It all began on New Year's Day...
in my 32nd 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. - Don't be silly, Bridget.
You'll never get a boyfriend if you look like you've wandered out of Auschwitz.
Run upstairs. Laid out something lovely on your bed.
Great. I was wearing a carpet.
Her e she is. My little Bridget.
- Hi, Uncle Geoffrey . - Have a drink?
- 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? All right, then.
You career girls can't put it off for ever, you know.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
- Hello, Dad. - Hello, darling.
- How's it going? - Torture.
Your mother's trying to fix you up with some divorcé.
Human rights barrister. Pretty nasty beast, apparently.
Ding-dong.
Maybe this time Mum had got it right.
Come on. Why don't we see if Mark fancies a gherkin.
Good luck.
Maybe this was the mysterious Mr. Right...
I'd been waiting my whole life to meet.
You remember Bridget.
Maybe not.
She used to run around your lawn with no clothes on, remember?
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. - So.
Are you staying at your parents' for New Year?
- Yes. You? - Oh, no, no.
I was in London at a party last night...
so I'm afraid I'm a bit hung over.
Wish I could by lying with my head in a toilet like all normal people.
New Year's resolution: Drink less. Oh, and quit smoking.
And keep New Year's resolutions.
And stop talking total nonsense to strangers.
In fact, stop talking full stop.
Yes, well, perhaps it's time to eat.
Apparently she lives just around 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 favorite.
And that was it. Right there.
Right there. That was the moment.
I suddenly realized that unless something 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.
All by myself
Don't want to be
All by myself
Anymore
You have no messages.
When I was young
I never needed anyone
And makin'love was just for fun
Those days are gone
All by myself
Don't want to be
All by myself
Anymore
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-30s.
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: Obviously we'll lose 20 pounds.
Number two:Always put last night's pants 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.
Can't live
Livin' is without you
I can't live
- Can't give anymore - Or maybe I'm wrong.
- Happy New Year, Mr. Fitzherbert. - Happy New Year, Brenda.
Mr. Fitzherbert. "Titspervert, "more like.
Daniel's boss stares 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 minibreak to Paris.
Daily call from Jude. Best friend.
Head of investment at Brightlings Bank who spends most of her time...
trapped in the ladies' toilet crying over fuckwit boyfriend.
Am I too needy? Am I codependent?
No, you're not. It's not you.
You're lovely. It's vile Richard.
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 traditional masculinity.
It's positively Vonnegutesque.
Thank you for calling, Professor Leavis.
Guest list for launch party.
F.R. Leavis?
Wow.
The F.R. Leavis who wrote Mass Civilization and Minority Culture?
The F.R. Leavis who died in 1 978?
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.
Shazzer,journalist. Likes to say "fuck" a lot.
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 is probably the best answer.
- Oh, you love it. - Are you the chap that sang that song?
Yes. Yes, I am.
Tom, '80s 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 '90s.
- Well, great song. - Thank you. Thank you so much.
- Total poof, of course. - more vodka?
- No! - Yes! Fill her up, goddamn it!
At least now I'm in my 30s, I can hold my drink.
- Oops! - 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?
What about Julia?
We've got a problem with the Teddy Knows Best campaign.
The only problem is the kitchen.
- There isn't room to swing a cat. - Message Mr. Cleaver.
Am appalled by message.
Skirt is demonstrably neither sick nor absent.
Appalled by management's blatantly size-ist attitude to skirt.
Suggest management sick, not skirt!
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 am very busy and important.
P.S. How dare you sexually harass me in this impertinent manner?
Message Jones. Mortified to have caused offense.
Will avoid all non-P.C. overtones in future. Deeply apologetic.
P.S. Like your tits in that top.
Mustn't read too much into it, though.
And it all began, of course, with some very irresponsible E-mailing...
over Bridget's nonexistent skirt.
- The New York office for you. - Yeah. Tell 'em I'll get back to 'em.
- Evening, Kenneth. - Evening.
If you've got a moment, I'd like a word before you leave.
Yes, certainly.
- I'll see you in a sec. - Excellent.
- And, Brenda? - Yes.
At the Kafka's Motorbike thing, thought it might be fun...
if you introduce me before I introduce him.
