Bridget Jones's Diary (2001) Movie Script
1
It all began
on New Year's Day...
in my thirty-second year
of being single.
Once again,
I found myself on my own...
and going to my mother's
annual turkey curry buffet.
Every year,
she tries to fix me up...
with some bushy-haired,
middle-aged bore...
and I feared this year
would be no exception.
There you are, dumpling.
My mum...
a strange creature
from the time...
when a gherkin...
was still the height
of sophistication.
Doilies, Pam?
Hello, Bridget.
Third drawer from the top, Una.
Under the mini gherkins.
By the way, the Darcys are here.
They brought Mark with them.
Ah, here we go.
You remember Mark.
You used to play
in his paddling pool.
He's a barrister.
Very well off.
No, I don't remember.
He's divorced, apparently.
His wife was Japanese.
Very cruel race.
Now, what are you
going to put on?
This.
Oh, dont be silly,
Bridget.
You'll never get a boyfriend...
if you look like you've
wandered out of Auschwitz.
Now, run upstairs.
I've laid out something
lovely on your bed.
Tsk.
Great.
I was wearing a carpet.
There she is.
My little Bridget
Hi, Uncle Geoffrey. Ha ha.
- Hmm. Had a drink?
- No.
No? Come on, then.
Actually, not my uncle.
Someone who insists
I call him uncle...
while he gropes my ass...
and asks me the question
dreaded by all Singletons.
So... how's your love life?
Super. Thanks, Uncle G.
Still no fellow, then, eh?
I don't know.
You career girls.
Can't put it off forever.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
- Hello, Dad.
- Hello, darling.
How's it going?
Torture.
Your mothers trying to
fix you up with some divorcee.
Uhh.
Human-rights barrister.
Pretty nasty beast, apparently.
Hoo. Ding-dong.
Maybe this time
Mum had got it right.
Come on. Why dont we see
if Mark fancies a gherkin?
Good luck.
Mark?
Maybe this was
the mysterious Mr. Right...
Id been waiting
my whole life to meet.
You remember Bridget.
Maybe not.
She's used to
run around your lawn...
with no clothes on, remember?
Uh, no, not as such.
Come and look
at your gravy, Pam.
I think it's going
to need sieving.
Of course it doesn't
need sieving.
Just stir it, Una.
Yes, of course.
I'll be right there.
Sorry. Lumpy gravy calls.
- So... ha.
- So.
You staying at your parents'
for New Year?
- Yes.
- Mmm.
- You?
- Oh, no, no, no.
I was in London
at a party last night...
so I'm afraid
I'm a bit hung over.
Wish I could be lying
with my head in the toilet...
Like all normal people.
New Year's resolution...
drink less.
Oh, and quit smoking.
Mmm. Ha.
- Oh.
- Oh. Ha.
And keep New Year's resolutions.
Oh. And, uh...
stop talking total nonsense
to strangers.
In fact, stop talking,
full stop.
Yes, well,
perhaps it's time to eat.
Mmm.
Apparently...
she lives just 'round
the corner from you.
Mother, I do not need
a blind date.
Particularly not with some
verbally incontinent spinster...
who smokes like a chimney,
drinks like a fish...
and dresses like her mother.
Yummy.
Turkey curry.
My favourite.
And that was it.
Right there.
Right there.
That was the moment.
I suddenly realized that unless
some thing changed soon...
I was going to live a life
where my major relationship...
was with a bottle of wine...
and I'd finally die
fat and alone...
and be found three weeks later,
half-eaten by Alsatians.
Or I was about to
turn into Glenn Close...
in "Fatal Attraction."
You have no messages.
And so I made
a major decision.
I had to make sure
that next year...
I wouldn't end up shit-faced
and listening to sad FM...
easy-listening
for the over-thirties.
I decided to take
control of my life...
and start a diary...
to tell the truth
about Bridget Jones...
the whole truth.
Resolution number one...
ohh...
obviously will lose
twenty pounds.
Number two...
always put last nights panties
in the laundry basket.
Equally important...
will find nice sensible
boyfriend to go out with...
and not continue to form
romantic attachments...
to any of the following...
alcoholics, workaholics,
commitment-phobics...
peeping toms, megalomaniacs...
emotional fuckwits,
or perverts.
And especially
will not fantasize...
about a particular person
who embodies all these things.
Unfortunately, he
just happens to be my boss...
Editor-in-Chief,
Daniel Cleaver.
And for various
slightly unfair reasons...
relating to this year's
Christmas party...
I suspect he does not
fantasize about me.
BRIDGET, DRUNK, SINGING:
Ohhh
Cant live
If living is without you
I cant live
Can't give anymore
Or maybe I'm wrong.
Huh?
Ah.
Happy New Year, Mr. Fitzherbert.
Happy New Year, Brenda.
Mr. Fitzherbert...
Tits Pervert, more like.
Daniel's boss who stares
freely at my breasts...
with no idea who I am
or what I do.
Morning. I need that
"Kafka's Motorbike" release...
by 11:00.
Perpetua...
slightly senior...
and therefore thinks
she's in charge of me.
Most of the time...
I just want to staple things
to her head.
Publicity.
All I asked...
I only asked...
if he wanted to come on
a mini-break to Paris...
Daily call from Jude.
Best friend.
Head of investment
at Brightlings Bank...
who spends most of her time...
trapped in the lady's toilet,
crying over fuck wit boyfriend.
I'm too needy.
Am I co-dependent?
No, youre not.
It's not you.
You're lovely.
It's Vile Richard.
Ugh. He's just a big knobhead
with no knob.
Is some people's
opinion of Kafka...
but they couldn't
be more wrong.
This book is
a searing vision...
of the wounds our century
has inflicted on...
on traditional masculinity.
It's positively Vonnegut-esque.
Thank you for calling,
Professor Leavis.
Guest list for launch party.
Ah.
Was that... F.R. Leavis?
Mm-hmm.
Wow.
Huh.
The F.R. Leavis...
who wrote "Mass Civilization
and Minority Culture"?
Mm-hmm.
The F.R. Leavis
who died in 1978?
Amazing.
Emergency summit
with urban family...
for coherent discussion
of career crisis.
Fuck 'em.
Fuck the lot of them.
Tell them they can stick
fucking Leavis...
up their fucking asses.
Good, good.
That's very useful, very useful.
Shazzer... journalist...
Likes to say "fuck" a lot.
And, Jude, what would you do
if one of your assistants...
made a harmless
little mistake like that?
I'd fire you, Bridge.
Excellent.
Is that Cleaver chap
still as cute as ever?
Oh, God, yes.
Then I think
a well-timed blow job's...
probably the best answer.
- Ohh.
- Oh, you love it.
Are you that chap
that sang that song?
Yes. Yes, I am.
Tom...
Eighties pop icon
who only wrote
one hit record...
then retired because
he found that one record...
was quite enough
to get him laid...
for the whole of the Nineties.
- Great song.
- Thank you so much.
Total poof, of course.
- More vodka?
- No.
Yes.
Fill her up, God damn it.
At least
now I'm in my thirties...
I can hold my drink.
Ohh! Whoops.
- Mind the step.
- She's fine. Drive on.
Apparently
F.R. Leavis is coming.
Afternoon, Bridget.
What do you mean
you're going on holiday?
Well, what about Julia?
Does she have to go
to the funeral?
Listen, we got
a little problem...
The only problem
is the kitchen.
Quite frankly,
there isnt room...
Message Mr. Cleaver.
Am appalled by message.
Skirt is demonstrably
neither sick nor absent.
Appalled by management's
blatantly size-is attitude...
to skirt.
Suggest management sick,
not skirt!
That's quite ridiculous.
Ooh. Oh, I see.
Hang on. Hang on.
Right. Yeah.
No, I understand that.
I understand that perfectly.
Very bad start to the year.
Have been seduced
by informality...
of messaging medium into
flirting with office scoundrel.
Will persevere with resolution
to find a nice sensible man.
Will put a stop to flirting...
first thing tomorrow.
Good plan.
If walking past office...
was attempt to demonstrate
presence of skirt...
can only say that it
has failed parlously.
Cleave.
Shut up, please.
I'm very busy and important.
P.S. How dare you
sexually harass me...
in this impertinent manner.
Message Jones.
Mortified to have
caused offence.
Will avoid all
non-P.C. overtones in future.
Deeply apologetic.
P.S. Like your tits
in that top.
Mustnt read
too much into it, no.
Dum dum dee dum
Dum dum dee dum,
dum dum dee dum dum
And it all began, of course...
with some very
irresponsible e-mailing...
over Bridget's
non-existent skirt.
Daniel.
The New York office for you.
Yeah, tell them
I'll get back to them.
Daniel.
Jones...
- Evening, Kenneth.
- Good evening, Daniel.
If you've got a moment...
I'd like a word
before you leave tonight.
Yes, certainly.
- I'll see you in a sec.
- Excellent.
- And, Brenda...
- Yes?
At the "Kafka's Motorbike"
thing...
I thought it might be fun
if you introduce me...
before I introduce him.
Add a lovely sense of occasion.
Certainly, sir.
Hmm.
Tch. Brenda, listen.
What are you doing tonight?
Actually, I'm busy.
All right. Well, thats a shame.
I just, uh...
well, I thought it might
be a charitable thing...
to take your skirt out
for dinner...
and try and fatten it up a bit.
- Hmm.
- Maybe you can come, too.
What about tomorrow?
No. Tomorrow's the launch.
Ah, yes, of course.
Possibly the worst book
ever published.
Well, in the end, thats not
the ad line we've gone for.
Next night?
Let's see, shall we?
Good night, Daniel.
Right. No pressure, Bridge...
but your whole future happiness
now depends on how you behave...
on this one social occasion.
Right. What should I do?
First, look gorgeous.
Ohh!
Ow! Gooh!
Two... then totally ignore Daniel
and suck up to famous authors.
Salman.
Salman. Salman.
Circulate.
Oozing intelligence.
Isn't it terrible
about Chechnya?
Isn't it terrible
about Chechnya?
Chech-nya!
Introduce people
with thoughtful details...
such as, "Sheila...
"This is Daniel.
Daniel, this is Sheila.
"Sheila enjoys horse-riding
and comes from New Zealand.
"Daniel enjoys publishing
and comes..."
All over your face?
Exactly.
Excuse me.
I'm terribly sorry
to interrupt you...
when you're having dinner.
It's just that...
Yes. Yes, it was me.
Yes. Nine years ago.
No current plans
to record anything else.
Thank you so much.
Oh, it's just that, ahem...
your... your chair
is on my wife's coat.
Your... your chair on the...
Of course it is.
Of course it is.
Thank you so much.
Thank you.
Hmm. Major dilemma.
If actually do,
by some terrible chance...
end up in flagrante...
surely these would be most
attractive at crucial moment.
However, chances of
reaching crucial moment...
greatly increase
by wearing these.
Scary stomach-holding-in
panties.
Very popular with grannies
the world over.
Ha. Tricky. Very tricky.
Ladies and gentlemen...
welcome to the launch
of "Kafka's Motorbike"...
"The Greatest Book
of Our Time"...
and here to introduce it
is Mr. Tits Pervert.
Ooh, Fitzherbert,
Fitzherbert, Fitzherbert.
OK, circulate,
oozing intelligence.
Ignore Daniel, and be fabulous
with everyone else.
I am the intellectual equal
of everyone else here.
Ooh.
It's like a whole theory
of short fiction...
and of the novella, you know?
And, of course, the problem...
with Martin's definition
of the novella...
is that it really
only applies to him.
That doesn't
sound like Martin.
Not.
I could be wrong.
What do you think?
Uh... do you know...
where the toilets are, huh?
Stay calm.
Can't get any worse.
What are you doing here?
I've been asking myself
the same question.
I came with a colleague.
So how are you?
Well, apart from being
very disappointed...
not to see my favourite
reindeer jumper again...
I'm well.
Anyone going to introduce me?
Ah, introduce people
with thoughtful details.
Perpetua. Ha.
This is Mark Darcy.
Mark's a prematurely
middle-aged prick...
with a cruel-racedex-wife.
Perpetua's a fat-ass old bag...
who spends her time
bossing me around.
Maybe not.
Anyone going to introduce me?
Ah, Perpetua.
Uh, this is Mark Darcy.
Mark's a top barrister.
Oh, he comes from
Garth and Underwood.
Perpetua is one
of my work colleagues.
Why, Mark, I know you
by reputation, of course.
Ah, Natasha.
This is Bridget Jones.
Bridget, this is Natasha.
Natasha is a top attorney
and specializes in family law.
Bridget works in publishing...
and used to play naked
in my paddling pool.
- How odd.
- Ha ha.
Perpetua,
how's the house hunt going?
Disaster.
I oughtn't go into it with you.
By the by, that man is gorgeous.
