7st? 6st? Alcohol units 0, cigarettes 6, calories 14, love bites from lesbian ring 2 (better) flea bites 24, mosquito bites 12 (vg).
6am: Hurrah! Only one day to go till freedom, when new improved spiritually enriched and v. wise self will launch forth - marvellous. Newspaper front pages will be full of my lawyer and rescuer Mark Darcy and I leaving jail together like newlyweds. Maybe will get hero's return in England like John McCarthy and write a book called Some Other Cloud Formation or other meteorological phenomenon with Mark and my disembodied heads looking at each other on front.
Resolutions for new self:
Be grateful to Mark Darcy to end of days for rescuing me from false drug smuggling charge and serve him in any manner he wants (as long as not involving baby animals, videorecordings for commercial use or similar) including splitting royalties 50-50.
Never smoke or drink, in manner of Paula Yates, Dalai Lama etc.
Become v. spiritual person being grateful merely to be free and not bothered about trivial unimportant things, eg men and getting weighed, but working tirelessly for Amnesty International, Rhino-watch etc.
Not get annoyed with Mum but build marvellous new relationship.
Monday 16 September:
8st. Yesssss! Yesssss! Cigarettes 100, alcohol units 22, calories 8,226.
8am: Is turning out to be red-letter day indeed. Guard has just come with readdressed letter from Mum. First letter have had entire time have been in jail. Will at last understand real depth of Mum's feelings towards me. Think am going to cry.
8.15am: "Letter" turned out to be written on reverse of long concertina of views of Lake Windermere and said "Weather a bit mixed but super factory shops. Daddy has bought a sheepskin coat! Could you call Una and check that she's put the timer on?" Bloody old cow. Humph. Need cigarette. Am going to snog guard and get one. Come to think of it maybe will let him touch breasts and get two.
9am: Ugh. Things a girl has to do to get fags. Never mind. Mark Darcy will be here tomorrow. Mmmm. Maybe it will be like end of James Bond film with me and Mark and a double bed in a sloop next to an exploding mountain with evil confidence-trickster Jed - responsible for my imprisonment - suspended in a cage over the sea, the British Ambassador ringing Mark, and Mark coming out with veritable fruit and vegetable stall of sexual innuendoes: "Bridget's a bit tied up sir, harumph harumph. Oops something just came up. Ooh Missus. Yes I certainly am feeling a bit stiff. She's just coming." Mmmm. Cannot wait. Love Mark Darcy.
11.30am: Things do not seem to be turning out altogether as hoped on Mark Darcy front. "Mark," I whispered, as we were bundled by guards towards the prison door and a mass of waiting pressmen. "I don't know how I can ever thank you", at which Mark suddenly shoved a Habitat paper carrier bag on my head. "Oy, oy," I protested thinking of my newspaper coverage.
"Do as you're told" he growled as he pushed me into the car.
"Where are we going?" I said, sulkily. "Where are we going?" I repeated, trying to pull the bag off my head, at which he shoved it down again.
"You," he said, "Are going to the Oriental hotel. I'm going to the airport for the BA Heathrow flight." My heart clunked all the way down to my feet. "The Embassy will visit you this afternoon and you'll have a day to acclimatise before coming home." "What about you?" I said lifting the bottom of the bag, which he immediately pulled down again. "I've left you some clothes on the bed. You should just take it easy, stay in your room, get some sleep and rest and try not to snog any strange men. And have a little think about being more responsible in future."
"Look" I exploded, "It wasn't my fault. My rucksack was stolen. Someone lent me another. How was I supposed to know. The last thing I need is a bloody lecture, do you think I haven't thought about ..."
"I can't hear you" he said. I tried to pull the bag off my head but he pushed my hands away and held them. "It won't hurt you to stop talking for 10 minutes." Honestly. It was completely humiliating. Even when we got to the hotel he wouldn't let me take the bag off. He just patted my knee and said "Goodbye Bridget. Don't snog any strange men", got out of the car and was gone. Talk about romance. Huh. Now I am in room and know I ought to be grateful but cannot help feeling terrible. Had looked forward to being out for so long and now am just completely alone with no clothes, no friends and Mark Darcy has just got me out out of duty and does not care about me and am going to be plastered across papers wearing Habitat carrier bag with legs sticking out, like Mr Men character. Worst of it is cannot even get weighed.
11.45am: Ooh. Goody. Have suddenly noticed there is minibar.
Noon: Argor. Esblurrnice to ave Blurry Mary again, blurry fridgefull vodkarun Silk Cut. V. nice.
6pm: Woken by knock on door. It was a room service man holding out a pile of parcels with set of bathroom scales on top and a note. I hurriedly opened the envelope.
"Sorry about today and bag - will explain. Thought you might appreciate these. Congratulations in advance. All my love - Markxx"Reuse content