gaah. Is here. Oh fuck, where are keys?
10. 15 a.m. In mini-cab now. Have definitely done journey in fifteen mins before.
10.18 a.m. Aargh. Mini-cab is suddenly on Marylebone Road - inexplicably deciding on scenic tour of London instead of route to Victoria. Fight instinct to attack, kill and eat mini-cab driver.
10.20 a.m. Back on course now i.e. no longer heading for Newcastle, but traffic is solid. There is no occasion now in London when is not rush hour.
10.27 a.m. Wonder if is possible to get from Marble Arch to Gatwick Express in one minute?
10.35 a.m. Victoria. OK. Calm, calm. Train has gone without self. Still if get 10.45 will have clear thirty minutes before plane goes. Also plane will probably be delayed.
10.40 a.m. Wonder if there will be time to get new trousers at airport? Actually am not going to be neurotic about this. Marvellous thing about travelling alone is you can really start to develop a new character, and be quite elegant and Zen-like and no one knows you.
10.50 a.m. Wish did not keep thinking passport has jumped out of bag and gone back home.
11.10 a.m. Train has inexplicably stopped. Suddenly all extra things did e.g. putting extra polish coat on toenails, seem unimportant alongside not actually turning up.
11.45 a.m. Cannot believe it. Plane has gone without me.
Noon. Thank God, Mr Darcy, and all angels in heaven. Turns out can go on another plane in one hour forty minutes. Just called publicist who said no problem, she would get him to meet me two hours later. Goody, can do airport shopping.
I p.m. V. keen on floaty-chiffon-with-roses-on-style fashions for spring but do not think they should design them so they will not fit over people's arses. Love the lovely airport shopping area. Sir Richard Rogers, Terence Conran and similar are always complaining that airports have turned int
o great big shopping malls but I consider that to be good. Possibly will incorporate that into next major profile possibly with Sir Richard himself if not Bill Clinton. Maybe will just try bikini on.
1.30 p.m. Right. Will just post letters and get Body Shop necessities, then go through.
1.31 p.m. Was announcement: "Will Passenger Jones, the last remaining passenger for flight BA 175 to Rome, please make her way immediately to Gate 12 where the plane is waiting to depart."
Tuesday 22 April
9st 2, alcohol units 2, cigarettes 22, calls from bossy Michael at Independent to "see how we're getting along: about 30, no. of times listened to tape of interview 17, words of interview written 0.
9 a.m. Back in flat in London after heaven-sent trip. Right, am going to write up interview. You see is amazing way that concentrating on work and career completely takes mind off romantic sadness. Was just so fantastic. Taxi dropped me off in Roman square and thought was going to faint: just fantastic - golden sunshine and huge massive square full of high up ruins and in the middle of it all Mr ... Ooh, telephone.
It was Michael from the Independent. "So did you do it, then?"
"Yes," I said hoity-toitily.
"And you remembered to take your tape recorder, not your Sony Walkman?"
Honestly. Do not know what Tom has told him about me but something in his tone suggests may not have been particularly respectful.
"Well, you've got till 4 o'clock. So get on with it." Lala. That is ages. Will just relive day for a bit. Mmm. He looked exactly like Mr Darcy: all smouldery and lean. And he even took me round a church with a hole in and some Adrian's tomb or other and a statue of Moses and was incredibly masterful preventing me from being knocked over by cars and kept talking Italian. Mmm.
Noon. Morning has not gone particularly well, though obviously needed some time to absorb what happened, and discuss impressions with peers so probably has been highly productive.
2 p.m. Telephone again. You see this is what it is like when you are major profile writer: phones ringing incessantly.
Was bloody bossy Michael again: "How are we coming along?"
Bloody nerve. Is not even my deadline till 4 p.m., which obviously means the end of the day. Actually really pleased with tape. Did really good thing of starting him off with easy questions before going into Tom's meaty questions, which I had written down night before despite being a little on squiffy side. Think he was really quite impressed with my line of questioning, actually.
2.30 p.m. Will just have quick cup of coffee and fag.
3 p.m. Better just listen to tape again.
Ding dong! Will just ring Shaz and play her this last bit.
Aargh, aargh. Is 3.30 and have not started. Anyway, no need to panic. They are not going to be back from lunch for ages and then will be drunk as, as ... as journalists. Wait till they see my scoops.
How to start? Obviously interview must include my impressions of Mr Darcy as well as skillfully weaving in stuff about new film Fever Pitch, theatre, film etc. They will probably give me a regular interview spot every week: the Bridget Jones Profile. Jones meets Darcy. Jones meets Blair. Jones meets Marcos except dead.
4 p.m. How can I be expected to create if bloody Michael keeps ringing up all the time saying what I must and must not put in? Grrr. If that is him again ... They have no respect for journalists in that office. None whatsoever.
5.15 p.m. Har har. I. Am. Do. Ing. It." I said. That has shut him up.
6 p.m. Anyway is OK. All top journalists have deadline crises.
7 p.m. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck.
Wednesday 23 April
9st 3 (really seem to be stuck in some kind of fat-groove), congratulatory calls from friends, relatives and colleagues about Colin Firth interview 0, congratulatory calls from Independent staff about Colin Firth interview 0, congratulatory calls from Colin Firth about Colin Firth interview 0 (odd, surely?).