Ah, yes, Mark.
Just give me time.
Give me time.
You've written
"a searing vision..."
Can you remember
the rest of this?
"Of the wounds
our century..."
"has inflicted on
traditional masculinity.
"Positively Vonnegut-esgue."
Obviously.
Listen, you don't know where
the loos are here, do you?
Uh, yes. In the hallway.
Thanks.
One, two.
Ladies and gentlemen.
I...
L-ladies and...
I...
Oi!
Oi!
Sorry. The, uh...
mike's not...
work... working. Ahem.
Ladies and gentlemen...
welcome to the launch
of "Kafka's Motorbike"...
"The Greatest Book of Our Time."
Obviously except for
your books, Mr. Rushdie...
which are also very good.
And Lord Archer...
yours arent bad, either.
Anyway...
uh, what I mean is, uh...
welcome,
ladies and gentlemen.
Thank you for coming
to the launch of...
one of the top thirty
books of our time.
Anyway, at least.
And here
to introduce it, ha...
properly, ha ha...
is, uh, the man
we all call, uh...
Tits Pervert.
Mr...
Tits Pervert!
Mr...
Tits Pervert.
Fitzherbert, uh...
because...
that is his name.
Mr. Fitzherbert.
Thank you.
Thank you, Brenda.
Just switch this on.
So how
autobiographical...
is your work, Salman?
You know,
it's an amazing thing...
nobody's ever asked me
that question.
Excuse me.
Jones. Sod 'em all.
It was a brilliant...
post-modernist masterpiece of
oratorical fireworks, really.
Uhh.
You're looking very sexy, Jones.
I think I'm gonna have to
take you out to dinner now...
whether you like it or not, OK?
Come on, get your stuff.
So how do you feel about
this whole situation...
in Chechnya?
isnt it a nightmare?
I couldn't give a fuck, Jones.
Now, look, how do you
know Arsey Darcy?
Apparently, I used
to run 'round naked...
in his paddling pool.
I bet you did, you dirty bitch.
What about you?
Same. Yeah.
No, no, I was best man
at his wedding.
Um, knew him from Cambridge.
He was a mate.
And then what?
And then, uh... nothing.
You don't need to protect him.
He's no friend of mine.
Well, um, then...
many years later...
I made the somewhat
catastrophic mistake...
of introducing him
to my fiance.
And, um...
I couldn't say, in all honesty,
I've ever quite forgiven him.
God, so...
he's a nasty bastard.
And a dull bastard.
Yes. Yes,
I think that's fair.
Anyway, fuck him. Listen,
don't let him ruin our evening.
Why don't you have
some more wine...
and tell me more about
practicing French-kissing...
with the other girls
at school...
because that's
a very good story.
- It wasnt French-kissing.
- Don't care. Make it up.
That's an order, Jones.
So, um, how about
a drink at my place?
Totally innocent,
no funny business...
just full sex.
No, no, no.
I should get a taxi.
But thank you
for the lovely dinner.
It's a pleasure, Jones.
Now these are very
silly little boots, Jones.
And this is a very
silly little dress.
And, um...
these are, uh...
fuck me,
absolutely enormous panties.
Jesus. Fuck.
No, no, don't apologize.
I like them.
Hello, Mummy.
I'm sorry, I have to have
another look.
- They're too good to be true.
- No.
There's nothing to be
embarrassed about.
I'm wearing something
quite similar myself.
- Here, I'll show you.
- No. No.
Ha. Huh.
That was fantastic.
Ohh. Mmm.
Ay, ay.
Ohh. Daniel.
Yeah?
What happens at the office?
Oh. Well,
I'm glad you asked that.
You see,
it's a publishing house.
So that means that people
write things for us...
and then we print out
all the pages...
and fasten them together...
and make them into what
we call a book, Jones.
No, do you think
people will notice?
Notice what?
Us. Working together,
sleeping together.
Hang on a minute, Jones.
Just slow down.
It started on Tuesday...
and now it's Thursday.
It's not exactly...
um, a long-term relationship,
is it?
You're very bad.
Ohh.
Mmm.
Bridget Jones,
wanton sex goddess...
with a very bad man
between her thighs.
Mum. Hi.
It's the truth
universally acknowledged...
that the moment one area
of your life starts going OK...
another part of it falls
spectacularly to pieces.
Ah, anyone else want
to have it off?
Haha. Don't be shy, madame.
French. Have it oeuf. Ha ha!
With the wisecrack egg peeler.
Now, nice firm grip.
Put it in the hole. And...
up, down, up, down.
And off it comes in your hand.
Oh! Mind the over-spray.
Sorry.
Darling, if I came in
with my knickers on my head...
he wouldn't notice.
I spent thirty-five years
cleaning his house...
washing his clothes,
bringing up his children.
I'm your child, too.
To be honest, darling,
having children...
isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Given my chance again,
I'm not sure I'd have any.
And now it's
the winter of my life...
and I haven't actually
got anything of my own.
I've got no power,
no real career...
no... no sex life.
I've got no life at all.
I'm like the grasshopper
who sang all summer.
I'm like Germaine sodding Geer.
Greer.
Well, anyway, I'm not having it.
And I've been talent spotted.
Julian thinks
I've got great potential.
Who's Julian?
From the Home Shopping Channel.
Comes into the store
to have his colours done.
Potential for what?
As a demonstrator
on his cable show.
You know, his assistant.
Apparently, it's the highest-
rated show on the channel.
Well, apart from the one...
where the fat people
beat up their relatives.
Ooh! I must wiz.
- Have you heard from Mark Darcy?
- Good-bye, Mum.
Julian.
Sorry to keep you waiting.
And a few weeks later,
it got lots worse.
Hello!
Look at this.
Paying off
this heart-shaped pendant.
One of my own personal
recommendations...
is this absolutely stunning...
matching necklace
and earring set.
The earrings measuring
just over a centimetre...
in genuine diamante with
two pairs in lapis lazuli...
in a lovely mock-gold finish.
The exact replica
of those worn at Wimbledon...
in 1993 by Her Royal Highness
the Duchess of Kent.
Well.
Has she actually moved out then?
Apparently, she and this
tangerine-tinted buffoon...
are suddenly an item.
Half our friends have had them
around to bloody dinner.
She's even
taking Jaundice Julian...
to Una Alconbury's
Tarts and Vicars party.
That's not the Pamela I knew.
That's cruel.
Well, still,
could be a golden opportunity.
If you spent the entire party
flirting with other women...
it would drive Mum
wild with jealousy.
What?
That's how I got my man.
Have you got a boyfriend?
A real one?
I have, Father. I have.
And he's perfect.
Hurrah.
Am no longer tragic spinster...
but proper girlfriend
of bona fide sex god...
so committed
that he's taking me...
on a full-blown mini-break
holiday weekend.
Just promise me
we don't have to sit...
in any little boats and read
poncey poetry to each other.
Hes also protecting
me at Uncle Geoffrey's...
hideous Tarts and Vicars
fancy dress party.
This can't be just shagging.
A mini-break means true love.
Suddenly feel like
screen goddess...
in manner of Grace Kelly.
Though perhaps ever so slightly
less elegant under pressure.
It's very quiet here, isn't it?
Are we the only guests, or...
We have a wedding this weekend.
I believe there are just
four of you not involved.
Oh. Hmm.
You do the boats,
I'll do the tea.
Oh, Jesus.
- Hello there.
- Hi.
Well, well.
I take it you're also heading
for the Alconbury's rockery.
Yes, thats right.
I brought Natasha.
Get a bit of work done.
Thought I might make it
a not entirely wasted weekend.
How interesting.
What a gripping life
you do lead.
I'll see you
upstairs in a second.
Hmm. Well, the weakness
of their case...
Lies in the deposition
they made on August30.
Season of mist...
and...
mellow fruitlessness.
Oh, fuck me, I love Keats.
Have you heard this one?
"There was a young woman
from Ealing...
"who had a peculiar feeling.
"She lay on her back
and opened her crack...
"and pissed
all over the ceiling."
Oh, bollocks.
What've you done?
- I'm boarding you, Bridge.
- Don't you dare!
- I'm king of the world!
- No!
Fuck me. Uhh!
Aah!
Oh, piss and bollocks.
You stupid ass.
Bollocks.
All right.
Aah! No!
So childish.
Aah! No!
Yes.
Hey, Darce, come on in!
The water's lovely!
Come on, you're working
too hard, mate.
Ha ha!
- Daniel.
- Yes, Bridget?
That thing you just did
is actually illegal...
in several countries.
Well, that is, of course,
the major reason...
I'm so thrilled to be
living in Britain today.
Yes. I can't understand...
why the Prime Minister
doesn't mention it more...
in his speeches.
You should write
to him about it.
I intend to.
Daniel.
Bridget.
- Do you love me?
- Shut up, or I'll do it again.
Do you love me?
Right. You asked for it.
And over we go.
I'm going to give you
something to bite on.
Here.
OK? Pop this in your mouth,
darling.
You're begging for it.
Stop it.
No, no.
Hmm.
I got to go back to town.
A meeting's come up.
On a Sunday?
No. The meeting's
first thing tomorrow.
I've got to work
on some figures.
We could just pop
into the party for a minute.
Bridget,
I'm really sorry.
I just cant do it.
I've got to head back.
Listen, Daniel...
if you've changed your mind,
you could just say so...
because, honestly, I don't see
what could be so important.
No, well, you wouldn't,
would you?
Because you don't have
the faintest bloody idea...
of just how much trouble
the company's in.
You swan in
in your short skirt...
and your sexy
see-through blouse...
and fanny around
with press releases.
You know, this is
the Americans flying in...
because they're thinking
of shutting us down...
for fuck's sake.
Sorry.
I'm sorry, Bridge.
I know I'm being a prat.
Look, I'm going
to arrange a lovely car...
to come and pick you up
and take you back...
to London after the party, OK?
If you have to travel alone,
travel in style.
Hmm.
And, um...
I also think
it's very important...
that you win
this costume competition.
Good.
Good start.
Now, then, Miss Jones,
where does this go?
Oh, well, here we go.
Trying hard
to fight off a vision...
of Mum and Auntie Una
in fishnet tights.
Seems unnatural, wrong even,
for60-year-olds to dress up...
as prostitutes and priests
on a Sunday afternoon.
Oh, holy Jesus.
Bridget.
Where are all the other
tarts and vicars?
Oh, dear.
Didn't Geoffrey call you?
Didn't you telephone
Colin and Bridget?
How's my little Bridget?
Bop, bop.
Oh.
Geoffrey.
So, wheres this chap
of yours, then, eh?
Ah, yes, well,
he had to work, so...
Ha! A likely tale.
Off they run. Whee!
Bizarre what some men
find attractive.
Oh, God.
Darling!
Geoffrey!
What on earth are you wearing?
You look like
a common prostitute.
Yes, well, that was,
actually, the point.
Say hi to Julian.
Hello, Julian.
My dear...
you and your mother
could be sisters.
And what a lovely bracelet.
It's what I call
an all-arounder...
the sort of thing one can wear
with anything to any occasion.
Oh.
Have you spoken to my dad?
Yes. He's behaving
most bizarrely.
I think he was actually
trying to flirt...
with Penny Husbands-Bosworth,
poor thing.
She was very frightened.
She's only just had
her ovaries done.
I don't know what
you ever saw in him.
Shh. Bad man.
Heh heh.
Didnt tell you, either.
No. I didn't spend as much
as Bernard, thank God.
Oh.
I'm sorry, Dad.
The way she looked at me.
Well, she loves you, really.
You love each other.
This is only a temporary glitch.
Is it?
I don't know.
I don't know.
Ah, Bridget, there you are.
Dont worry.
You're not the only one.
This is Penny. Geoffrey didn't
get in touch with her, either.
I'm sorry?
I was just saying Geoffrey
didn't contact you, either...
to tell you that
the Tarts and Vicars concept...
had gone out of the window.
Oh, yes, he did.
Oh, right.
Lovely dress.
Very exotic.
What a shame you couldn't
bring your boyfriend, Bridget.
What's his name?
David? Darren?
Daniel Cleaver.
Oh. Is he a friend
of yours, Mark?
Absolutely not.
I hope he's good enough
for our little Bridget.
I think I can say with
total confidence absolutely not.
Well, I'm sure he'd say
the same about you...
given your past behaviour.
Sorry?
I think you know what I mean.
Mark.
Hmm.
Looks like Auntie Shirley...
didn't get the message, either.
Hi.
I really, really wanted
to see a friendly face.
Oh, now, listen,
I'll tell you what.
I have an idea.
Let me finish this...
while you go home,
have a long hot bath...
and I'll call round,
and we'll have dinner later, OK?
Is there someone here?
Not that I'm aware of.
Unless that Bosnian family
has moved in again.
Bastards.
