Bridget Jones's Diary: Shaz hissed into my ear, `I'm having Prince William', and next thing they're snogging
Wednesday 27 August 1997
9st 2, cigarettes 13, calories 3,876 (poor but did swimming), alcohol units 6 (bad)
10am. Just because it is summer is no reason life should fall into disarray with flat chaotic, in-tray ranging out of control, bad smells everywhere. Am going to change all this. By spending today clearing up flat and doing in-tray.
10.30am. Right. Will start by moving all piles of newspapers into one central pile.
10.40am. Ugh, though.
11.15am. Maybe will do in- tray first.
11.20am. Clearly impossible without fags, therefore had better get dressed .
12.15pm. Not keen on look in shorts. Too sporty for shop. Need little slippy dress thing.
12.20pm. Now where is it?
12.30pm. Just needs washing through and hanging out to dry. Then can get on.
12.45pm. OH GOD I'M SO LONELY. Everyone else is on holiday or sitting by swimming pools in country house hotels except me, and Princess Diana is going on her fifth bloody holiday this week while I am doing housework on bank holiday. What sort of summer is that? What sort of life is that? Hate bank holidays for torturing singletons. Ooh goody, telephone.
12.50pm. Hurrah. Am going swimming in Hampstead ponds with Jude and Shazzer! Have not done legs but Jude who says pond is ladies-only and teeming with Lesbians who consider it mark of gay pride to be as hairy as Dodi. Hurrah!
Midnight. Oh God. Was fantastic at ponds, like painting of 16th-century nymphs only rather more of them in Dorothy Perkins swimsuits. V. old fashioned, with wooden decking and life-guards. Swimming in natural environment with mud on bottom totally new sensation. Eventually came out in search of a pub, wandering along path when suddenly we saw these posh looking whippersnappers like Ralph Lauren ad, lying languidly on a rug with a hamper.
"Ding Dong," growled Shaz who was practically naked except for a tiny bikini, with pierced navel and minuscule excuse for mini-skirt half heartedly flipped round her.
"Excuse me," she said, sidling up to the snappers, looking slyly under her lashes like Princess Diana. (The thing about Shaz is we are so used to her being a mad ranting feminist we always forget she looks like a tiny blonde fairy or similar so how were the whippersnappers to know what they were in for?)
"Do you know where we could get a bottle of wine around here?" she purred.
"Aaahhhhm," brayed one of them, jumping to his feet. I swear to God, he was practically Prince William with blonde fringe and shy smile over mouthful of unnaturally white teeth, "Why don't you join us? We're pretty white Burgundied-up. Baaah hahahaha" - at which the others broke into high pitched nervous giggles.
Within 2.5 seconds Shaz had shot us a smug look, curled herself up on their rug, accepted a chilled piece of glass crystal, murmured, "Are you sure?" and was taking a gigantic slurp of white wine ...
"Absolutely. I mean, God, it's only pretty filthy Macon Lugny, but we do have some spliff ..." More high pitched giggling ensued as Shaz and Jude arranged their lengthy legs to the best possible effect over the rug while I knelt awkwardly at one corner trying to hide my stubbly shins and the whippersnappers sprang nervously around with corkscrews and big tubs of caviar.
Half an hour later it was dusk, we were all pleasantly squiffy and getting on like a house on fire. Turned out boys were in their final year at Oxford and really bright. Shazzer started giggling and rolled herself over onto my back pretending to be affectionate and possibly one of the lesbians in the pond.
"Anyone got a video camera?" snorted one of the whippersnappers. Why is it whenever men come across the subject of lesbianism you can guarantee the word "video camera" will come up within ten seconds? Obviously, though, I realised as Shaz yanked my ear towards her, lesbianism was hardly her game. "I'm having Prince William," she hissed.
Honestly, she is so presumptuous, as if they would fancy us. "Fine," I said, sulkily at which she rolled off me and started tweaking Prince William's nose with a piece of straw.
Next thing, Prince William and Shaz are snogging, and Jude goes off for a walk in the bushes with his friend who looks like a young Rupert Everett. So I and whippersnapper number three are left grinning at each other fixedly in an agony of embarrassment " Ahm," he said "So if you had your time again, would you do a journalism degree?"
After several years Prince William appeared out of the bushes with Shazzer's waist in one hand and a mobile in the other.
"Fabby news. Ma and Pa are staying down in Wiltshire. Let's go back to mine and take some E," he said, then started snogging Shazzer again.
Frankly could not think of anything worse than chatting through career options like aged elephant woman headmistress with own disinterested whippersnapper as Jude and Shazzer rolled about in drug crazed summer of love style carnal bliss with theirs, but would have seemed like act of a bitter old maid to say no. Ended up therefore spending three hours, discussing relative merits of drama course or job as runner with commercials company in rose garden somewhere in Hampstead Garden Suburb.
Jude and Shaz had disappeared into mad Hello-style gilt-coffee tabled house and I was looking up at stars thinking maybe could make excuses and go when felt great weight flopped on top of me. Was whippersnapper fumbling awkwardly at my dress and his trousers growling "Oh my God, oh my God I've been wanting to do this all my life."
Suddenly the security light beamed on and people were rushing over the grass towards us with torches.
"Aargh" a woman screamed, "Nicholas who is this woman?"
"Have you any idea how old Nicholas is," said a man's voice, shining a torch straight into my eyes like a member of the Gestapo. "He's only just gone fourteen. I've a bloody good mind to have you arrested".
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