Add a lovely sense of occasion.
Certainly, sir.
- What are you doing tonight? - Actually, I'm busy.
Right. Well, that's a shame. I just--
I thought it might be a charitable thing to take your skirt out for dinner...
and try and fatten it up a bit.
Maybe you could come too.
- What about tomorrow? - No.
- Tomorrow's the launch. - Yes, of course.
Possibly the worst book ever published.
Well, in the end, that's not the ad line we've gone for.
- Next night. - Let's see, shall we?
'Night, Daniel.
Right. No pressure, Bridge, but your whole future happiness...
now depends on how you behave on this one social occasion.
- Right. What shall I do? - First, look gorgeous.
Two: Then totally ignore Daniel and suck up to famous authors.
Salman.
Circulate...
oozing intelligence.
Isn't it terrible about Chechnya?
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. - It's just that...
your chair is on my wife's coat.
- Your chair. - Of course it is.
- I'm so terribly sorry. - Thank you.
Major dilemma.
If I 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 pants...
very popular with grannies the world over.
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. Titspervert.
Fitzherbert, Fitzherbert.
Circulate, oozing intelligence.
Ignore Daniel and be fabulous with everyone else.
I am the intellectual equal of everyone else here.
It's like a whole theory of short fiction and of the novella.
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?
Do you know...
where the toilets are?
Stay calm. Can't get any worse.
- What are you doing here? - I've been asking myself that question.
I came with a colleague. So how are you?
Well, apart from being very disappointed...
not to see my favorite reindeer jumper again, I'm well.
Anyone going to introduce me?
Introduce people with thoughtful details.
Perpetua, this is Mark Darcy.
Mark's a prematurely middle-aged prick with a cruel-raced ex-wife.
Perpetua's a fat-ass old bag who spends her time bossing me around.
Maybe not.
Anyone going to introduce me?
This is Mark Darcy.
Mark's a top barrister. He comes from Grafton Underwood.
Perpetua is one of my work colleagues.
I know you by reputation, of course.
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.
- Perpetua, how's the house hunt going? - Disaster.
Can't even go into it with you.
By the by, that man is gorgeous.
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 Vonnegutesque."
Listen, you don't know where the loos are here, do you?
- Yes. They're that way. - Thanks.
One, two.
Ladies and gentlemen.
Ladies and--
Sorry, the...
mike's not working.
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 aren't bad either.
Anyway, what I mean is...
welcome, ladies and gentlemen.
Thank you for coming to the launch...
of one of the top 30 books of our time.
Anyway. At least.
And here to introduce it properly...
is the man we all call--
- Titspervert. - Mister--
Because that is his name.
Thank you.
Thank you, Brenda.
just switch this on.
So how autobiographical is your work, Salman?
It's an amazing thing. Nobody's ever asked me that question.
Excuse me.
Jones, sod 'em all. It was a brilliant...
postmodernist masterpiece of oratorical fireworks, really.
You're looking very sexy, Jones.
I'm going to have to take you to dinner now whether you like it or not, okay?
Come on. Get your stuff.
How do you feel about this situation in Chechnya? Isn't 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.
I was best man at his wedding.
-He was a mate from Cambridge. -Then what?
Then nothing.
You don't need to protect him. He's no friend of mine.
Well, then, many years later...
I made the somewhat catastrophic mistake...
of introducing him to my fiancée.
And--
I couldn't say in all honesty I've ever quite forgiven him.
God. So...
he's a nasty bastard as well as 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 girls at school?
- That's a very good story. - It wasn't French kissing.
Don't car e. Make it up. That's an order, Jones.
So, how about a drink at my place?
Totally innocent, no funny business, just full sex.
I should get a taxi.
But thank you for the lovely dinner.
It's a pleasure, Jones.
You're alone all the time
Does it ever bother you
Have you asked why
You seem to fall in love
And out again
Do you really ever love
Or just pretend
Baby, why fool yourself
Don't be afraid to help yourself
Now, these are very silly little boots, Jones.
And this is a very silly little dress...
and these are--
fuck me-- absolutely enormous pants.
-Jesus. Fuck. - No. Don't apologize. I like them.
Hello, Mummy!
I have to have another look. They're too good to be true.