Oh.
I'm sorry.
Sorry.
I'm going mad.
Listen, I am feeling
really bad, actually.
- I should've been there today.
- No, I'm sorry.
No, no, I'm sorry...
but at least I got
a hell of a lot of work done.
Just give me one more hour, OK?
Fine. Thats fine.
I will go home and de-bunny.
Oh...
and you know last night
when I said that I loved you?
Mm-hmm.
I didn't mean it.
I was being ironic.
Oh, God, yeah,
I know, I know.
All right.
- Thank you, madam.
- Mmm.
Bridge.
Bridget.
This is Lara from
the New York office.
Lara, this is Bridget.
Hey, there.
I thought you said she was thin.
I was hoping that you
would want to be a part of it.
This is totally insane.
I'm 36years old. It may be
my last chance to have a child.
Alex.
Aah!
The male penetrates
the female and leaves.
Coitus is brief
and perfunctory...
and the female...
That's wonderful.
Well, I don't think it's bad.
Right.
We've had
very good response...
to the Teddy Knows Best
teaser campaign
and had various
local radio bits for...
Look, Bridge, stop that.
I feel... terrible.
The thing is...
with Lara and me...
well, you know...
No. You'll have to fill me in.
Well, the truth is...
the truth is, were the same,
Bridge, you and me.
You know? We're two people
of a certain age...
looking for the moment to commit
and finding it really hard.
And I just think
that in the end...
it's got to be
something extraordinary...
something which makes us
go that extra mile.
And I think...
Lara and...
I dont know,
being American and all...
it has something to do
with confidence and being so...
well, young, you know?
Well, weve... become very close.
Well, youve only just met her.
She flew in yesterday.
Uh...
Oh.
Silly Bridget.
You haven't only just met her.
No.
No. I got to know her
pretty well...
when we were
in the New York office together.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
There's no easy way
to say this, but, um...
I wanted you to be the first
to know that...
we're engaged.
At times like this...
continuing with one's life
seems impossible...
and eating the entire
contents of one's fridge...
seems inevitable.
I have two choices...
to give up and accept permanent
state of spinster hood...
and eventual eating by dogs...
or not.
And this time, I choose not.
I will not be defeated...
by a bad man
and an American stick insect.
Instead, I choose vodka...
and Chaka Khan.
Ahh.
Ohh!
Fuck.
Why do you want
to be in television?
Well, I've realized that
I've become deeply committed...
to communicating
to the public...
the up-to-the-moment
and in-depth news...
both political and ecological.
What do you think of
the El Nino phenomenon?
Um... it's a blip.
I think, basically,
Latin music is on its way out.
So, why do you want
to work in television?
Because I'm
passionately committed...
to communicating with children.
They are the future.
Do you have any children
of your own?
Oh, Christ, no. Yuck!
Ah.
Sorry.
So, why do you want
to work in television?
I've got to leave my current job
because I've shagged my boss.
Fair enough.
Start on Monday.
We'll see how we go.
Oh, and...
incidentally...
at "Sit Up, Britain"...
no one ever gets sacked
for shagging the boss.
That's a matter of principle.
Oh, Bridget.
Come on, it's...
I mean, I know it's been
awkward as ass...
but there's no need to leave.
No, actually, there is.
I've been offered
a job in television.
Television?
Mmm. And they want me
to start straightaway.
So I've got to leave
in about, ooh, three minutes...
so, um...
Whoa. Just hold it
right there, Miss Jones.
I'm sorry to inform you...
but I think you'll find
that by contract...
you're expected to give
at least six weeks notice.
Ah, yes, well...
I thought with the company being
in so much trouble and all...
you wouldn't really miss...
the person who waltzes in
in a see-through top...
and fannies about
with the press releases.
Bridget.
I want to hear this,
because if she gives one inch...
I'm going to fire
her bony little bottom anyway...
for being totally spineless.
What?
Well, I just think
you should know that, um...
there are lots of prospects
here for a talented person.
Just give me a minute,
will you, Simon? Thanks.
Right-o, boss man.
Lots of prospects
for a person who...
you know, perhaps
for personal reasons...
has been slightly
overlooked professionally.
Thank you, Daniel.
That is very good to know...
but if staying here...
means working
within 10 yards of you...
frankly, I'd rather have a job
wiping Saddam Hussein's ass.
Well, bye, everyone.
Oh, just sod off.
Hello and welcome
to "Sit Up, Britain."
OK, everybody,
it is bonfire night...
and we are on fire.
We have live
fire station feeds...
from Newcastle, Swansea,
Sheffield, and Lewisham...
just poised for tragedy.
Bridget Jones, where are you?
I'm here, Richard.
Put on some more makeup.
I want you on-camera.
But...
I'm thinking... miniskirt.
I'm thinking fireman's helmet.
I want you pointing a hose.
I want you
sliding down the pole...
and then go straight
into the interview.
Great.
I'll do it.
No problem. Fine. Right.
So, you drop into shot...
and then interview
Chief Fireman Bevan.
Yep, yep, yep.
Go, go. Go, go. Go!
Go?
Oh, no.
We're going to Newcastle first.
Stop!
Climb back up.
On you in thirty seconds.
OK.
Neville, what
the fuck is going on?
She's supposed to be
sliding down the pole...
- not climbing up it.
- Go, go, go, go, go!
Oh, OK.
- Oh!
- Oh, Jesus Christ.
Uhh! Uhh!
OK, we're out of time.
We're out of time.
Just wind 'er up.
Well, that seems to be
about all we've got time for...
down here in Lewisham.
Uh, Chief Officer Bevan,
thank you very much.
Excellent fire station.
Uh, and now...
back to the studio.
Whoo!
Whoo!
Whoo!
Whoo!
Excellent.
I'm a national laughing stock.
Have bottom the size of Brazil.
Am daughter of broken home...
and rubbish
at every thing and...
oh, God.
I'm having dinner
with Magda and Jeremy.
The only thing worse
than a smug married couple...
Lots of smug married couples.
Right, everyone.
This is Bridget.
Bridge, this is Hugo and Jane.
And, obviously,
you know, of course...
Cosmo and Woney.
- Hi, Bridge.
- Hi, Bridge.
This is
Alistair and Henrietta...
Julia and Michael...
Joanne and Paul...
and Jeremy's partners
from chambers.
This is Natasha Glenville
and Mark Darcy.
Hi, there.
Hello.
Not in your bunny girl
outfit to day?
No.
We bunnies only wear our tails
on very special occasions.
- Sit yourself down.
- Right.
Hey, Bridge,
how's your love life?
Oh...
Still going out
with that publishing chappie?
Uh, no, no.
Terribly brill.
Never dip your nib
in the office ink.
Right.
You really
ought to hurry up...
and get sprugged up,
you know, old girl?
Time's a-running out.
Tick-tock.
Yes, yes.
Uh, tell me, is it
one in four marriages...
that ends in divorce now
or one in three?
One in three.
Seriously, though.
Offices full of single girls
in their thirties...
fine physical specimens...
but they just can't seem
to hold down a chap.
Yes. Why is it...
there are so many unmarried
women in their thirties...
these days, Bridget?
Oh, I don't know.
Suppose it doesn't help
that underneath our clothes...
our entire bodies
are covered in scales.
I very much enjoyed...
your Lewisham fire report,
by the way.
Thank you.
I just...
yeah, well.
So.
It didnt work out
with Daniel Cleaver?
No, it didn't.
I'm delighted to hear it.
Look, are you and Cosmo
in this together?
I mean, you seem
to go out of your way...
to try to make me feel
like a complete idiot...
every time I see you,
and you really needn't bother.
I already feel like an idiot
most of the time anyway...
with or without
a fireman's pole.
That'll be my taxi.
Good night.
Look, um...
I'm sorry if I've been...
What?
I don't think
you're an idiot at all.
I mean, there are elements
of the ridiculous about you.
Your mother's
pretty interesting.
And you really are...
an appallingly bad
public speaker.
And you tend to let
whatever's in your head...
come out of your mouth...
without much consideration
of the consequences.
I realize that when I met you
at the turkey curry buffet...
that I was unforgivably rude
and wearing a reindeer jumper...
that my mother had
given me the day before.
But the thing is, um...
what I'm trying to say
very inarticulately is...
that, um...
in fact...
perhaps, despite appearances...
I like you very much.
Ah. A part from the smoking
and the drinking...
and the vulgar mother
and the verbal diarrhea.
No. I like you very much...
just as you are.
Mark, we really are making
progress on the case in here.
Jeremys had
the most brilliant idea.
Right.
Right.
I must go, because...
well...
bye.
Just as you are?
Not thinner? Not cleverer?
Not with slightly bigger breasts
and a slightly smaller nose?
Mm-mmm.
Well...
fuck me.
But this is someone you hate,
right?
Mmm. Mmm.
Yes, yes. I hate him.
November9.
Weight... 138pounds.
Cigarettes... three.
Birthday... thirty-three.
OK, Bridget, see if you can
get it right this time.
The verdict in the Aghani-Heaney
case is expected today.
Get yourself down
to the high court.
I want a hard-headed interview.
You do know
the Aghani-Heaney case?
Yes, of course.
Big case...
featuring someone
called Aghanihini.
Or two people called
Kafir Aghani and Eleanor Heaney.
That's the one.
She's a British aid worker.
He's a Kurdish freedom fighter.
The government
want to extradite him home...
where he'll certainly
be executed.
She's married to him...
and they fought for five years
to keep him here.
Today is the decision.
Oh, that's exciting.
Yes, it is...
so what are you waiting for?
Am suddenly
hard-headed journalist...
ruthlessly committed to
promoting justice and liberty.
Nothing can distract me
from my dedication...
to the pursuit of truth.
Well, almost nothing.
Right. I'll just pop
to the shop for some ciggies.
14p for the Polos
and packet of Wheat Crunchies.
Packet of Embassy, please.
I'm sorry.
I'm not quite fine...
Good afternoon.
Hi.
You like me just the way I am.
Sorry?
Nothing.
Bridget,
we've fucked up utterly.
Eleanor Heaney and Kafir Aghani
have come and gone.
Oh, God. I'll be sacked.
Did the others get interviews?
I don't know.
I was having a slash.
Actually, nobody got interviews.
How do you know?
Because I was defending him...
and I told him
not to give any interviews.
Look...
I have a plan.
And action.
Mr. Darcy,
you were defending Mr. Aghani.
You must be delighted.
Yes, well, Kafir Aghani
has spent his entire life...
defending
the basic human rights...
of his own people,
and today's verdict...
has been the result
of five years of struggle...
by this woman, Eleanor Heaney...
to save the man she loves
from an extradition order...
that would've been tantamount
to a death sentence.
Right.
And, Eleanor, over to you.
Did you fancy Kafir
the first time that you saw him?
This has been Bridget Jones
for "Sit Up, Britain"...
with, lets face it,
a bit of a crush now, actually.
Good afternoon.
Bridget Jones...
already a legend.
Oh, joy.
I am broadcasting genius.
Celebrating by cooking birthday
feast for close friends.
Have sneaking suspicion...
am also something of a genius
in the kitchen as well.
Tie flavour-enhancing leek
and celery together with string.
Right.
String.
String, string, string.
Perfect.
Finely slice oranges
and grate zest.
Aah! Oh, bugger!
Oh, bugger, bugger!
Where the fuck
is the fucking tuna?
Oh, this is Bridget Jones
for "Sit Up, Britain"...
searching for tuna.
Bridget Jones.
Hello, darling.
Hi, Mum.
I just wanted a bit of a chat.
Ouch!
Careful, you ham-fisted cunt!
The thing is, darling, I'm...
Between you and me,
I'm not entirely sure...
that Julian
isn't a bit of a shit.
Yes, well,
you know, Mum...
I haven't really
got time right now.
Oh, I...
I can't deny the sex
is still very surprising.
You know, the other night,
quite unexpectedly...
I was just dozing off,
and I felt this huge...
Bye, Mum.
Ecch.
Oh.
Who can be calling now?
Oh.
The door was open.
I came to congratulate...
the new face
of British current affairs.
Huh.
But I see I may have come
at a bad time.
How's it look?
Great. It's, um... blue.
Blue?
No, but blue is good.
If you ask me,
there isn't enough blue food.
Oh, shit.
It must've been the string.
Oh, it's string soup?
Oh, God. They're going
to be here any minute.
Well, don't worry. I'm sure
they've come to see you...
and not orange parfait
in sugar cages.
Have a drink.
Yes.
Happy birthday.
Thank you.
Did I really run round
your lawn naked?
Oh, yes.
You were four, and I was eight.
Well, thats a pretty
big age difference.
It's quite pervy, really.
Yes, I like to think so.
What are we going
to do about this dinner, then?
We can have blue soup to start,
orange pudding to end, and...
well, for main course,
we have...
uh, congealed green gunge.
