Bridget Jones's Diary 精彩片段：
DECEMBER Oh, Christ
Monday 4 December 9st 2 (hmm, must get weight off before Christmas gorging), alcohol units a modest 3, cigarettes a saintly 7, calories 3876 (oh dear), 1471 calls to see if Mark Darcy has called 6 (g.). Just went to supermarket and found self unaccountably thinking of Christmas trees, firesides, carols, mince pies, etc. Then I realized why. The air vents by the entrance which usually pump out baking bread smells were pumping out baking mince pies smells instead. Cannot believe cynicism of such behavior. Reminded of favorite poem by Wendy Cope which goes: At Christmas little children sing and merry bells jingle. The cold winter air makes our hands and faces tingle. And happy families go to church and cheerily they mingle, And the whole business is unbelievably dreadful if youre single. Still no word from Mark Darcy.
Tuesday 5 December 9st 2 (right, am really going to start dieting today), alcohol units 4 (start of festive season), cigarettes 10, calories 3245 (better), 1471 calls 6 (steady progress). Repeatedly distracted by Stocking Filla catalogs tumbling out of the newspapers. Particularly keen on the shield-shaped burnished metal funfur-lined Spectacles Holder stand: All too often spectacles are put down flat on a table, inviting an accident. Couldnt agree more. The sleekly designed Black Cat Key-Chain Light does indeed have a simple flip-down mechanism, as it casts a powerful red light on the keyhole of any cat lover. Bonsai Kits! Hurrah. Practice the ancient art of Bonsai with this tub of preplanted Persian Pink Silk Tree shoots. Nice, very nice. Cannot help but feel sad about the brutal trampling on the pink silk shoots of romance burgeoning between me and Mark Darcy by Marco Pierre White and my mother, but trying to be philosophical about it. Maybe Mark Darcy is too perfect, clean and finished off at the edges for me, with his capability, intelligence, lack of smoking, freedom from alcoholism, and his chauffeur-driven cars. Maybe it has been decreed that I should be with someone wilder, earthier and more of a flirt. Like Marco Pierre White, for example, or, just to pick a name totally at random, Daniel. Hmmm. Anyway. Must just get on with life and not feel sorry for self.
Just called Shazzer, who said it has not been decreed that I must go out with Marco Pierre White and certainly not with Daniel. The only thing a woman needs in this day and age is herself.
Hurrah! 2 a.m. Why hasnt Mark Darcy rung me? Why? Why? Am going to be eaten by Alsatian despite all efforts to the contrary. Why me, Lord?
Friday 8 December
9st 5 (disaster), alcohol units 4 (g.), cigarettes 12 (excellent), Christmas presents purchased 0 (bad), cards sent 0, 1471 calls 7. 4 p.m. Humph. Jude just rang and just before we said good-bye she said, See you at Rebeccas on Sunday.’
Rebeccas? Sunday? What Rebeccas? What?’
Oh, hasnt . . . ? Shes just having a few . . . I think its just a sort of pre-Christmas dinner party.’
Im busy on Sunday, anyway, I lied. At last — a chance to get into those awkward corners with the duster. I had thought that Jude and I were equal friends of Rebecca so why should she invite Jude and not me? 9 p.m. Popped to 192 for refreshing bottle of wine with Sharon and she said, What are you wearing for Rebeccas party? Party? So it is a party party. Midnight. Anyway. Must not get upset about it. This is just the sort of thing that is not important in life anymore. People should be allowed to invite who they want to their parties without others pettily getting upset.
5:30 a.m. Why hasnt Rebecca invited me to her party? Why? Why? How many more parties are going on that everyone has been invited to except me? I bet everyone is at one now, laughing and sipping expensive champagne. No one likes me. Christmas is going to be a total party-desert, apart from a three-party pile-up on December 20th, when I am booked into an editing session all evening.
Saturday 9 December Christmas parties to look forward to 0. 7:45 a.m. Woken by Mum. Hello, darling. Just rang quickly because Una and Geothey were asking what you wanted for Christmas and I wondered about a Facial Sauna. How, after being totally disgraced and narrowly escaping several years in custody, can my mother just plop back into being exactly like she was before, flirting openly with policemen and torturing me. By the way, are you coming to . . . for a moment my heart leaped with the thought that she was going to say Turkey Curry Buffet and bring up, in a manner of speaking, Mark Darcy, but no . . . the Vibrant TV party on Tuesday? she continued brightly.
I shuddered with humiliation. I work for Vibrant TV, for Gods sake.
I havent been invited, I mumbled. There is nothing worse than having to admit to your mum that you are not very popular.
Oh, darling, of course youve been invited. Everyones going.’