Nothing to be embarrassed about.
I'm wearing something similar myself. Here. I'll show you.
This time decide that you will open up
Let it in
There's no shame in sharing love
You feel within
So jump right in
Head over heels
And fall right in
That was fantastic.
What happens at the office?
I'm glad you asked that. You see...
it's a publishing house, so that means 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.
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 a long-term r elationship yet, is it?
You very bad man.
Bridget Jones, wanton sex goddess...
with a very bad man between her thighs.
Mum.
It's a truth universally acknowledged...
that the moment one area of your life starts going okay...
another part of it falls spectacularly to pieces.
Anyone else want to have it oeuf?. Don't be shy, madam.
French.
Have it oeuf with the WiseCrack Egg Peeler.
Now, nice, firm grip.
Put it in the hole.
Up, down, up, down, and off it comes in your hand.
Mind the overspray. Sorry.
Darling, if I came in with my knickers on my head, he wouldn't notice.
I've spent 35 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.
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 sex life.
Got no life at all. I'm like the grasshopper who sang all summer.
- 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 colors 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.
Apart from the one with the fat people who beat up their r elatives.
I must whiz. Have you heard from Mark Darcy?
Good-bye, Mum.
And a few weeks later, it got lots worse.
- Hello! - Look at this.
...hanging 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 centimeter...
in genuine diamante with topaz and 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.
Has she actually moved out, then?
Apparently she and this tangerine-tinted buffoon are suddenly an item.
Half our friends have had them 'round to bloody dinner.
She's even taking jaundiced Julian to Una Alconbury's tarts and vicars party.
That's not the Pamela I knew. That's cruel.
Still...
could be a golden opportunity.
If you spent the entire party...
flirting with other women, it would drive Mum wild with jealousy.
- Will it? - 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, minibreak holiday weekend.
Promise me we don't have to sit in little boats...
and read poncey poetry to each other.
He's also agreed to protect me...
at Uncle Geoffrey's hideous tarts and vicars party.
This can't be just shagging. A minibreak means true love.
Suddenly feel like screen goddess in manner of Grace Kelly.
Though, perhaps, ever so slightly less elegant under pressure.
Very quiet her e, isn't it? Are we the only guests?
We have a wedding this weekend.
I believe there are just four of you not involved.
You do the boats. I'll do the tea.
- Oh, Jesus. - Hello there.
Well, well.
Take it you're also heading for Alconburys' rockery.
- Yes, that's 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.
The weakness of their case...
lies in the deposition they made on August 30.
"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.
Bollocks. Shit.
- I'm boarding you. No alternative. - Don't you dare!
- I'm king of the world! - No!
Fuck me!
- Piss and bollocks. That's it. - You stupid ass!
Bollocks.
So childish.
- Yes. - Darce, come on in!
Water's lovely.
You're working too hard, mate.
Yes?
That thing you just did is actually illegal in several countries.
That is the major reason I'm so thrilled to be living in Britain today.
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.
- Do you love me? - Shut up, or I'll do it again.
- Do you love me? - Right. You asked for it.
And over you go.
I'm going to give you something to bite on.
Her e. Okay? Pop this in your mouth, darling.
You're begging for it.
Stop it!
I've got to go back to town. A meeting's come up.
- On a Sunday? - The meeting's first thing tomorrow.
I've got to work on some figures.
We could just pop into the party...
- for a minute and leave early. - I'm sorry. I just can't do it.
I've got to head back.
Listen, 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?
'Cause you don't have the faintest idea of how much trouble the company's in.
You swan in your short skirt and your sexy see-through blouse...
and fanny around with press releases.
This is the Americans flying in 'cause they're thinking of shutting us down...
for fuck's sake!
Sorry.
I'm sorry. I'm being a prat.
I'm going to arrange a lovely car to come and pick you up...
and take you back to London after the party, okay?
If you have to travel alone, travel in style.
And 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, for 60-year-olds...
to dress up as prostitutes and priests on a Sunday afternoon.
Oh, holy Jesus.
- Where are the other tarts and vicars? - Didn't Geoffrey call you?
-Didn't you telephone Colin and Bridget? -How's my little Bridget?
Where's this chap of yours?
- He had to work, so-- - Likely tale.