- That is caper berry gravy.
- Oh, yes. Yeah.
- Do you have eggs?
- Yes.
Right.
- Omelette it is, then.
- Ah.
With caper berry gravy.
You wouldn't by any chance
have any beet root cubes?
A mini-gherkin, stuffed olive?
No, Pam, and besides, I'm busy.
The gravy needs sieving.
Surely not. Just stir it, Una.
Happy, happy birthday!
Hey, TV queen.
Hey, Bridge,
you looked fantastic.
Hello.
Hello.
Are you joining us?
Yeah. Yeah, of course.
Excellent.
Mmm. Yeah.
Delicious.
Really special.
It's really... really very good.
Really. It's very nice.
Say...
Mmm.
Mark,
why did your wife leave you?
Mmm. Eat up.
Eat up.
Two more lovely courses to go.
Mmm, delicious.
I have to say, this really is
the most incredible shit.
This is the worst of the three.
It does actually
remind me of something.
It tastes like...
Marmalade.
Well done, Bridge.
Four hours of careful cooking
and a feast of blue soup...
omelette, and marmalade.
Thank you.
I think that deserves a toast,
dont you?
To Bridget...
who cannot cook,
but who we love...
just as she is.
To Bridget...
just as she is.
I'll go.
Who?
Ah. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
I'm obviously interrupting a...
Darcy.
What brings you here?
Oh, right. Yeah.
I should've guessed,
shouldn't I?
Hi. I'm Tom. It's really good
to meet you at last.
Yeah, listen,
I just came to, uh...
I thought
you might be on your own.
Huh. What an idiot.
Excuse me.
I've been going crazy.
I can't stop thinking
about you...
and thinking
what a fucking idiot I've been.
Christ, is that blue soup?
Yes.
That Sunday in the country...
Come outside.
It was all just going so fast...
the hotel and that weekend,
meeting your parents.
I just panicked.
You know me. I'm...
I'm a terrible disaster...
with a posh voice
and a bad character.
You're the only one
who can save me, Bridge.
I need you. Without you,
twenty years from now...
I'll be in some seedy bar
with some seedy blonde.
Well, what about Lara?
Oh, over, over.
totally fucking finito.
Dumped me.
She realized
that I hadn't got over you.
I know you're thinking...
it's just a sex thing,
but I promise you...
whenever I see that skimpy
little skirt on TV...
I just close my eyes
and listen...
to all the intelligent things
you've said.
I was thrilled that little
Kurdish bloke was set free.
Bridge...
I missed you a lot.
Oh, God.
I'm going now. Bye.
Mark, stay. We...
No, I don't think I will.
Well, listen,
don't leave on my behalf.
I think it's time you and I
put this past behind us.
At least stay
for a birthday drink...
with me and Bridge, huh?
Good-bye, Bridget.
Mark.
Why are you here?
Bridge...
I just told you why I'm here.
Why was
Mark "Wanker" Darcy here?
Oh, bloody hell.
Wait a minute. He's back.
All right, Cleaver, outside.
I'm sorry?
Outside?
Uh, should I bring
my duelling pistols or my sword?
All right. Hang on.
I should've done this years ago.
Done what?
This.
Ooh! Fuck!
Fuck me, that hurt!
Ahh!
What the fuck
do you think you're doing?
- This.
- Aah!
Aah! Oh, Christ, not again.
Uhh!
Fight!
What?
Well, quick!
It's a real fight!
It's a fight!
All right,
all right, all right.
I give up. I give up.
Just give me a moment,
all right? Just...
Let me get a moment's
break here, OK?
Cheat!
Cheat! Cheat!
I should've knew it!
Ow, ow, ow, ow!
Whose side are we on?
Mark's, obviously.
He's never dumped Bridget
for some naked American.
And he said he liked her
just the way she is.
Yeah, but he also shagged
Daniel's fiance...
and left him broken hearted.
Good point.
It's a very hard one to call.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no!
Oh, yes!
Mark!
I'm so sorry.
I'm so sorry, all right?
Ohh! Ohh!
Aah!
Oh, God, I'm sorry.
I really am sorry.
I... I will pay.
Had enough, Darcy?
Not quite,
if that's all right by you.
Oh!
You broke my bloody jaw!
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday,
dear what's-his-name
Happy birthday to you
- Uh...
- Ohh...
- Uhh.
- Uhh.
Jesus.
Uhh.
All right.
- All right?
- Enough.
Enough.
Enough.
Wanker.
What is your problem?
- My problem?
- Yes.
You give the impression
of being all moral and noble...
and normal...
and helpful in the kitchen...
but youre just as bad
as the rest of them.
Well, I can see
that I've been labouring...
under a misapprehension.
A very, very foolish mistake.
Forgive me.
Uhh.
Let's go back upstairs.
Come on.
We belong together, Jones.
Me, you.
Poor little skirt.
Right.
If I can't make it with you...
I can't make it with anyone.
Um...
That's not a good enough offer
for me.
I'm not willing
to gamble my whole life...
on someone who's...
well, not quite sure.
It's like you said.
I'm still looking
for something...
more extraordinary than that.
Ding dong, merrily on high
December 25.
Weight... 140 pounds...
Plus forty-two mince-pies.
Alcohol units...
Oh, thousands.
Bugger off!
Come on, kids.
This baroque carriage clock...
is a particular festive
favourite of mine...
incorporating
the Hallelujah Chorus...
from Handel's "Messiah"...
every hour on the hour.
I don't understand it.
The man's actually
turned red now.
Merry Christmas, Pamela.
Well...
I'm going to Bedfordshire.
Night, night.
Night, night.
The thing is...
well, close up,
he was almost purple.
You were such
a lovely normal colour.
He had a filthy temper.
And, well,
the jewellery is fabulous...
and really very
reasonably priced and...
I thought I might ask if...
we could have another go.
I mean, obviously,
with some effort on your part...
to pay a bit more attention
to me.
I do realize
what I'm like sometimes.
It doesn't help
that you and Bridget...
have your lovely
grownup club of two...
and always saying...
"What's silly old Mummy
gone and done this time?"
You used to be mad about me.
You couldn't get enough of me.
What do you think?
I don't know, Pam.
I just don't know now.
It's been very hard.
Oh, Colin.
I'm joking, you daft cow.
Oh!
Pam,
I just don't work without you.
Awful.
Lovely, lovely, lovely.
Get back up those stairs,
young lady.
Get dressed.
What for?
The Darcys' ruby wedding party.
What for, indeed.
Mark will be there...
still divorced.
He's also still deranged.
I'm not going.
Poor Mark. It's always
a bad time of year for him.
You know, his Japanese wife
left him on Christmas Day.
Cruel race.
Yes, but I'm not quite sure...
he didnt deserve it, actually.
She ran off with his best friend
from Cambridge.
Total scoundrel, apparently.
Best man at his wedding.
Christmas Eve, Mark
comes home early from work...
finds the pair of them
in a most unorthodox position...
stark naked,
a tit like rabbits.
Just give me five minutes.
Stop. Stop the car.
Stop the car.
Dad, get out. Too slow!
Hey, to keep me from you
Dad, get in.
- Hurry.
- What's your hurry?
Not too fast.
Keep me from you
A bit snowy, isn't it?
Sorry. One moment.
Thank you for inviting me.
I didn't.
It must've been my parents.
So...
So.
Hello, Bridget.
Didn't know you were coming.
Mark, your father
wants to begin A.S.A.P.
Oh, does he? Right.
Well, uh...
Come on, Mark.
Be helpful, please.
The caterers
have totally screwed up.
Does nothing work
outside of London?
Hmm? Apparently not.
Well, I'd better...
Listen, uh...
I owe you an apology
about Daniel.
He said that you ran off
with his fiance...
and left him broken hearted,
he said.
Ah.
No, it was the other way around.
It was my wife...
my heart.
Sorry.
That's why you always acted
so strangely around him...
and beat him to a pulp,
quite rightly.
Well done.
Well, um...
Can we just, um...
pop out there...
for a moment?
Quite delightful,
isn't it, my dear?
OK.
I just have something
that I want to say.
Um...
You once said that you
liked me just as I am...
and I just wanted to say...
likewise.
I mean...
there are stupid things
your mum buys you.
Tonight's another classic.
You're haughty, and you
always say the wrong thing...
in every situation.
And I seriously believe
that you should...
rethink the length
of your sideburns.
But you're a nice man...
and...
I like you.
So if you wanted
to pop by sometime...
that might be nice.
More than nice.
Right.
Crikey.
Ladies and gentlemen...
could I have your attention
for a moment, please?
Excuse me.
Of course.
...wife and companion Geraldine.
A toast to her,
my... my wonderful wife Geraldine.
To Geraldine.
And we, in turn...
have been blessed
with our son, Mark.
He's always made us proud...
and we couldn't be
prouder of him...
than on this particular day...
because I'm thrilled
to announce...
he has just been invited
to be a senior partner...
in the firm of Abbott
and Abbott in New York.
He also,
incidentally...
takes with him his
brilliant partner in law...
Natasha.
And, well, I don't
think they'll mind...
since we're amongst friends...
if I say that someday
this remarkably clever girl...
is going to be
something-else-in-law as well.
I begged him
not to say anything.
So I ask you now...
to charge your glasses
once again...
to Mark and his Natasha.
To Mark and his Natasha.
No! No!
It's just that...
it's such a terrible pity...
f-for England...
to lose...
such a great legal brain.
- Is she pissed?
- What?
F-for the people of England...
Like me and you...
to lose one of our top people.
Uh...
just top person, really.
Ahem.
Well... better dash.
I've got
another party to go to.
It's single people.
Mainly... poofs.
Bye.
I know I will be OK
Yes?
Hi, it's us!
Oh.
Great. Come on up.
Have we got the most
fantastic surprise for you.
Oh, no.
You're not going to sing.
Not that fantastic, sadly, no,
but still pretty good.
We've decided we're taking you
to Paris for the weekend.
Forget everything... particularly,
forget about Mark Darcy.
I can't believe you said
what you said you said.
I know.
There goes my invite
to the Darcys' next year.
If he didn't leap over
the family heirlooms...
and whip you up in his arms,
then sod him.
Yes. He's clearly
the most dreadful cold fish.
Exactly.
I mean, theres been
all these bloody hints...
and stuff,
but has he ever actually...
stuck his fucking tongue
down your fucking throat?
No. Not once.
I think we should pack,
shouldnt we?
Passport, Bridget. And pants.
Yep, pants.
Hurry up, Bridge!
Were freezing our bollocks off
out here!
Yeah. Just the keys.
I'm stuck! Oh!
Come the fuck on, Bridget.
Close the door.
Bridget?
Stop being so bossy.
What are you doing here?
I just wanted to know
if you were available...
for bar mitzvahs
and christenings...
as well as ruby weddings.
Excellent speech.
I thought
that you were in America.
Well, yes, I was,
but, um...
I realized I'd forgotten
something back home.
Which was?
Well, I realized
I'd forgotten to, um...
kiss you good-bye.
Do you mind?
Um...
not really, no.
So...
you're not going
to America, then?
- No.
- No.
- Not.
- Oh, oh.
You're staying here?
So it would seem.
Aah!
Go, Bridget!
Friends of yours?
No. I've never seen them
before in my life.
Look, are you coming
to fucking Paris or not?
Not.
- No fucking room anyway.
- No.
Maybe we should just go upstairs
for a minute.
Yes. Very good idea.
No.
Come on, let's go. No.
Of course she's not coming.
Close it down.
Uh...
give me just a minute.
Um... keep yourself busy.
Read something.
Lots of very
high-quality magazines...
with helpful fashion
and romance tips.
I'll be right with you.
Definitely an occasion
for genuinely tiny knickers.
Right.
Right.
Mark?
Mark?
Mark!
Mark!
Oh.
Oh, shit.
Double shit.
Bollocks!
Oh, God.
Ooh! Wish me luck!
Good luck, crazy girl!
Ain't no mountain high enough
- Oh, ho
- Ain't no valley low enough
- Ooh
- Ain't no river wide enough
- Oh
- To keep me from you
Ain't no mountain high enough
Ow, ain't no valley low enough
Say it again,
ain't no river wide enough
Hey, to keep me from you
Ain't no mountain high enough
Nothing can keep me
Mark?
Keep me from you
Mark!
Oh, damn.
Ain't no mountain high enough
No, ain't no valley low enough
I am so sorry.
I'm so sorry.
I didn't mean it.
I mean, I meant it...
but I was so stupid
that I didn't mean what I meant.
Oh, for Christ's sakes.
It's only a diary.
Everyone knows diaries
are just full of crap.
I know that.
I was just buying you a new one.
Time to make a new start,
perhaps.
Wait a minute.
Nice boys don't kiss like that.