8 a.m. Article is coming out today. Was a bit rushed but probably not that bad. Might be quite good actually. Wish paper would hurry up and come.
8. 10 a.m. Paper has still not come.
8.20 a.m. Hurrahs Paper is here.
Have just seen interview. Independent have completely ignored what wrote. Realize was bit on late side but this is intolerable. Here is what was published:
Due to insuperable technical difficulties it has been necessary to print Bridget Jones's interview with Colin Firth as a direct transcript of the recording.
BJ: Right. I'm going to start the interview now.
CF: (Slightly hysterical sounding) Good, good.
Very long pause)
BJ: What is your favourite colour?
CF: I'm sorry?
BJ: What is your favourite colour?
CF: Blue.
{Long pause)
BJ: What is your favourite pudding?
CF: Er. Creme brulee.
BJ: You know the oncoming film Fever Pitch by Nick Hornby?
CF: I do know it, yes.
BJ: (Pause. Rustling paper) Do ... Oh. (More rustling paper) Do you think the book of Fever Pitch has spored a confessional gender?
CF: Excuse me?
BJ: Has. Spored. A. Confessional. Gender.
CF: Spored a confessional gender?
BJ: Yes.
CF: Well. Certainly Nick Hornby's style has been very much imitated and I think it's a very appealing, er, gender whether or not he actually, um ... spored it.
BJ: You know in the BBC Pride and Prejudice?
CF: I do know it, yes.
BJ: When you had to dive into the lake?
CF: Yes.
BJ: When they had to do another take, did you have to take the wet shirt off and then put a dry on, on?
CF: Yes, I, I probably did have to, yes. Scusi. Ha vinto. E troppo forte. Si, grazie.
BJ: (Breathing unsteadily) How many takes diving into the lake did you have to do?
CF: (Coughs) Well. The underwater shots were a tank in Ealing Studios.
BJ: Oh no.
CF: I'm afraid so. The, um, moment of being airborne - extremely brief - was a stuntman.
BJ: But it looked like Mr. Darcy.
CF: That was because he had stuck on sideburns and a Mr Darcy outfit on top of a wet suit, which actually made him look like Elvis as you last saw him. He could only do it once for insurance reasons and then he had to be checked for abrasions for about six weeks afterwards. All the other wet-shirt shots were me.
BJ: And did the shirt have to keep being re-wet?
CF: Yes. They'd spray it down. They'd spray it down and then ...
BJ: What with? I'm sorry? What with?
CF: A squirter thing. Look can we ... ?
BJ: Yes, but what I mean is did you ever have to take the shirt off and ... and put another one on?
CF: Yes.
BJ: To be wet again?
CF: Yes.
BJ: (Pause) You know the oncoming film Fever Pitch?
CF: Yes.
BJ: What do you see as the main differences and similarities between the character Paul from Fever Pitch and ... ?
CF: And?
BJ: (Sheepishly) Mr. Darcy.
CF: No one's ever asked me that.
BJ: Haven't they?
CF: No. I think the main differences are ...
BJ: Do you mean it's a really obvious question?
CF: No. I mean no one's ever asked me that.
BJ: Don't people ask you that all the time?
CF: No, no. I can assure you.
BJ: So it's a ...
CF: It's a totally brand new, new-born question, yes.
BJ: Oh goody.
CF: Shall we get on now?
BJ: Yes.
CF: Mr. Darcy's not an Arsenal supporter.
BJ: No.
CF: He's not a schoolteacher.
BJ: No.
CF: He lived nearly two hundred years ago.
BJ: Yes.
CF: Paul in Fever Pitch loves being in a football crowd.
>
BJ: Yes,
CF: Whereas Mr Darcy can't even tolerate a country dance. Now. Can we talk about something that isn't to do with Mr Darcy?
BJ: Yes,
(Pause. Rustling papers)
BJ: Are you still going out with your girlfriend?
CF: Yes.
BJ: Oh. (Long pause)
CF: Is everything all right?
BJ: (Almost inaudible) Do you think small British movies are the way forward?
CF: I can't hear.
BJ: (Miserably) Do you think small British movies are the way forward?
CF: The way forward to ... (Encouragingly) ... to what?
BJ: (Very long thoughtful pause) The future.
CF: Right. They seem to be getting us along step by step, I think. I quite like small movies but I do also like big movies and it would be nice if we made more of those as well.
BJ: But don't you find it a problem her being Italian and everything?
CF: No.
(Very long silence)
BJ: (Sulkily) Do you think that Mr. Darcy has a political dimension?
CF: I did speculate on what his politics might be, if he had any. And I don't think that they would be very appealing to a reader of the independent. It's that pre-Victorian or Victorian idea of being the rich social benefactor, which would be very Thatcherite probably. I mean the thought of socialism obviously hadn't entered the ...
BJ: No.
CF: ... entered his sphere. And it is clearly stated by way of showing what a good chap he is that he is very nice towards his tenants. But I think that he'd be closer to a sort of Nietzschean figure, a ...
BJ: What is neacher?
CF: You know, the idea of the, er, human being as superman.
BJ: Superman?
CF: Not Superman himself, no. No. (Slight groaning noise) I don't think he wore his underpants over his breeches, no. Look, I'd really like to get off this subject now.