Off they run.
Bizarre what some men find attractive.
- Oh, God. - Darling.
What on earth are you wearing? You look like a common prostitute.
- Yes, 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-rounder."
Sort of thing one can wear with anything to any occasion.
Have you spoken to my dad?
Yes. He's behaving most bizarrely.
I think he was 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.
Didn't tell you either?
I didn't spend as much as Bernard, thank God.
- I'm sorry, Dad. - The way she looked at me.
She loves you, really.
You love each other. This is only a temporary glitch.
Is it? I don't know.
I don't know.
There you are. Don't worry. You're not the only one.
This is Penny. Geoffrey didn't get in touch with her either.
- I'm sorry? - Geoffrey didn't contact you either...
to tell you the tarts and vicars concept had gone out the window.
- Yes, he did. - Oh, right.
Lovely dress. Very exotic.
Shame you couldn't bring your boyfriend. What's his name? David? Darren?
Daniel Cleaver.
- 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.
I'm sure he'd say the same about you, given your past behavior.
- Sorry? - I think you know what I mean.
Looks like Auntie Shirley didn't get the message either.
I just really, really wanted to see a friendly face.
Now, listen. I tell you what. I have an idea.
Let me finish this while you go home and have a long hot bath...
and I'll call 'round, and we'll have dinner later, okay?
- Is there someone here? - Not that I'm aware of.
Unless that Bosnian family's moved in again. Bastards.
I'm sorry. Sorry.
I'm going mad.
Listen, I am feeling really bad, actually.
- I should have been there. - No, I'm sorry.
No, I'm sorry. At least I got a lot of work done.
just give me one more hour, okay?
Fine. That's fine. I'll go home and de-bunny.
And you know last night when I said I loved you?
I didn't mean it. I was being ironic.
Good. I know.
Thank you, madam.
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.
Listen, this is totally insane.
I'm 36. It may be my last chance to have a child.
The male penetrates the female and leaves.
Coitus is brief and perfunctory.
For the female, all there is to do now is wait and wait.
We've had a very good response...
to the Teddy Knows Best teaser campaign...
and had various local radio bids for author interviews, which is good--
Stop that. I feel terrible.
The thing is with Lara and me--
- Well, you know. - No, you'll have to fill me in.
The truth is we're the same, Bridge, you and me.
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 which makes us go that extra mile...
and I think Lara being American or something to do with confidence...
and being so...
well, young, you know.
We've become very close.
You've only just met her. She few in yesterday.
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, fuck.
There's no easy way to say this, but...
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 spinsterhood...
and eventual eating by Alsatians...
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.
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 Niño phenomenon?
It's a blip.
I think, basically, Latin music is on its way out.
Why television?
Because I'm passionately committed to communicating with children.
- They are the future. - Do you have any children of your own?
Christ, no.
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 Monday. We'll see how we go.
And, incidentally...
at Sit Up, Britain, no one ever gets sacked for shaggin' the boss.
That's a matter of principle.
Bridge, come on.
I know it's been awkward as ass, but there's no need to leave.
No, actually, there is. I've been offer ed a job in television.
Television?
And they want me to start straight away.
So I've got to leave in about three minutes.
just hold it right there, Miss Jones.
I'm sorry to inform you, but I think you'll find that, by contract...
you are expected to give at least six weeks' notice.
Yes. Well, I thought with the company being in so much trouble and all...
you wouldn't miss the person who "waltzes in a see-through top...
and fannies about with the press releases."
I want to hear this. Because if she gives one inch...
I'm gonna fire her bony little bottom anyway for being totally spineless.
- What? - I just think you should know that...
there are lots of prospects here for a talented p--
just give me a minute, would you, Simon? Thanks.
Righ to, boss man.
Lots of prospects for a person who...
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 ten yards of you...
frankly, I'd rather have a job wiping Saddam Hussein's ass.
R-E-S-P-E-C-T Find out what it means to me
R-E-S-P-E-C-T Take care of T-C-B
Sock it to me, sock it to me sock it to me
- Well, bye, everyone. - Just a little bit
A little respect
All the time
Keep on trying
You're running out, fool
just sod off.
Hello and welcome to Sit Up, Britain, a current affairs show--
Okay, 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. I'm thinking miniskirt.