Oh, yes, they fucking do.
It all began
on New Year's Day...
in my thirty-second year
of being single.
Once again,
I found myself on my own...
and going to my mother's
annual turkey curry buffet.
Every year,
she tries to fix me up...
with some bushy-haired,
middle-aged bore...
and I feared this year
would be no exception.
There you are, dumpling.
My mum...
a strange creature
from the time...
when a gherkin...
was still the height
of sophistication.
Doilies, Pam?
Hello, Bridget.
Third drawer from the top, Una.
Under the mini gherkins.
By the way, the Darcys are here.
They brought Mark with them.
Ah, here we go.
You remember Mark.
You used to play
in his paddling pool.
He's a barrister.
Very well off.
No, I don't remember.
He's divorced, apparently.
His wife was Japanese.
Very cruel race.
Now, what are you
going to put on?
This.
Oh, dont be silly,
Bridget.
You'll never get a boyfriend...
if you look like you've
wandered out of Auschwitz.
Now, run upstairs.
I've laid out something
lovely on your bed.
Tsk.
Great.
I was wearing a carpet.
There she is.
My little Bridget
Hi, Uncle Geoffrey. Ha ha.
- Hmm. Had a drink?
- No.
No? Come on, then.
Actually, not my uncle.
Someone who insists
I call him uncle...
while he gropes my ass...
and asks me the question
dreaded by all Singletons.
So... how's your love life?
Super. Thanks, Uncle G.
Still no fellow, then, eh?
I don't know.
You career girls.
Can't put it off forever.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
- Hello, Dad.
- Hello, darling.
How's it going?
Torture.
Your mothers trying to
fix you up with some divorcee.
Uhh.
Human-rights barrister.
Pretty nasty beast, apparently.
Hoo. Ding-dong.
Maybe this time
Mum had got it right.
Come on. Why dont we see
if Mark fancies a gherkin?
Good luck.
Mark?
Maybe this was
the mysterious Mr. Right...
Id been waiting
my whole life to meet.
You remember Bridget.
Maybe not.
She's used to
run around your lawn...
with no clothes on, remember?
Uh, no, not as such.
Come and look
at your gravy, Pam.
I think it's going
to need sieving.
Of course it doesn't
need sieving.
Just stir it, Una.
Yes, of course.
I'll be right there.
Sorry. Lumpy gravy calls.
- So... ha.
- So.
You staying at your parents'
for New Year?
- Yes.
- Mmm.
- You?
- Oh, no, no, no.
I was in London
at a party last night...
so I'm afraid
I'm a bit hung over.
Wish I could be lying
with my head in the toilet...
Like all normal people.
New Year's resolution...
drink less.
Oh, and quit smoking.
Mmm. Ha.
- Oh.
- Oh. Ha.
And keep New Year's resolutions.
Oh. And, uh...
stop talking total nonsense
to strangers.
In fact, stop talking,
full stop.
Yes, well,
perhaps it's time to eat.
Mmm.
Apparently...
she lives just 'round
the corner from you.
Mother, I do not need
a blind date.
Particularly not with some
verbally incontinent spinster...
who smokes like a chimney,
drinks like a fish...
and dresses like her mother.
Yummy.
Turkey curry.
My favourite.
And that was it.
Right there.
Right there.
That was the moment.
I suddenly realized that unless
some thing changed soon...
I was going to live a life
where my major relationship...
was with a bottle of wine...
and I'd finally die
fat and alone...
and be found three weeks later,
half-eaten by Alsatians.
Or I was about to
turn into Glenn Close...
in "Fatal Attraction."
You have no messages.
And so I made
a major decision.
I had to make sure
that next year...
I wouldn't end up shit-faced
and listening to sad FM...
easy-listening
for the over-thirties.
I decided to take
control of my life...
and start a diary...
to tell the truth
about Bridget Jones...
the whole truth.
Resolution number one...
ohh...
obviously will lose
twenty pounds.
Number two...
always put last nights panties
in the laundry basket.
Equally important...
will find nice sensible
boyfriend to go out with...
and not continue to form
romantic attachments...
to any of the following...
alcoholics, workaholics,
commitment-phobics...
peeping toms, megalomaniacs...
emotional fuckwits,
or perverts.
And especially
will not fantasize...
about a particular person
who embodies all these things.
Unfortunately, he
just happens to be my boss...
Editor-in-Chief,
Daniel Cleaver.
And for various
slightly unfair reasons...
relating to this year's
Christmas party...
I suspect he does not
fantasize about me.
BRIDGET, DRUNK, SINGING:
Ohhh
Cant live
If living is without you
I cant live
Can't give anymore
Or maybe I'm wrong.
Huh?
Ah.
Happy New Year, Mr. Fitzherbert.
Happy New Year, Brenda.
Mr. Fitzherbert...
Tits Pervert, more like.
Daniel's boss who stares
freely at my breasts...
with no idea who I am
or what I do.
Morning. I need that
"Kafka's Motorbike" release...
by 11:00.
Perpetua...
slightly senior...
and therefore thinks
she's in charge of me.
Most of the time...
I just want to staple things
to her head.
Publicity.
All I asked...
I only asked...
if he wanted to come on
a mini-break to Paris...
Daily call from Jude.
Best friend.
Head of investment
at Brightlings Bank...
who spends most of her time...
trapped in the lady's toilet,
crying over fuck wit boyfriend.
I'm too needy.
Am I co-dependent?
No, youre not.
It's not you.
You're lovely.
It's Vile Richard.
Ugh. He's just a big knobhead
with no knob.
Is some people's
opinion of Kafka...
but they couldn't
be more wrong.
This book is
a searing vision...
of the wounds our century
has inflicted on...
on traditional masculinity.
It's positively Vonnegut-esque.
Thank you for calling,
Professor Leavis.
Guest list for launch party.
Ah.
Was that... F.R. Leavis?
Mm-hmm.
Wow.
Huh.
The F.R. Leavis...
who wrote "Mass Civilization
and Minority Culture"?
Mm-hmm.
The F.R. Leavis
who died in 1978?
Amazing.
Emergency summit
with urban family...
for coherent discussion
of career crisis.
Fuck 'em.
Fuck the lot of them.
Tell them they can stick
fucking Leavis...
up their fucking asses.
Good, good.
That's very useful, very useful.
Shazzer... journalist...
Likes to say "fuck" a lot.
And, Jude, what would you do
if one of your assistants...
made a harmless
little mistake like that?
I'd fire you, Bridge.
Excellent.
Is that Cleaver chap
still as cute as ever?
Oh, God, yes.
Then I think
a well-timed blow job's...
probably the best answer.
- Ohh.
- Oh, you love it.
Are you that chap
that sang that song?
Yes. Yes, I am.
Tom...
Eighties pop icon
who only wrote
one hit record...
then retired because
he found that one record...
was quite enough
to get him laid...
for the whole of the Nineties.
- Great song.
- Thank you so much.
Total poof, of course.
- More vodka?
- No.
Yes.
Fill her up, God damn it.
At least
now I'm in my thirties...
I can hold my drink.
Ohh! Whoops.
- Mind the step.
- She's fine. Drive on.
Apparently
F.R. Leavis is coming.
Afternoon, Bridget.
What do you mean
you're going on holiday?
Well, what about Julia?
Does she have to go
to the funeral?
Listen, we got
a little problem...
The only problem
is the kitchen.
Quite frankly,
there isnt room...
Message Mr. Cleaver.
Am appalled by message.
Skirt is demonstrably
neither sick nor absent.
Appalled by management's
blatantly size-is attitude...
to skirt.
Suggest management sick,
not skirt!
That's quite ridiculous.
Ooh. Oh, I see.
Hang on. Hang on.
Right. Yeah.
No, I understand that.
I understand that perfectly.
Very bad start to the year.
Have been seduced
by informality...
of messaging medium into
flirting with office scoundrel.
Will persevere with resolution
to find a nice sensible man.
Will put a stop to flirting...
first thing tomorrow.
Good plan.
If walking past office...
was attempt to demonstrate
presence of skirt...
can only say that it
has failed parlously.
Cleave.
Shut up, please.
I'm very busy and important.
P.S. How dare you
sexually harass me...
in this impertinent manner.
Message Jones.
Mortified to have
caused offence.
Will avoid all
non-P.C. overtones in future.
Deeply apologetic.
P.S. Like your tits
in that top.
Mustnt read
too much into it, no.
Dum dum dee dum
Dum dum dee dum,
dum dum dee dum dum
And it all began, of course...
with some very
irresponsible e-mailing...
over Bridget's
non-existent skirt.
Daniel.
The New York office for you.
Yeah, tell them
I'll get back to them.
Daniel.
Jones...
- Evening, Kenneth.
- Good evening, Daniel.
If you've got a moment...
I'd like a word
before you leave tonight.
Yes, certainly.
- I'll see you in a sec.
- Excellent.
- And, Brenda...
- Yes?
At the "Kafka's Motorbike"
thing...
I thought it might be fun
if you introduce me...
before I introduce him.
Add a lovely sense of occasion.
Certainly, sir.
Hmm.
Tch. Brenda, listen.
What are you doing tonight?
Actually, I'm busy.
All right. Well, thats a shame.
I just, uh...
well, I thought it might
be a charitable thing...
to take your skirt out
for dinner...
and try and fatten it up a bit.
- Hmm.
- Maybe you can come, too.
What about tomorrow?
No. Tomorrow's the launch.
Ah, yes, of course.
Possibly the worst book
ever published.
Well, in the end, thats not
the ad line we've gone for.
Next night?
Let's see, shall we?
Good night, Daniel.
Right. No pressure, Bridge...
but your whole future happiness
now depends on how you behave...
on this one social occasion.
Right. What should I do?
First, look gorgeous.
Ohh!
Ow! Gooh!
Two... then totally ignore Daniel
and suck up to famous authors.
Salman.
Salman. Salman.
Circulate.
Oozing intelligence.
Isn't it terrible
about Chechnya?
Isn't it terrible
about Chechnya?
Chech-nya!
Introduce people
with thoughtful details...
such as, "Sheila...
"This is Daniel.
Daniel, this is Sheila.
"Sheila enjoys horse-riding
and comes from New Zealand.
"Daniel enjoys publishing
and comes..."
All over your face?
Exactly.
Excuse me.
I'm terribly sorry
to interrupt you...
when you're having dinner.
It's just that...
Yes. Yes, it was me.
Yes. Nine years ago.
No current plans
to record anything else.
Thank you so much.
Oh, it's just that, ahem...
your... your chair
is on my wife's coat.
Your... your chair on the...
Of course it is.
Of course it is.
Thank you so much.
Thank you.
Hmm. Major dilemma.
If actually do,
by some terrible chance...
end up in flagrante...
surely these would be most
attractive at crucial moment.
However, chances of
reaching crucial moment...
greatly increase
by wearing these.
Scary stomach-holding-in
panties.
Very popular with grannies
the world over.
Ha. Tricky. Very tricky.
Ladies and gentlemen...
welcome to the launch
of "Kafka's Motorbike"...
"The Greatest Book
of Our Time"...
and here to introduce it
is Mr. Tits Pervert.
Ooh, Fitzherbert,
Fitzherbert, Fitzherbert.
OK, circulate,
oozing intelligence.
Ignore Daniel, and be fabulous
with everyone else.
I am the intellectual equal
of everyone else here.
Ooh.
It's like a whole theory
of short fiction...
and of the novella, you know?
And, of course, the problem...
with Martin's definition
of the novella...
is that it really
only applies to him.
That doesn't
sound like Martin.
Not.
I could be wrong.
What do you think?
Uh... do you know...
where the toilets are, huh?
Stay calm.
Can't get any worse.
What are you doing here?
I've been asking myself
the same question.
I came with a colleague.
So how are you?
Well, apart from being
very disappointed...
not to see my favourite
reindeer jumper again...
I'm well.
Anyone going to introduce me?
Ah, introduce people
with thoughtful details.
Perpetua. Ha.
This is Mark Darcy.
Mark's a prematurely
middle-aged prick...
with a cruel-racedex-wife.
Perpetua's a fat-ass old bag...
who spends her time
bossing me around.
Maybe not.
Anyone going to introduce me?
Ah, Perpetua.
Uh, this is Mark Darcy.
Mark's a top barrister.
Oh, he comes from
Garth and Underwood.
Perpetua is one
of my work colleagues.
Why, Mark, I know you
by reputation, of course.
Ah, Natasha.
This is Bridget Jones.
Bridget, this is Natasha.
Natasha is a top attorney
and specializes in family law.
Bridget works in publishing...
and used to play naked
in my paddling pool.
- How odd.
- Ha ha.
Perpetua,
how's the house hunt going?
Disaster.
I oughtn't go into it with you.
By the by, that man is gorgeous.
Ah, yes, Mark.
