Bridget Jones's Diary
Was I so boring in bed that Mark needed Oriental boys and rabbits to liven things up?
Wednesday 13 November 1996
8st12 (vg); alcohol units 6 (non-vg); cigarettes 27 (poor) but completely understandable; rabbits: 1
Humph. Mark and I had just got up to the bedroom when he said he had a surprise for me, turned up the dimmer switch and there was a naked Oriental youth in the bed holding up two balls on a string and a baby rabbit.
Have so much been brought up to be polite that was just about to say, "Thank you very much, that's lovely", when I remembered about Shazzer and empowerment so just shot down the stairs hearing shouting behind me in manner of film about Vietcong. Rushed out into street, no taxis, ended up walking in stupid shoes and v. short skirt feeling like a common prostitute and trying not to cry. What was he thinking of on our second night together? Was I so boring in bed that he needed Oriental boys and rabbits to liven things up? Surely that was what happened when couples had been together for weeks and weeks?
Then a car drew up which I assumed was a kerb crawler only it was Mark. "I'm not getting in," I said blinking back tears, "I do not want to go out with perverts." But he jumped out of car saying, "I can explain." "Go away," I said.
At this he hailed a taxi (typical clever pants) and looked very sad while I got in with my nose in the air.
Now I am v. sad, too. Just seems like the one time someone seems nice person and not married, mad, gay or fuckwit, they turn out to keep mad, gay, sick perverted people in their bed together with wildlife. Anyway do not care. Am going to sit in mess smoking cigarettes and pouring muesli straight out of packet into mouth
11.30: Argor Shaz and Jude came round, thought Rabbitboy blurry funny. Worthit for larfin. Oops. Argor blurry wastebin on firenow.
Thursday 7 November
9st (humph); alcohol units 0 (vg); stalkers: 1
Think may have stalker. Whilst realise stalking is wrong, cannot help small feeling of pride that am attractive enough to have stalker, height of fashion etc. Smugly confided same to Shazzer who is now not speaking to me, says I am Anti-Feminist Anti-Christ.
Friday 8 November
Oh my God. Was just smugly walking home with stalker in tow when stalker suddenly grabbed my arm and growled "Bridget" in a guttural, burglar-like voice. "Get off, Uncle Geoffrey," I said sulkily, once we had both got over the shock. "I need to talk to you," he said desperately. He reminded me of Fred from EastEnders skulking round on the fringes of society in a car coat. "I need to know I can rely on your silence. Take me somewhere where we can talk." Huh, thought, typical of Bloody Geoffrey Alconbury to think he can (as did last week) get caught dressed in a black nylon see-through T-shirt with a rent boy by me and boss me into not telling Auntie Una. Was no way was going to take him back home for a cup of tea as he would only tell Mum I had run out of bin-liners and didn't have any Digestives in.
"Durr! Come on Bridget. Don't just stand there like the cat's got your tongue," said Geoffrey, breaking into a smoker's cackle. Suddenly had an unaccustomed sense of having been right all along about something. Always knew there was a dangerous sickness about the Alconburys, with all those rippled-glass sliding-doors, gherkins and pineapple chunks stuck in half grapefruits and bound copies of books about the Third Reich. Felt like running away and calling the police. But then Geoffrey said, "Come on Bridget, we can negotiate."
A germ of something unusual fluttered in my stomach. Think it might have been power. Decided to take him to sushi bar where no one I know would go as pounds 5.99 for five tiny bits of fish and no full-cream cappuccino. Got Geoffrey in, glancing furtively to and fro. Spitefully ordered him carrot juice and made him sit on the floor.
"So what negotiate?" I said, which didn't sound quite right.
"Nothing of what you saw the other night must pass your lips," he said out of the side of his mouth glancing from side to side.
"Yur, but, what's in it for me?"
"What do you want?" said Geoffrey, taking out a roll of banknotes. Suddenly realised what I wanted was not money but something that would necessitate detente with pervert Mark Darcy.
"Durr!" said Geoffrey, tweaking my nose in unbelievably offensive manner. "Dolly daydream droopy drawers. Penny for 'em."
"I think," I said, "I need a lawyer."
Saturday 9 November
8st10 ( yess!!); reclaimed non-pervert rabbit free boyfriends: 1
9pm: Mark Darcy's Farty House of Minimalism. Unscheduled visit.
"The surprise was the flowers," Mark Darcy said, sitting with his head in his hands. "The white tulips, 12 dozen, didn't you notice?" "White tulips? How're you supposed to see white tulips in 'ere? Camouflage tulips, more like," I muttered. "What about the boy?"
"It was my wife's son," said Mark. "He's schizophrenic. He has a sort of thing about me, he does these things."
"How did he get in?"
"He has a key. He's schizophrenic. He needs a refuge."
Mark Darcy came out with all this stuff about how Rabbitboy was locked up now and I could paint the walls different colours and put all mess in the house if I wanted.
"Come on, Bridget," he said. "Don't be so defensive. I love you. Give me a chance."
Hmmm. Suppose Rabbitboy was the sort of thing that could happen to anyone. "OK," I said hesitantly. "OK. But first, I need your help with a little matter regarding Geoffrey Alconbury..."
Must buy Bridget's blurry good novel
Bridget Jones's Diary, the novel, is published by Picador. To order a copy at the special price of pounds 10.98 (incl 99p P&P), call our debit/credit card line on 0181-324 5700, or send a cheque payable to `BVCD' to Picador Bridget Jones Offer, 250 Western Avenue, London W3 6XZ.
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