I'm thinking fireman's helmet. I want you pointing a hose.
I want you sliding down the pole. Then go straight to the interview.
Great. I'll do it.
No problem. Fine. Right.
So you drop into shot and then interview Chief fireman Bevan.
Yep. Go, go.
- Go? - Oh, no.
We’re going to firefighters in Newcastle first.
Stop! Climb back up.
Climb back up. On you in 30 seconds.
What is going on?
She's supposed to be sliding down the pole, not climbing it.
- Go, go. Go! - Okay!
Oh, Jesus Christ!
We’re out of time. just wind her up.
Well, that seems to be about all we've got time for down here in Lewisham.
Chief Officer Bevan, thank you very much.
Excellent fire station.
And now back to the studio.
Excellent. Am national laughingstock.
Have bottom the size of Brazil...
am daughter of broken home, am rubbish at everything and--
Oh, God. Am having dinner with Magda and Jeremy.
The only thing worse than smug, married couple--
Lots of smug, married couples.
Right. Everyone, this is Bridget.
Bridge, this is Hugo and Jane.
You know Cosmo and Woney.
- This is Alistair and Henrietta. - Hello.
-Julia and Michael.Joanne and Paul. - Hello.
And Jeremy's partners from chambers, Natasha Glenville and Mark Darcy.
- Hi there. - Hello.
- Not in your bunny girl outfit today? - No.
We bunnies only wear our tails on very special occasions.
- Right, B. Sit yourself down. - Right.
Hey, Bridge, how's your love life?
Still going out with that publishing chappie?
No, actually.
Never dip your nib in the office ink.
Right.
You really ought to hurry up and get sprogged up, old girl.
Time's a-running out. Tick-tock.
Yes, yes.
Tell me, is it one in four marriages that ends in divorce now or one in three?
One in three.
Seriously, the office is full of single girls in their 30s.
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 30s these days?
I don't know.
I suppose it doesn't help that, underneath our clothes...
our entire bodies are cover ed in scales.
I very much enjoyed your Lewisham fire report, by the way.
Thank you.
So, it didn't work out with Daniel Cleaver?
No, it didn't.
I'm delighted to hear it.
Look, are you and Cosmo in this together?
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, 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 is 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--
What I'm trying to say, very inarticulately...
is that...
in fact, perhaps, despite appearances...
I like you very much.
Apart 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.
Jeremy's had a most brilliant idea.
Right.
I must go because--
Well, bye.
" just as you are"? Not thinner? Not clever?
Not with slightly bigger breasts and a slightly smaller nose?
Well, fuck me.
But this is someone you hate, right?
Yes, yes. I hate him.
November 9. Weight: 138 pounds.
Cigarettes:3. Birthday:33.
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 hardheaded interview.
- You do know the Aghani-Heaney case? - Yes, of course.
Big case...
featuring someone called "Aghani-Heaney."
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've fought for five years to keep him here.
- Today is the decision. - That's ex citing.
Yes, it is. So what are you waiting for?
Am suddenly hardheaded 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 quickly for some ciggies.
14P for the Polos and the packet of Wheat Crunchies.
- A packet of Embassy, please. - I'm sorry. I'm not quite fi--
Good afternoon.
You like me just the way I am.
- Sorry? - Nothing.
Bridget, we 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. - So how do you know?
Because I was defending him. I told him not to give 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 could'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, let's face it, a bit of a crush now, actually.
Good afternoon.
Bridget jones. Already a legend.
I feel fantastic, bombastic ecstatically astounded
How a girl can really lose her grip
I feel surrounded, confounded
Emotionally dumbfounded
Oh,joy, I am broadcasting genius.
Celebrating by cooking birthday feast for close friends.
Have sneaking suspicion am also genius in the kitchen as well.
Tie favor-enhancing leek and celery together with string.
Right. String.
Perfect.
Finely slice oranges and grate zest.
Oh, bugger, bugger!
Where the fuck is the fucking tuna?
This is Bridget Jones for Sit Up, Britain, searching for tuna.
- Hello, darling. - Hi, Mum.
- I just wanted a bit of a chat. - Ouch!
Careful, you ham-fisted cow!