Just give me time.
Give me time.
You've written
"a searing vision..."
Can you remember
the rest of this?
"Of the wounds
our century..."
"has inflicted on
traditional masculinity.
"Positively Vonnegut-esgue."
Obviously.
Listen, you don't know where
the loos are here, do you?
Uh, yes. In the hallway.
Thanks.
One, two.
Ladies and gentlemen.
I...
L-ladies and...
I...
Oi!
Oi!
Sorry. The, uh...
mike's not...
work... working. Ahem.
Ladies and gentlemen...
welcome to the launch
of "Kafka's Motorbike"...
"The Greatest Book of Our Time."
Obviously except for
your books, Mr. Rushdie...
which are also very good.
And Lord Archer...
yours arent bad, either.
Anyway...
uh, what I mean is, uh...
welcome,
ladies and gentlemen.
Thank you for coming
to the launch of...
one of the top thirty
books of our time.
Anyway, at least.
And here
to introduce it, ha...
properly, ha ha...
is, uh, the man
we all call, uh...
Tits Pervert.
Mr...
Tits Pervert!
Mr...
Tits Pervert.
Fitzherbert, uh...
because...
that is his name.
Mr. Fitzherbert.
Thank you.
Thank you, Brenda.
Just switch this on.
So how
autobiographical...
is your work, Salman?
You know,
it's an amazing thing...
nobody's ever asked me
that question.
Excuse me.
Jones. Sod 'em all.
It was a brilliant...
post-modernist masterpiece of
oratorical fireworks, really.
Uhh.
You're looking very sexy, Jones.
I think I'm gonna have to
take you out to dinner now...
whether you like it or not, OK?
Come on, get your stuff.
So how do you feel about
this whole situation...
in Chechnya?
isnt it a nightmare?
I couldn't give a fuck, Jones.
Now, look, how do you
know Arsey Darcy?
Apparently, I used
to run 'round naked...
in his paddling pool.
I bet you did, you dirty bitch.
What about you?
Same. Yeah.
No, no, I was best man
at his wedding.
Um, knew him from Cambridge.
He was a mate.
And then what?
And then, uh... nothing.
You don't need to protect him.
He's no friend of mine.
Well, um, then...
many years later...
I made the somewhat
catastrophic mistake...
of introducing him
to my fiance.
And, um...
I couldn't say, in all honesty,
I've ever quite forgiven him.
God, so...
he's a nasty bastard.
And a dull bastard.
Yes. Yes,
I think that's fair.
Anyway, fuck him. Listen,
don't let him ruin our evening.
Why don't you have
some more wine...
and tell me more about
practicing French-kissing...
with the other girls
at school...
because that's
a very good story.
- It wasnt French-kissing.
- Don't care. Make it up.
That's an order, Jones.
So, um, how about
a drink at my place?
Totally innocent,
no funny business...
just full sex.
No, no, no.
I should get a taxi.
But thank you
for the lovely dinner.
It's a pleasure, Jones.
Now these are very
silly little boots, Jones.
And this is a very
silly little dress.
And, um...
these are, uh...
fuck me,
absolutely enormous panties.
Jesus. Fuck.
No, no, don't apologize.
I like them.
Hello, Mummy.
I'm sorry, I have to have
another look.
- They're too good to be true.
- No.
There's nothing to be
embarrassed about.
I'm wearing something
quite similar myself.
- Here, I'll show you.
- No. No.
Ha. Huh.
That was fantastic.
Ohh. Mmm.
Ay, ay.
Ohh. Daniel.
Yeah?
What happens at the office?
Oh. Well,
I'm glad you asked that.
You see,
it's a publishing house.
So that means that people
write things for us...
and then we print out
all the pages...
and fasten them together...
and make them into what
we call a book, Jones.
No, do you think
people will notice?
Notice what?
Us. Working together,
sleeping together.
Hang on a minute, Jones.
Just slow down.
It started on Tuesday...
and now it's Thursday.
It's not exactly...
um, a long-term relationship,
is it?
You're very bad.
Ohh.
Mmm.
Bridget Jones,
wanton sex goddess...
with a very bad man
between her thighs.
Mum. Hi.
It's the truth
universally acknowledged...
that the moment one area
of your life starts going OK...
another part of it falls
spectacularly to pieces.
Ah, anyone else want
to have it off?
Haha. Don't be shy, madame.
French. Have it oeuf. Ha ha!
With the wisecrack egg peeler.
Now, nice firm grip.
Put it in the hole. And...
up, down, up, down.
And off it comes in your hand.
Oh! Mind the over-spray.
Sorry.
Darling, if I came in
with my knickers on my head...
he wouldn't notice.
I spent thirty-five years
cleaning his house...
washing his clothes,
bringing up his children.
I'm your child, too.
To be honest, darling,
having children...
isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Given my chance again,
I'm not sure I'd have any.
And now it's
the winter of my life...
and I haven't actually
got anything of my own.
I've got no power,
no real career...
no... no sex life.
I've got no life at all.
I'm like the grasshopper
who sang all summer.
I'm like Germaine sodding Geer.
Greer.
Well, anyway, I'm not having it.
And I've been talent spotted.
Julian thinks
I've got great potential.
Who's Julian?
From the Home Shopping Channel.
Comes into the store
to have his colours done.
Potential for what?
As a demonstrator
on his cable show.
You know, his assistant.
Apparently, it's the highest-
rated show on the channel.
Well, apart from the one...
where the fat people
beat up their relatives.
Ooh! I must wiz.
- Have you heard from Mark Darcy?
- Good-bye, Mum.
Julian.
Sorry to keep you waiting.
And a few weeks later,
it got lots worse.
Hello!
Look at this.
Paying off
this heart-shaped pendant.
One of my own personal
recommendations...
is this absolutely stunning...
matching necklace
and earring set.
The earrings measuring
just over a centimetre...
in genuine diamante with
two pairs in lapis lazuli...
in a lovely mock-gold finish.
The exact replica
of those worn at Wimbledon...
in 1993 by Her Royal Highness
the Duchess of Kent.
Well.
Has she actually moved out then?
Apparently, she and this
tangerine-tinted buffoon...
are suddenly an item.
Half our friends have had them
around to bloody dinner.
She's even
taking Jaundice Julian...
to Una Alconbury's
Tarts and Vicars party.
That's not the Pamela I knew.
That's cruel.
Well, still,
could be a golden opportunity.
If you spent the entire party
flirting with other women...
it would drive Mum
wild with jealousy.
What?
That's how I got my man.
Have you got a boyfriend?
A real one?
I have, Father. I have.
And he's perfect.
Hurrah.
Am no longer tragic spinster...
but proper girlfriend
of bona fide sex god...
so committed
that he's taking me...
on a full-blown mini-break
holiday weekend.
Just promise me
we don't have to sit...
in any little boats and read
poncey poetry to each other.
Hes also protecting
me at Uncle Geoffrey's...
hideous Tarts and Vicars
fancy dress party.
This can't be just shagging.
A mini-break means true love.
Suddenly feel like
screen goddess...
in manner of Grace Kelly.
Though perhaps ever so slightly
less elegant under pressure.
It's very quiet here, isn't it?
Are we the only guests, or...
We have a wedding this weekend.
I believe there are just
four of you not involved.
Oh. Hmm.
You do the boats,
I'll do the tea.
Oh, Jesus.
- Hello there.
- Hi.
Well, well.
I take it you're also heading
for the Alconbury's rockery.
Yes, thats right.
I brought Natasha.
Get a bit of work done.
Thought I might make it
a not entirely wasted weekend.
How interesting.
What a gripping life
you do lead.
I'll see you
upstairs in a second.
Hmm. Well, the weakness
of their case...
Lies in the deposition
they made on August30.
Season of mist...
and...
mellow fruitlessness.
Oh, fuck me, I love Keats.
Have you heard this one?
"There was a young woman
from Ealing...
"who had a peculiar feeling.
"She lay on her back
and opened her crack...
"and pissed
all over the ceiling."
Oh, bollocks.
What've you done?
- I'm boarding you, Bridge.
- Don't you dare!
- I'm king of the world!
- No!
Fuck me. Uhh!
Aah!
Oh, piss and bollocks.
You stupid ass.
Bollocks.
All right.
Aah! No!
So childish.
Aah! No!
Yes.
Hey, Darce, come on in!
The water's lovely!
Come on, you're working
too hard, mate.
Ha ha!
- Daniel.
- Yes, Bridget?
That thing you just did
is actually illegal...
in several countries.
Well, that is, of course,
the major reason...
I'm so thrilled to be
living in Britain today.
Yes. I can't understand...
why the Prime Minister
doesn't mention it more...
in his speeches.
You should write
to him about it.
I intend to.
Daniel.
Bridget.
- Do you love me?
- Shut up, or I'll do it again.
Do you love me?
Right. You asked for it.
And over we go.
I'm going to give you
something to bite on.
Here.
OK? Pop this in your mouth,
darling.
You're begging for it.
Stop it.
No, no.
Hmm.
I got to go back to town.
A meeting's come up.
On a Sunday?
No. The meeting's
first thing tomorrow.
I've got to work
on some figures.
We could just pop
into the party for a minute.
Bridget,
I'm really sorry.
I just cant do it.
I've got to head back.
Listen, Daniel...
if you've changed your mind,
you could just say so...
because, honestly, I don't see
what could be so important.
No, well, you wouldn't,
would you?
Because you don't have
the faintest bloody idea...
of just how much trouble
the company's in.
You swan in
in your short skirt...
and your sexy
see-through blouse...
and fanny around
with press releases.
You know, this is
the Americans flying in...
because they're thinking
of shutting us down...
for fuck's sake.
Sorry.
I'm sorry, Bridge.
I know I'm being a prat.
Look, I'm going
to arrange a lovely car...
to come and pick you up
and take you back...
to London after the party, OK?
If you have to travel alone,
travel in style.
Hmm.
And, um...
I also think
it's very important...
that you win
this costume competition.
Good.
Good start.
Now, then, Miss Jones,
where does this go?
Oh, well, here we go.
Trying hard
to fight off a vision...
of Mum and Auntie Una
in fishnet tights.
Seems unnatural, wrong even,
for60-year-olds to dress up...
as prostitutes and priests
on a Sunday afternoon.
Oh, holy Jesus.
Bridget.
Where are all the other
tarts and vicars?
Oh, dear.
Didn't Geoffrey call you?
Didn't you telephone
Colin and Bridget?
How's my little Bridget?
Bop, bop.
Oh.
Geoffrey.
So, wheres this chap
of yours, then, eh?
Ah, yes, well,
he had to work, so...
Ha! A likely tale.
Off they run. Whee!
Bizarre what some men
find attractive.
Oh, God.
Darling!
Geoffrey!
What on earth are you wearing?
You look like
a common prostitute.
Yes, well, that was,
actually, the point.
Say hi to Julian.
Hello, Julian.
My dear...
you and your mother
could be sisters.
And what a lovely bracelet.
It's what I call
an all-arounder...
the sort of thing one can wear
with anything to any occasion.
Oh.
Have you spoken to my dad?
Yes. He's behaving
most bizarrely.
I think he was actually
trying to flirt...
with Penny Husbands-Bosworth,
poor thing.
She was very frightened.
She's only just had
her ovaries done.
I don't know what
you ever saw in him.
Shh. Bad man.
Heh heh.
Didnt tell you, either.
No. I didn't spend as much
as Bernard, thank God.
Oh.
I'm sorry, Dad.
The way she looked at me.
Well, she loves you, really.
You love each other.
This is only a temporary glitch.
Is it?
I don't know.
I don't know.
Ah, Bridget, there you are.
Dont worry.
You're not the only one.
This is Penny. Geoffrey didn't
get in touch with her, either.
I'm sorry?
I was just saying Geoffrey
didn't contact you, either...
to tell you that
the Tarts and Vicars concept...
had gone out of the window.
Oh, yes, he did.
Oh, right.
Lovely dress.
Very exotic.
What a shame you couldn't
bring your boyfriend, Bridget.
What's his name?
David? Darren?
Daniel Cleaver.
Oh. Is he a friend
of yours, Mark?
Absolutely not.
I hope he's good enough
for our little Bridget.
I think I can say with
total confidence absolutely not.
Well, I'm sure he'd say
the same about you...
given your past behaviour.
Sorry?
I think you know what I mean.
Mark.
Hmm.
Looks like Auntie Shirley...
didn't get the message, either.
Hi.
I really, really wanted
to see a friendly face.
Oh, now, listen,
I'll tell you what.
I have an idea.
Let me finish this...
while you go home,
have a long hot bath...
and I'll call round,
and we'll have dinner later, OK?
Is there someone here?
Not that I'm aware of.
Unless that Bosnian family
has moved in again.
Bastards.
Oh.
I'm sorry.
