Bridget Jones's Diary

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Saturday 15 June

8st 13 (Yessss! cigarettes 4 (vg) alcohol units 5 (vg) no of correct lottery numbers 1 (continuing good work)

Marvellous day. V. keen on events such as Euro Cup which bring entire nation together out of the shops leaving others free to find parking meters and shoes without let or hindrance. Got home to message from Tom.

"Ring me the second you get in. It's very very urgent."

Breathed in calmingly through nose. Tom is one of those people whose life teeters on the brink of disaster but who makes no distinction between levels of seriousness. Urgency could just as soon be because Pretentious Jerome has chucked him again, Pretentious Jerome has been diagnosed HIV positive, or that Tom has been knocked out of the heats for the Alternative Miss World with his Miss Multi-Party-Peace-Talks outfit.

"Bridget, hi!" he said gaily when I rang, with loud garage, house, conservatory or similar music blaring. "Guess what, you're going to meet Mr Darcy!"

"I hate bloody Mark Darcy," I said sulkily.

"No Mister Darcy. Off Pride and Prejudice. The actor Colin Firth."

"What? Mr Darcy?"

"Yes. Mr Darcy, Mr Darcy."

Rushed round to Tom's . For several minutes all we could do was repeat the words "Mr Darcy, Mr Darcy" in a frenzy of excitement. It seems Pretentious Jerome has got a part-time job on the filming of Fever Pitch starring Colin Firth.

"I'll call Jerome on his mobile," said Tom smugly.

Had no desire to spoil Tom's boyfriend-in-glamorous employment-smugness but it did seem odd that Pretentious Jerome, allegedly a top-flight director, should do casual labour on someone else's film. Tom said he was just helping out "in a consultative capacity".

Eventually Tom got through and passed the phone to me "Yar. Yar. You wanna meet Col, OK," said Jerome. "Hang on ... Absolute quiet please, aaand nice and quiet please ... aaaand ... action!" Seeing me sticking two fingers down my throat, Tom grabbed the phone back "OK," he said, smirking, "Jerome says you can go tomorrow as long as you don't do anything stupid. And if he speaks to you don't call him Mr Darcy. It's Colin, right?"

Sunday 16 June

Panic. Cannot go to filming. On one hand, long to see Mr Darcy, not, obviously, for sexual reasons, but as a perpetrator of one of great intelligent performances of our time, making Olivier's earlier Mr Darcy rendering look like Dr Julian from Casualty. Wish to observe technique. On other hand: v. large danger of behaving peculiarly. Fear - as when stand on edge of precipice, get urge to jump over - will involuntarily lift skirt right over head, start "pooping" or running in front of the camera in the middle of a take.

Called Jude who said to lie in foetal posi

tion repeating "Mr Darcy is Colin" as calming mantra. Tom said concentrate instead on thinking of something sensible to say to Colin Firth if meet, ie. not "Mr Darcy, Mr Darcy."

3pm. Total mindflux. Supposed to be there in an hour. Have rejected shorts and tight Agnes B top as too beach-like. Simple shift seemed OK, but what if weather turns fridge-like and have to put jacket on? Will look as if going to wedding. Tom says to wear jeans but Elizabeth Bennet would never wear jeans. Tom says am blurring lines between fiction and reality in nonsensical post-modernist manner and to remember he is just another actor. Huh. He is not.

5pm. Total disaster. Set off to filming then realised car was smeared with bird shit. No option but to take car through car wash. Parked at stop bar, then spotted aerial was still up. Thought had time to put it down and got out, at which giant brushes started whirring towards me, spraying water everywhere. Frozen to spot in terror as if in nightmare.

As brushes approached snapped out of it and tried to open door but brushes were already upon me. Suddenly was being buffeted, squeezed and soaped against car. Thought was going to die. Then miraculously storm passed and managed to get into car, looked in mirror to see hair smeared at dizzying angles full of soap and face buffed and scratched as if by hideously over- zealous facial. Had to come home to repair damage.

6.45pm. Finally drove towards filming site, at which Jerome jumped into the road talking into mobile and waving me to stop. Pretentious Jerome, top director, had been given the job of stopping cars.

"Sorry love, shooting," Jerome said bossily. "Last take, won't keep you a mo. Aaargh. Bridget what happened to your face... OK, absolute quiet please ... nice and quiet".

Ahead of me the camera was pointed up at a house.

For blissful moment saw Mr Darcy's head appear out of window, beautiful with wild dark hair just like in Pride and Prejudice. Heart gave great lurch. Was about to see him give performance of lifetime in front of very eyes.

"Look just f*** off, he shouted. F***ing, f*** off".

There was a breathless pause. "Brilliant," said a tall man. "Well done Colin. That's a wrap everyone. Thank you".

Next thing Mr Darcy emerged from the house, tall, lean and devastating in jeans. Smiled at everyone in manner of nice person then slipped into huge car and glided away.

Have made pact with Jerome. Can come back next Saturday and be introduced to Mr Darcy if I swear on my mother's life I will not tell Tom he was only stopping the cars. Is huge sacrifice, no two ways about it, but some things in life are worth sacrifice. Maybe face will have healed over by then. V. excited.

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