The thing is, darling, between you and me...
I'm not entirely sure that Julian isn't a bit of a shit.
Mum, I haven't really got time right now.
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.
What time do you call this?
The door was open.
I came to congratulate the new face of British current affairs.
But I see I may have come at a bad time.
How's it look?
Great. It's...
blue.
- Blue? - No, but blue is good.
If you ask me, there isn't enough blue food.
Oh, shit. It must have been the string.
Oh, it's string soup.
Oh, God. They're gonna be here any minute.
Don't worry. I'm sure they've come to see you and not...
orange parfait in sugar cages.
- Let's 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.
That's 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 the main course you have...
congealed green gunge.
That is caper berry gravy, actually.
- Do you have eggs? - Yes.
Right. Omelette it is, then.
With caper berry gravy.
You wouldn't by any chance have any beetroot cubes, would you?
Minigherkin? Stuffed olive?
No, Pam.
And besides, I'm busy. The gravy needs sieving.
Surely not.just stir it, Una.
Happy birthday!
- TV queen! - We’re so proud!
Bridge, you looked so fucking thin! You looked fantastic!
Hello.
Are you joining us?
Yeah, yeah. Of course.
Excellent.
Delicious.
- Really special. - It's really very good.
Really, it's very nice.
So...
Mark, why did your wife leave you?
Eat up. Eat up. Two more lovely courses to go.
Mmm, delicious!
I have to say, this is the most incredible shit.
This is the worst of the three.
It does 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. To Bridget...
who cannot cook...
but who we love just as she is.
To Bridget...
just as she is.
I'll go.
Who?
Sorry, sorry, sorry.
I'm obviously interrupting.
Darcy.
What brings you here?
Right, yeah. I should have guessed, shouldn't I?
I'm Tom. It's really good to meet you at last.
Listen, I just came to--
I thought you might be on your own.
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.
You know, that Sunday in the country--
Come on 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. I need you.
Without you, 20 years from now, I'll be in some seedy bar...
with some seedy blonde.
And what about Lara?
Oh, over, over. Totally fucking finito.
Dumped me.
Dumped me when she realized 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'll say.
I was thrilled that little Kurdish bloke was set free.
I've missed you a lot.
I'm going now. Bye.
Mark, stay.
No, I don't think I will.
Don't leave on my behalf.
It's about time you and I put this past behind us, don't you?
At least stay for a birthday drink with me and Bridge, huh?
Good-bye, Bridget.
Why are you here?
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?
Should I bring my dueling pistols or my sword?
All right. Hang on.
I should have done this years ago.
- Done what? - This.
Fuck! Fuck me, that hurt!
- What do you think you're doing? - This.
Christ, not again.
Fight!
What?
- where? where? - Well, quick! It's a real fight!
All right. I give up. I give up.
Give me a moment, all right?
just let me get a moment's break here, okay?
Cheat! Cheat! Cheat!
I'll shin you!
- 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.
But he also nicked Daniel's fiancée and left him broken-hearted.
Good point. It's a very hard one to call.
I'm so sorry.
- What are you doing? - Oh, God, I'm sorry.
I really am sorry. I will pay.
- Enough, Darcy? - Not quite, if that's all right by you.
- You broke my bloody jaw! - Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday, dear what's-his-name
Jesus.
- All right. All right. - 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 you're just as bad as the rest of them.
Well, I can see that I've been laboring under a misapprehension.
Very, very foolish mistake. Forgive me.
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.
That's not a good enough offer for me.
I'm not willing to gamble my whole life on someone who's...
not quite sure.
It's like you said:
I'm still looking for something...
more extraordinary than that.
Ding-dong merrily on high
December 25th.
Weight: 140 pounds...
plus 42 mince pies.
Alcohol units:
Oh, thousands.
Bugger off!.
Come on then, kids.
This Baroque carriage clock is...
a particular festive favorite of mine...
incorporating the "Hallelujah Chorus" from Handel's Messiah...
every hour, on the hour.
I can't understand it. The man's actually turned r ed now.
Merry Christmas, Pamela.
Well, I'm going to Bedfordshire.
- Night-night. - Night-night.
The thing is...
close up, he was almost purple.
You were such a lovely normal color.