Sorry.
I'm going mad.
Listen, I am feeling
really bad, actually.
- I should've been there today.
- No, I'm sorry.
No, no, I'm sorry...
but at least I got
a hell of a lot of work done.
Just give me one more hour, OK?
Fine. Thats fine.
I will go home and de-bunny.
Oh...
and you know last night
when I said that I loved you?
Mm-hmm.
I didn't mean it.
I was being ironic.
Oh, God, yeah,
I know, I know.
All right.
- Thank you, madam.
- Mmm.
Bridge.
Bridget.
This is Lara from
the New York office.
Lara, this is Bridget.
Hey, there.
I thought you said she was thin.
I was hoping that you
would want to be a part of it.
This is totally insane.
I'm 36years old. It may be
my last chance to have a child.
Alex.
Aah!
The male penetrates
the female and leaves.
Coitus is brief
and perfunctory...
and the female...
That's wonderful.
Well, I don't think it's bad.
Right.
We've had
very good response...
to the Teddy Knows Best
teaser campaign
and had various
local radio bits for...
Look, Bridge, stop that.
I feel... terrible.
The thing is...
with Lara and me...
well, you know...
No. You'll have to fill me in.
Well, the truth is...
the truth is, were the same,
Bridge, you and me.
You know? We're two people
of a certain age...
looking for the moment to commit
and finding it really hard.
And I just think
that in the end...
it's got to be
something extraordinary...
something which makes us
go that extra mile.
And I think...
Lara and...
I dont know,
being American and all...
it has something to do
with confidence and being so...
well, young, you know?
Well, weve... become very close.
Well, youve only just met her.
She flew in yesterday.
Uh...
Oh.
Silly Bridget.
You haven't only just met her.
No.
No. I got to know her
pretty well...
when we were
in the New York office together.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
There's no easy way
to say this, but, um...
I wanted you to be the first
to know that...
we're engaged.
At times like this...
continuing with one's life
seems impossible...
and eating the entire
contents of one's fridge...
seems inevitable.
I have two choices...
to give up and accept permanent
state of spinster hood...
and eventual eating by dogs...
or not.
And this time, I choose not.
I will not be defeated...
by a bad man
and an American stick insect.
Instead, I choose vodka...
and Chaka Khan.
Ahh.
Ohh!
Fuck.
Why do you want
to be in television?
Well, I've realized that
I've become deeply committed...
to communicating
to the public...
the up-to-the-moment
and in-depth news...
both political and ecological.
What do you think of
the El Nino phenomenon?
Um... it's a blip.
I think, basically,
Latin music is on its way out.
So, why do you want
to work in television?
Because I'm
passionately committed...
to communicating with children.
They are the future.
Do you have any children
of your own?
Oh, Christ, no. Yuck!
Ah.
Sorry.
So, why do you want
to work in television?
I've got to leave my current job
because I've shagged my boss.
Fair enough.
Start on Monday.
We'll see how we go.
Oh, and...
incidentally...
at "Sit Up, Britain"...
no one ever gets sacked
for shagging the boss.
That's a matter of principle.
Oh, Bridget.
Come on, it's...
I mean, I know it's been
awkward as ass...
but there's no need to leave.
No, actually, there is.
I've been offered
a job in television.
Television?
Mmm. And they want me
to start straightaway.
So I've got to leave
in about, ooh, three minutes...
so, um...
Whoa. Just hold it
right there, Miss Jones.
I'm sorry to inform you...
but I think you'll find
that by contract...
you're expected to give
at least six weeks notice.
Ah, yes, well...
I thought with the company being
in so much trouble and all...
you wouldn't really miss...
the person who waltzes in
in a see-through top...
and fannies about
with the press releases.
Bridget.
I want to hear this,
because if she gives one inch...
I'm going to fire
her bony little bottom anyway...
for being totally spineless.
What?
Well, I just think
you should know that, um...
there are lots of prospects
here for a talented person.
Just give me a minute,
will you, Simon? Thanks.
Right-o, boss man.
Lots of prospects
for a person who...
you know, perhaps
for personal reasons...
has been slightly
overlooked professionally.
Thank you, Daniel.
That is very good to know...
but if staying here...
means working
within 10 yards of you...
frankly, I'd rather have a job
wiping Saddam Hussein's ass.
Well, bye, everyone.
Oh, just sod off.
Hello and welcome
to "Sit Up, Britain."
OK, everybody,
it is bonfire night...
and we are on fire.
We have live
fire station feeds...
from Newcastle, Swansea,
Sheffield, and Lewisham...
just poised for tragedy.
Bridget Jones, where are you?
I'm here, Richard.
Put on some more makeup.
I want you on-camera.
But...
I'm thinking... miniskirt.
I'm thinking fireman's helmet.
I want you pointing a hose.
I want you
sliding down the pole...
and then go straight
into the interview.
Great.
I'll do it.
No problem. Fine. Right.
So, you drop into shot...
and then interview
Chief Fireman Bevan.
Yep, yep, yep.
Go, go. Go, go. Go!
Go?
Oh, no.
We're going to Newcastle first.
Stop!
Climb back up.
On you in thirty seconds.
OK.
Neville, what
the fuck is going on?
She's supposed to be
sliding down the pole...
- not climbing up it.
- Go, go, go, go, go!
Oh, OK.
- Oh!
- Oh, Jesus Christ.
Uhh! Uhh!
OK, we're out of time.
We're out of time.
Just wind 'er up.
Well, that seems to be
about all we've got time for...
down here in Lewisham.
Uh, Chief Officer Bevan,
thank you very much.
Excellent fire station.
Uh, and now...
back to the studio.
Whoo!
Whoo!
Whoo!
Whoo!
Excellent.
I'm a national laughing stock.
Have bottom the size of Brazil.
Am daughter of broken home...
and rubbish
at every thing and...
oh, God.
I'm having dinner
with Magda and Jeremy.
The only thing worse
than a smug married couple...
Lots of smug married couples.
Right, everyone.
This is Bridget.
Bridge, this is Hugo and Jane.
And, obviously,
you know, of course...
Cosmo and Woney.
- Hi, Bridge.
- Hi, Bridge.
This is
Alistair and Henrietta...
Julia and Michael...
Joanne and Paul...
and Jeremy's partners
from chambers.
This is Natasha Glenville
and Mark Darcy.
Hi, there.
Hello.
Not in your bunny girl
outfit to day?
No.
We bunnies only wear our tails
on very special occasions.
- Sit yourself down.
- Right.
Hey, Bridge,
how's your love life?
Oh...
Still going out
with that publishing chappie?
Uh, no, no.
Terribly brill.
Never dip your nib
in the office ink.
Right.
You really
ought to hurry up...
and get sprugged up,
you know, old girl?
Time's a-running out.
Tick-tock.
Yes, yes.
Uh, tell me, is it
one in four marriages...
that ends in divorce now
or one in three?
One in three.
Seriously, though.
Offices full of single girls
in their thirties...
fine physical specimens...
but they just can't seem
to hold down a chap.
Yes. Why is it...
there are so many unmarried
women in their thirties...
these days, Bridget?
Oh, I don't know.
Suppose it doesn't help
that underneath our clothes...
our entire bodies
are covered in scales.
I very much enjoyed...
your Lewisham fire report,
by the way.
Thank you.
I just...
yeah, well.
So.
It didnt work out
with Daniel Cleaver?
No, it didn't.
I'm delighted to hear it.
Look, are you and Cosmo
in this together?
I mean, you seem
to go out of your way...
to try to make me feel
like a complete idiot...
every time I see you,
and you really needn't bother.
I already feel like an idiot
most of the time anyway...
with or without
a fireman's pole.
That'll be my taxi.
Good night.
Look, um...
I'm sorry if I've been...
What?
I don't think
you're an idiot at all.
I mean, there are elements
of the ridiculous about you.
Your mother's
pretty interesting.
And you really are...
an appallingly bad
public speaker.
And you tend to let
whatever's in your head...
come out of your mouth...
without much consideration
of the consequences.
I realize that when I met you
at the turkey curry buffet...
that I was unforgivably rude
and wearing a reindeer jumper...
that my mother had
given me the day before.
But the thing is, um...
what I'm trying to say
very inarticulately is...
that, um...
in fact...
perhaps, despite appearances...
I like you very much.
Ah. A part from the smoking
and the drinking...
and the vulgar mother
and the verbal diarrhea.
No. I like you very much...
just as you are.
Mark, we really are making
progress on the case in here.
Jeremys had
the most brilliant idea.
Right.
Right.
I must go, because...
well...
bye.
Just as you are?
Not thinner? Not cleverer?
Not with slightly bigger breasts
and a slightly smaller nose?
Mm-mmm.
Well...
fuck me.
But this is someone you hate,
right?
Mmm. Mmm.
Yes, yes. I hate him.
November9.
Weight... 138pounds.
Cigarettes... three.
Birthday... thirty-three.
OK, Bridget, see if you can
get it right this time.
The verdict in the Aghani-Heaney
case is expected today.
Get yourself down
to the high court.
I want a hard-headed interview.
You do know
the Aghani-Heaney case?
Yes, of course.
Big case...
featuring someone
called Aghanihini.
Or two people called
Kafir Aghani and Eleanor Heaney.
That's the one.
She's a British aid worker.
He's a Kurdish freedom fighter.
The government
want to extradite him home...
where he'll certainly
be executed.
She's married to him...
and they fought for five years
to keep him here.
Today is the decision.
Oh, that's exciting.
Yes, it is...
so what are you waiting for?
Am suddenly
hard-headed journalist...
ruthlessly committed to
promoting justice and liberty.
Nothing can distract me
from my dedication...
to the pursuit of truth.
Well, almost nothing.
Right. I'll just pop
to the shop for some ciggies.
14p for the Polos
and packet of Wheat Crunchies.
Packet of Embassy, please.
I'm sorry.
I'm not quite fine...
Good afternoon.
Hi.
You like me just the way I am.
Sorry?
Nothing.
Bridget,
we've fucked up utterly.
Eleanor Heaney and Kafir Aghani
have come and gone.
Oh, God. I'll be sacked.
Did the others get interviews?
I don't know.
I was having a slash.
Actually, nobody got interviews.
How do you know?
Because I was defending him...
and I told him
not to give any interviews.
Look...
I have a plan.
And action.
Mr. Darcy,
you were defending Mr. Aghani.
You must be delighted.
Yes, well, Kafir Aghani
has spent his entire life...
defending
the basic human rights...
of his own people,
and today's verdict...
has been the result
of five years of struggle...
by this woman, Eleanor Heaney...
to save the man she loves
from an extradition order...
that would've been tantamount
to a death sentence.
Right.
And, Eleanor, over to you.
Did you fancy Kafir
the first time that you saw him?
This has been Bridget Jones
for "Sit Up, Britain"...
with, lets face it,
a bit of a crush now, actually.
Good afternoon.
Bridget Jones...
already a legend.
Oh, joy.
I am broadcasting genius.
Celebrating by cooking birthday
feast for close friends.
Have sneaking suspicion...
am also something of a genius
in the kitchen as well.
Tie flavour-enhancing leek
and celery together with string.
Right.
String.
String, string, string.
Perfect.
Finely slice oranges
and grate zest.
Aah! Oh, bugger!
Oh, bugger, bugger!
Where the fuck
is the fucking tuna?
Oh, this is Bridget Jones
for "Sit Up, Britain"...
searching for tuna.
Bridget Jones.
Hello, darling.
Hi, Mum.
I just wanted a bit of a chat.
Ouch!
Careful, you ham-fisted cunt!
The thing is, darling, I'm...
Between you and me,
I'm not entirely sure...
that Julian
isn't a bit of a shit.
Yes, well,
you know, Mum...
I haven't really
got time right now.
Oh, I...
I can't deny the sex
is still very surprising.
You know, the other night,
quite unexpectedly...
I was just dozing off,
and I felt this huge...
Bye, Mum.
Ecch.
Oh.
Who can be calling now?
Oh.
The door was open.
I came to congratulate...
the new face
of British current affairs.
Huh.
But I see I may have come
at a bad time.
How's it look?
Great. It's, um... blue.
Blue?
No, but blue is good.
If you ask me,
there isn't enough blue food.
Oh, shit.
It must've been the string.
Oh, it's string soup?
Oh, God. They're going
to be here any minute.
Well, don't worry. I'm sure
they've come to see you...
and not orange parfait
in sugar cages.
Have a drink.
Yes.
Happy birthday.
Thank you.
Did I really run round
your lawn naked?
Oh, yes.
You were four, and I was eight.
Well, thats a pretty
big age difference.
It's quite pervy, really.
Yes, I like to think so.
What are we going
to do about this dinner, then?
We can have blue soup to start,
orange pudding to end, and...
well, for main course,
we have...
uh, congealed green gunge.
