Bridget Jones's Diary: Oh God. The whole of Sunday stretching ahead. Am doomed to be a love pariah. Oooh, telephone ...

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The Independent Online
Saturday 12 April

9st; cigarettes 12(vg); alcohol units 6 (Saturday); no correct lottery numbers 2 (vg)

8am The phone just rang. It was Jude, though practically impossible to tell as total, sheep-voice, sobbing, gulping experience.

"Jude, what's wrong?" I said, devastated. Lately Jude has been the one who has been quite normal.

"I'm having a breakdown," she sobbed. "Everything seems black, black. I can't see any way out, I can't ..."

"It's all right. It's going to be all right," I said staring wildly out of the window to see if there were any psychiatrists passing. "Does it feel serious or is it just PMT?"

"It's very very bad," she said, in a zombie-like voice. "It's been building up in me for about 11 years." She broke down again. "The whole weekend stretching ahead alone, alone. I just don't want to carry on living"

"Good, that's good," I said reassuringly, wondering whether I should ring the police or the Samaritans. "Do you want to come out tonight?"

"Oooh yes please!" she said. "Shall we go to 192? I can wear my new Voyage top."

12pm Argor, feel sicky. Oops.

Sunday 13 April

10am Am marvellous: was almost like therapist last night. I told Jude, as it says in Emotional Intelligence, that you have to think positively that everything is going to turn out all right in manner of Pandora's box given to the Greek or Roman Gods. Anyway, next thing we met this guy David who was quite flirty and asked for Jude's phone number though not mine, and she seemed to cheer up. But I said to Jude, any time day or night she could call me, not just be crying on her own. So you see I am very wise and well balanced almost in manner of the Mother Superior in The Sound of Music, in fact if I had had any more chardonnay would probably have started singing "Climb Every Mountain" at wall in middle of 192 with Jude kneeling appreciatively behind.

10.15am Oh God. The whole of Sunday stretching ahead. Am going to be alone for the rest of my life. Ooh telephone. Maybe Mark Darcy.

10.30am Was Shazzer. "I just spoke to Simon. He's incredibly depressed. I think I was pretty good at cheering him up because I'm so positive. We simply can't define ourselves in terms of being with another person."

"Hurrah! Yes, yes it's fantastic being single," I said. "We're free. Hurrah! Shall I ring him up?"

11.45am Larlarlar. Have just spent an hour and 15 minutes on phone cheering up Simon. He has just (ie four months ago) split up with his girlfriend. "I'm a love pariah doomed by the Gods always to be alone," he raged. "Always, always. The whole of Sunday stretching ahead." Honestly. Many people in relationships have a terrible time on Sunday: forced to slave for ungrateful children and being beaten by their spouses. We are lucky. Better go out - fags.

Noon Oh God. Whole of London is full of couples holding hands in spring shagging each other, shag, shag, shag, and planning lovely mini-breaks. Am doomed, doomed. Whole of Sunday stretching ahead. Ooh, telephone. Maybe Mark Darcy has come back to England and wants to have lunch with me.

1pm Was Jude. "You'd better ring up Shazzer. I've just had her on the phone for 45 minutes. She's really depressed."

I gasped. "Are you all right?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine. I'm going to have lunch with David. Ooh, there's the door bell. Better run."

2.30pm Shaz was in terrible state. Just crying and crying. Turns out this guy called Matt had left a message for her and she thought he was going to ask her out for lunch but turns out he just wanted Jude's phone number.

"It's just awful being single," she sobbed. "No one to put their arm round you at the end of the day, no one to help you mend the boiler, and if you don't arrange anything and just need to spend the weekend doing jobs you have to do it all on your own, I can't go on." Think I cheered her up in the end though.

3pm Oh God, but it's true. I could die here and no one would know. Hmm. Think I will read a bit of Emotional Intelligence.

3.05pm I have lent Emotional Intelligence to bloody Simon. I'm completely alone. Simon's right, we are all doomed. And that David did not ask for my number but Jude's. Am really unattractive. Everyone fancies Jude and not me. Doom.

5.30pm Have just been crying for 45 minutes. Rebecca rang and has heard from a friend in Japan that Mark Darcy is going out with thin merchant banker witch called Arabella. Cannot bear it. All my boyfriends are doomed to split up with me and start going out with thin people. Had better ring up Jude.

6pm Jude is out. Probably having sex simultaneously with David and Matt.

6.45pm Sharon too is out. I bet all the boys have rung her up and taken her to the zoo.

9pm. Hurrah. Simon who came round with fish and chips and wine and is mending the electricity in the bedroom. Really as I told him he is very attractive and nice and not love pariah and is just a procession of unsuitable witches who made him feel like that, and he says I am not either. Love Simon. Love being single as you can have fun with all different people and am going to party tomorrow. Hurrah! Think will have bit more chardonnay while he is fiddling in the bedroom.

4a.m. Argor. Justaccidenly slepwith Sim . Is gonway now and def will not call and I will not be abeder ringim up cryboutblurry men. Am doomd. Dooooomed. Argor. At leaseblurryMonday tomor.

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