Friday 6 June

9st 3 (fat melted in heat); cigarettes 17, alcohol units 4 (understandable); number of times repeated word `bastard' quite a lot.

Humph. Just got fearsome blowing up from Richard Finch. "Bridget!" he went, "You are supposed to be finding a xenophobic animal lover whose child has died of CJD to tell us why it's OK to piss off the Krauts, Frogs and Eyeties in the name of bull semen, not writing your name in lurid colours."

Had stumbled across citrus green A4 paper in stationery cupboard and got into obsessive cycle of designing personal stationery using different founts and hues. Unfortunately, bloody Richard Finch walked past just when the printer was spewing out my designs.

"Listen, love, I'm a good Blairite. I want the anti-Kraut CJD mum in the next three hours or I'm going to give you a good spanking then hate myself."

Sometimes I think working on Wake Up Britain compromises my integrity. Actually find the Government's blocking tactics in Europe personally embarrassing. If anyone else was doing it we would be disgusted especially as they do not seem to have made any effort to eradicate the mad cows - the cows are still at large everywhere and no one has any idea if they are less mad.

Worst of it is, going out to dinner with Mark Darcy tonight and need to be calm and poised since was not as poised as might have been after sensational steamy snog with him at party on Tuesday.

Was standing in bathroom panicking whether to get in his big car and go back to his mansion or be cool and aloof. Also worrying as did not have contact lense pot and would inevitably put lenses in saucer which staff would then flush down toilet; also concerned re: what Mark Darcy would do when he saw my hair in the morning.

Just then there was a knock at the bathroom door.

"Who is it?" I said aggressively.

"What are you doing? You're not slipping into a little negligee are you? We've got to drive home in the car."

I stood frozen to the spot.

"Open the door."

Reluctantly I opened it. "Oh God, you little..." he growled then started kissing me again. Could not believe he was being like this when am 9st 3.

"No, no it is too soon," I said, imagining was Jane Austen, or similar.


"It is too forward."

"Bridget, I first saw you naked in a paddling pool when you were three."

Suddenly found self wishing Jack Straw would push through curfew for singletons so had to be back in own home alone by 11 until third date. Then would be like school when had excuse just to do petting in car as had to get back for parents and all thrilling but did not have to wake up with mad hair in anyone's house.

7.30pm Aargh. Mark Darcy is coming round in half an hour and have laundry crisis. Was planning to wear Agnes B jeans but fear he may take me to a posh scary restaurant.

7.50pm Oh God still have not washed hair. Will quickly get into bath.

8pm Drying hair now. V much hope Mark Darcy is late.

8.05pm Hair is more or less dry now. Just have to do make up, get dressed and put mess behind sofa. Must prioritise.

8.15pm Still not here. VG. Keen on a man who comes round late, in stark contrast to those who come round early, startling one and finding unsightly items in the home.

8.20pm Ready now. Hmm. Maybe will put something different on.

8.30pm That is weird. Does not seem like him to be more than half an hour late.

9pm Cannot believe it. Mark Darcy has stood me up. Bastard!

Saturday 7 June

9st 0 ( fat boiled off with rage); alcohol units 5; cigarettes 12 (vg); number of correct lottery numbers 1(fair).

Damn. Was just sitting outside Purple Cafe with Tom bemoaning stood- up fate when spotted TV Detector Van in our Area and felt horribly nervous. Have heard so much about single women being locked in jail for not paying TV licences realise subconsciously now believe TV detector vans are there to find single women and punish them. Just then on top of the van, Mark Darcy appeared (not actually on top of it, mean figuratively).

"Bridget! Where were you last night?" he had the nerve to say.

"Waiting for bloody you," I said between clenched teeth.

"I'll just go order another coffee," said Tom and shot off...

"What, at five past eight?"

"Yes, I was..." I said, feeling the first twinges of realisation, "Drying my hair."

"How big's your hair dryer?" he said.

"1600v Salon Selectives, why?"

"I should look under your doormat when you get back," he said laughing.

Grabbed Tom and rushed home. Sure enough was note under mat.

"Bridget - it's 8.16. I've been ringing your doorbell for 11 minutes. If this is the product of another self-help book saying the way to a man's heart is to treat him as if you are a German and he is Malcolm Rifkind then you are - no offence intended my precious - an even madder little cowlet than I thought."


Am going to go out to Detector Van with hands up as there is clearly no hope for self.