He had a filthy temper.
And, well, the jewelry is fabulous and really very reasonably priced.
I thought I might ask if...
we could have another go.
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 grown-up club of two...
and always say, "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.
I'm joking, you daft cow.
Pam, I just don't work without you.
Awful!
Lovely, lovely, lovely.
- Get back up those stairs. 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. This is always a bad time of year for him.
His Japanese wife left him on Christmas Day. Cruel race.
Yes, but I'm not quite sure he didn't deserve it, actually.
She ran off with his best friend from Cambridge.
Total scoundrel, apparently. Best man at his wedding.
Then Christmas Eve, Mark comes home early from work...
finds the pair of them in a most unorthodox position...
stark naked, at it like rabbits.
just give me five minutes.
Stop! Stop the car!
Dad, get out. Too slow!
- Dad, get in! Hurry! - What's the hurry?
Not too fast.
Bit snowy, isn't it?
Sorry. One moment.
Thank you for inviting me.
I didn't. It must have been my parents.
So.
Hello, Bridget. Didn't know you were coming.
Mark, your father wants to begin ASAP.
Does he? Right.
Come on, Mark. Be helpful, please.
The caterers have totally screwed up. Does nothing work outside of London?
Apparently not.
Listen.
I owe you an apology about Daniel.
He said that you ran off with his fiancée...
and left him broken-hearted, he said.
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.
Can we just...
pop out there for a moment?
I just have something that I want to say.
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.
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 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 &Abbott in New York.
He also, incidentally...
takes with him his brilliant partner in law, Natasha.
And 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!
It's just that...
it's such a terrible pity...
for England...
to lose such a great legal brain...
- Is she pissed? - What?
for the people of England...
like me and you...
to lose one of our top people.
A top person, really.
Well, I better dash.
I've got another party to get to.
Loads of single people.
Mainly poofs.
Bye.
Knew the signs, wasn't right
I was stupid
For a while
Swept away
By you
And now I feel
Like a fool
So confused
My heart's bruised
Was I ever loved by you
Out of reach
So far
I never had your heart
Out of reach
Couldn't see
We were never meant to be
Catch myself from despair
I could drown if I stay here
Keeping busy
Every day
I know I will be okay
Yes?
Hi! It's us!
Great. Come on up.
Have we got the most fantastic surprise for you.
- You're not going to sing. - Not that fantastic, sadly, no.
We've decided to take you to Paris so you can forget about 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 and whip you up in his arms, then sod him.
Yes. He's clearly the most dreadful cold fish.
Exactly. there's been all these bloody hints and stuff...
but has he ever actually stuck his tongue down your fucking throat?
No. Not once.
- I think we should pack. - Passport, Bridget, and pants.
Yep. Pants.
Hurry up, Bridge. We’re freezing our bollocks off.
Yeah.just the keys.
I'm stuck!
Come the fuck on, Bridget.
Close the door.
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.
Yes, I was, but...
I realized I'd forgotten something back home.
Which was?
I realized I'd forgotten to...
kiss you good-bye. Do you mind?
Not really, no.
So, you're not going to America, then?
No. Not.
You're staying here?
So it would seem.
Friends of yours?
No, I've never seen them before in my life.
Are you coming to Paris or not?
Not.
No fucking room anyway.
Maybe we should just go upstairs for a minute.
- Very good idea. - No room for him either.
Give me just a minute.
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.
Oh, shit!
Double shit.
Bollocks!
Oh, God.
- Wish me luck! - Good luck, crazy girl!
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 fuckin' do.
I'm delighted. They're both really good friends of mine.
And I think it's great that they've found each other at last.
Brilliant, brilliant. This is Pauline, by the way.
Paula.
Sorry.
How marvellous! Marvellous!
Nice, healthy, well-built girl.
Can't be doing with a girl who's just skin and bone.
I like a woman with a backside you can park your bike in and rest a pint on.
Malcolm.
Well, obviously, I'm disappointed.
Bitterly disappointed.
But just 'cause someone's got a boyfriend...
doesn't necessarily mean they won't...
you know--
No, there's absolutely no bitterness...
no hard feelings.
I just think it's great that in the same month that Bridge found Darce...
I found Melani.
It's Alan.