- That is caper berry gravy.
- Oh, yes. Yeah.
- Do you have eggs?
- Yes.
Right.
- Omelette it is, then.
- Ah.
With caper berry gravy.
You wouldn't by any chance
have any beet root cubes?
A mini-gherkin, stuffed olive?
No, Pam, and besides, I'm busy.
The gravy needs sieving.
Surely not. Just stir it, Una.
Happy, happy birthday!
Hey, TV queen.
Hey, Bridge,
you looked fantastic.
Hello.
Hello.
Are you joining us?
Yeah. Yeah, of course.
Excellent.
Mmm. Yeah.
Delicious.
Really special.
It's really... really very good.
Really. It's very nice.
Say...
Mmm.
Mark,
why did your wife leave you?
Mmm. Eat up.
Eat up.
Two more lovely courses to go.
Mmm, delicious.
I have to say, this really is
the most incredible shit.
This is the worst of the three.
It does actually
remind me of something.
It tastes like...
Marmalade.
Well done, Bridge.
Four hours of careful cooking
and a feast of blue soup...
omelette, and marmalade.
Thank you.
I think that deserves a toast,
dont you?
To Bridget...
who cannot cook,
but who we love...
just as she is.
To Bridget...
just as she is.
I'll go.
Who?
Ah. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
I'm obviously interrupting a...
Darcy.
What brings you here?
Oh, right. Yeah.
I should've guessed,
shouldn't I?
Hi. I'm Tom. It's really good
to meet you at last.
Yeah, listen,
I just came to, uh...
I thought
you might be on your own.
Huh. What an idiot.
Excuse me.
I've been going crazy.
I can't stop thinking
about you...
and thinking
what a fucking idiot I've been.
Christ, is that blue soup?
Yes.
That Sunday in the country...
Come outside.
It was all just going so fast...
the hotel and that weekend,
meeting your parents.
I just panicked.
You know me. I'm...
I'm a terrible disaster...
with a posh voice
and a bad character.
You're the only one
who can save me, Bridge.
I need you. Without you,
twenty years from now...
I'll be in some seedy bar
with some seedy blonde.
Well, what about Lara?
Oh, over, over.
totally fucking finito.
Dumped me.
She realized
that I hadn't got over you.
I know you're thinking...
it's just a sex thing,
but I promise you...
whenever I see that skimpy
little skirt on TV...
I just close my eyes
and listen...
to all the intelligent things
you've said.
I was thrilled that little
Kurdish bloke was set free.
Bridge...
I missed you a lot.
Oh, God.
I'm going now. Bye.
Mark, stay. We...
No, I don't think I will.
Well, listen,
don't leave on my behalf.
I think it's time you and I
put this past behind us.
At least stay
for a birthday drink...
with me and Bridge, huh?
Good-bye, Bridget.
Mark.
Why are you here?
Bridge...
I just told you why I'm here.
Why was
Mark "Wanker" Darcy here?
Oh, bloody hell.
Wait a minute. He's back.
All right, Cleaver, outside.
I'm sorry?
Outside?
Uh, should I bring
my duelling pistols or my sword?
All right. Hang on.
I should've done this years ago.
Done what?
This.
Ooh! Fuck!
Fuck me, that hurt!
Ahh!
What the fuck
do you think you're doing?
- This.
- Aah!
Aah! Oh, Christ, not again.
Uhh!
Fight!
What?
Well, quick!
It's a real fight!
It's a fight!
All right,
all right, all right.
I give up. I give up.
Just give me a moment,
all right? Just...
Let me get a moment's
break here, OK?
Cheat!
Cheat! Cheat!
I should've knew it!
Ow, ow, ow, ow!
Whose side are we on?
Mark's, obviously.
He's never dumped Bridget
for some naked American.
And he said he liked her
just the way she is.
Yeah, but he also shagged
Daniel's fiance...
and left him broken hearted.
Good point.
It's a very hard one to call.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no!
Oh, yes!
Mark!
I'm so sorry.
I'm so sorry, all right?
Ohh! Ohh!
Aah!
Oh, God, I'm sorry.
I really am sorry.
I... I will pay.
Had enough, Darcy?
Not quite,
if that's all right by you.
Oh!
You broke my bloody jaw!
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday,
dear what's-his-name
Happy birthday to you
- Uh...
- Ohh...
- Uhh.
- Uhh.
Jesus.
Uhh.
All right.
- All right?
- Enough.
Enough.
Enough.
Wanker.
What is your problem?
- My problem?
- Yes.
You give the impression
of being all moral and noble...
and normal...
and helpful in the kitchen...
but youre just as bad
as the rest of them.
Well, I can see
that I've been labouring...
under a misapprehension.
A very, very foolish mistake.
Forgive me.
Uhh.
Let's go back upstairs.
Come on.
We belong together, Jones.
Me, you.
Poor little skirt.
Right.
If I can't make it with you...
I can't make it with anyone.
Um...
That's not a good enough offer
for me.
I'm not willing
to gamble my whole life...
on someone who's...
well, not quite sure.
It's like you said.
I'm still looking
for something...
more extraordinary than that.
Ding dong, merrily on high
December 25.
Weight... 140 pounds...
Plus forty-two mince-pies.
Alcohol units...
Oh, thousands.
Bugger off!
Come on, kids.
This baroque carriage clock...
is a particular festive
favourite of mine...
incorporating
the Hallelujah Chorus...
from Handel's "Messiah"...
every hour on the hour.
I don't understand it.
The man's actually
turned red now.
Merry Christmas, Pamela.
Well...
I'm going to Bedfordshire.
Night, night.
Night, night.
The thing is...
well, close up,
he was almost purple.
You were such
a lovely normal colour.
He had a filthy temper.
And, well,
the jewellery is fabulous...
and really very
reasonably priced and...
I thought I might ask if...
we could have another go.
I mean, obviously,
with some effort on your part...
to pay a bit more attention
to me.
I do realize
what I'm like sometimes.
It doesn't help
that you and Bridget...
have your lovely
grownup club of two...
and always saying...
"What's silly old Mummy
gone and done this time?"
You used to be mad about me.
You couldn't get enough of me.
What do you think?
I don't know, Pam.
I just don't know now.
It's been very hard.
Oh, Colin.
I'm joking, you daft cow.
Oh!
Pam,
I just don't work without you.
Awful.
Lovely, lovely, lovely.
Get back up those stairs,
young lady.
Get dressed.
What for?
The Darcys' ruby wedding party.
What for, indeed.
Mark will be there...
still divorced.
He's also still deranged.
I'm not going.
Poor Mark. It's always
a bad time of year for him.
You know, his Japanese wife
left him on Christmas Day.
Cruel race.
Yes, but I'm not quite sure...
he didnt deserve it, actually.
She ran off with his best friend
from Cambridge.
Total scoundrel, apparently.
Best man at his wedding.
Christmas Eve, Mark
comes home early from work...
finds the pair of them
in a most unorthodox position...
stark naked,
a tit like rabbits.
Just give me five minutes.
Stop. Stop the car.
Stop the car.
Dad, get out. Too slow!
Hey, to keep me from you
Dad, get in.
- Hurry.
- What's your hurry?
Not too fast.
Keep me from you
A bit snowy, isn't it?
Sorry. One moment.
Thank you for inviting me.
I didn't.
It must've been my parents.
So...
So.
Hello, Bridget.
Didn't know you were coming.
Mark, your father
wants to begin A.S.A.P.
Oh, does he? Right.
Well, uh...
Come on, Mark.
Be helpful, please.
The caterers
have totally screwed up.
Does nothing work
outside of London?
Hmm? Apparently not.
Well, I'd better...
Listen, uh...
I owe you an apology
about Daniel.
He said that you ran off
with his fiance...
and left him broken hearted,
he said.
Ah.
No, it was the other way around.
It was my wife...
my heart.
Sorry.
That's why you always acted
so strangely around him...
and beat him to a pulp,
quite rightly.
Well done.
Well, um...
Can we just, um...
pop out there...
for a moment?
Quite delightful,
isn't it, my dear?
OK.
I just have something
that I want to say.
Um...
You once said that you
liked me just as I am...
and I just wanted to say...
likewise.
I mean...
there are stupid things
your mum buys you.
Tonight's another classic.
You're haughty, and you
always say the wrong thing...
in every situation.
And I seriously believe
that you should...
rethink the length
of your sideburns.
But you're a nice man...
and...
I like you.
So if you wanted
to pop by sometime...
that might be nice.
More than nice.
Right.
Crikey.
Ladies and gentlemen...
could I have your attention
for a moment, please?
Excuse me.
Of course.
...wife and companion Geraldine.
A toast to her,
my... my wonderful wife Geraldine.
To Geraldine.
And we, in turn...
have been blessed
with our son, Mark.
He's always made us proud...
and we couldn't be
prouder of him...
than on this particular day...
because I'm thrilled
to announce...
he has just been invited
to be a senior partner...
in the firm of Abbott
and Abbott in New York.
He also,
incidentally...
takes with him his
brilliant partner in law...
Natasha.
And, well, I don't
think they'll mind...
since we're amongst friends...
if I say that someday
this remarkably clever girl...
is going to be
something-else-in-law as well.
I begged him
not to say anything.
So I ask you now...
to charge your glasses
once again...
to Mark and his Natasha.
To Mark and his Natasha.
No! No!
It's just that...
it's such a terrible pity...
f-for England...
to lose...
such a great legal brain.
- Is she pissed?
- What?
F-for the people of England...
Like me and you...
to lose one of our top people.
Uh...
just top person, really.
Ahem.
Well... better dash.
I've got
another party to go to.
It's single people.
Mainly... poofs.
Bye.
I know I will be OK
Yes?
Hi, it's us!
Oh.
Great. Come on up.
Have we got the most
fantastic surprise for you.
Oh, no.
You're not going to sing.
Not that fantastic, sadly, no,
but still pretty good.
We've decided we're taking you
to Paris for the weekend.
Forget everything... particularly,
forget about Mark Darcy.
I can't believe you said
what you said you said.
I know.
There goes my invite
to the Darcys' next year.
If he didn't leap over
the family heirlooms...
and whip you up in his arms,
then sod him.
Yes. He's clearly
the most dreadful cold fish.
Exactly.
I mean, theres been
all these bloody hints...
and stuff,
but has he ever actually...
stuck his fucking tongue
down your fucking throat?
No. Not once.
I think we should pack,
shouldnt we?
Passport, Bridget. And pants.
Yep, pants.
Hurry up, Bridge!
Were freezing our bollocks off
out here!
Yeah. Just the keys.
I'm stuck! Oh!
Come the fuck on, Bridget.
Close the door.
Bridget?
Stop being so bossy.
What are you doing here?
I just wanted to know
if you were available...
for bar mitzvahs
and christenings...
as well as ruby weddings.
Excellent speech.
I thought
that you were in America.
Well, yes, I was,
but, um...
I realized I'd forgotten
something back home.
Which was?
Well, I realized
I'd forgotten to, um...
kiss you good-bye.
Do you mind?
Um...
not really, no.
So...
you're not going
to America, then?
- No.
- No.
- Not.
- Oh, oh.
You're staying here?
So it would seem.
Aah!
Go, Bridget!
Friends of yours?
No. I've never seen them
before in my life.
Look, are you coming
to fucking Paris or not?
Not.
- No fucking room anyway.
- No.
Maybe we should just go upstairs
for a minute.
Yes. Very good idea.
No.
Come on, let's go. No.
Of course she's not coming.
Close it down.
Uh...
give me just a minute.
Um... keep yourself busy.
Read something.
Lots of very
high-quality magazines...
with helpful fashion
and romance tips.
I'll be right with you.
Definitely an occasion
for genuinely tiny knickers.
Right.
Right.
Mark?
Mark?
Mark!
Mark!
Oh.
Oh, shit.
Double shit.
Bollocks!
Oh, God.
Ooh! Wish me luck!
Good luck, crazy girl!
Ain't no mountain high enough
- Oh, ho
- Ain't no valley low enough
- Ooh
- Ain't no river wide enough
- Oh
- To keep me from you
Ain't no mountain high enough
Ow, ain't no valley low enough
Say it again,
ain't no river wide enough
Hey, to keep me from you
Ain't no mountain high enough
Nothing can keep me
Mark?
Keep me from you
Mark!
Oh, damn.
Ain't no mountain high enough
No, ain't no valley low enough
I am so sorry.
I'm so sorry.
I didn't mean it.
I mean, I meant it...
but I was so stupid
that I didn't mean what I meant.
Oh, for Christ's sakes.
It's only a diary.
Everyone knows diaries
are just full of crap.
I know that.
I was just buying you a new one.
Time to make a new start,
perhaps.
Wait a minute.
Nice boys don't kiss like that.
Oh, yes, they fucking do.