Friday 19 December

9st 2 (one McDonald's and am now baby elephant!), alcohol units 5 (Not bad. will reward self with some plonk at tonight's party), cigarettes 6 (have practically become non-smoker), calories 1881 (too many takeaways), make up shags 1 (workaholic fiancé cancelled dinner at last minute. Yet again - not v.g).

4.25 pm. My flat.

Sit Up Britain's Christmas party tonight - v. excited! Firstly, Mark Darcy's coming as my plus one. Secondly, venue is best news ever; we'll be eating, drinking and partying at Iddy's in Cathedral Street. If sober, is only a three-minute walk from my flat; if pissed as a fart, is only an 11-minute walk. Hurrah!

Strange to think can get v. merry and not worry about:

a) Falling out of cab.

b) Vomiting in cab.

c) Vomiting in cab all over mortified fiancé who still hasn't forgotten or forgiven self's sickeningly (no pun intended) accurate impression of famous spewing scene in The Exorcist. Honestly, it was two years ago! Can't believe he still brings it up (no pun intended).

It's not as if he's perfect – still bloody annoyed about last night. Went all the way to Hampstead because of rave reviews for new Japanese restaurant Mark wanted to try only for work to get in the way of yet another date.

Was starving, but couldn't face eating there alone so I popped into a McDonald's for a v. unhappy meal. Felt every calorie with every bite - bet my thighs are four inches bigger today.

Shit night. Not even apology after apology and make up sex made up for it.

However, am giddy about our fast approaching fifth anniversary. Secretly hoping it snows as am planning to recreate our first kiss as a special surprise. Main difference is this time, in order not to freeze my arse off, will wear beige cropped leggings over the tiger-print knickers to mimic bare legs.

Also, am not running all the way from here. Instead, will arrange to meet him outside the stationary shop and, after walking majority of the way, will run up to him and snog him silly.

Dragged on my fag. Love the lovely feeling of smoking openly. Shit! Just realised I need to make sure Mark's wearing a big coat, preferably the same one. How am I going to do that? Hmmmm. That will be a challenge for—

Oooh goody, telephone!

4.48 pm.

Was Mum.

"Oh, hello darling," she trilled. "What are you doing home on a Friday afternoon?"

"Day off today," I replied. "You're the one who's called me so why are you asking me why I've answered the phone?"

"I didn't mean to call you, silly. I meant to ring Una. I wasn't thinking of you, I was thinking of her."

"Oh." Thanks, Mum. Now feel about as loved as a cold caller flogging life insurance.

"But now that I've got you," she went on, "how's Mark?"

"He's good. Working hard. As usual. How's Dad?"

"He's well. We're both looking forward to seeing you and Mark over Christmas."

"And we're both looking forward to that too." I lied so smoothly, Daniel would be proud of me.

"Pity the Darcys can't make it."

"Yes, it is. Mark said they're on a Mediterranean winter cruise. They'll be back in the New Year."

"Did I tell you we're planning a surprise to celebrate you and Mark's fifth anniversary?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, you didn't. But isn't the point of a surprise is that it's a surprise? If you tell me what the surprise is, it isn't a surprise anymore."

"Durr! I'm not going to tell you what it is. What makes you think I'd ruin the surprise?" she said in a tone implying I was moronic for believing she'd do such a heinous thing. "I'm just letting you know that we're planning one."

Wearily (and warily), I said, "Promise you won't hire any entertainment this year, Mum. We're still not over what happened on Boxing Day last year."

"How that agency confused singing waiters with erotic dancers is beyond me," she tutted.

"Still can't get the image of Mark putting Penny Husbands-Bosworth in the recovery position out of my mind."

"Well, she'd never seen one man in a thring—"

"Thong."

"—before, let alone three. It seems all those rumours about black men are true! It looked like he had Nelson's Column in his underwear; every time he thrusted, I thought he was going to hit us in the face with it. No wonder Penny Husbands-Bosworth fainted."

"Mother!" I cried in dismay. "You can't say that. It's racist."

"Penny Husbands-Bosworth is racist?"

"No. Saying that black men have big . . . that they're well-endowed is racist."

"Don't be silly, darling. It can't be racist if it's true and it can't be racist if it's a compliment," she reasoned.

I tried again. "Mum, you really don't have to do anything for our anniversary."

"At the rate you and Mark are going, this is all we'll ever be doing," she said waspishly. "I'd like to buy a hat sooner rather than later, Bridget."

"Marriage isn't everything, you know." Pathetic. But it's all I had in my arsenal. Felt like a soldier going into war with a gun made of chocolate. I wasn't properly armed and the enemy made mincemeat of me.

"Marriage isn't everything?" she exclaimed in shock. I swear I also heard a blood vessel burst. "Balderdash! It's the only thing when the fiancé is someone like Mark Darcy. I honestly do not understand why I'm still waiting for this wedding. What more do I have to do, Bridget? I set you up with a perfectly eligible bachelor who is very well off and—"

I stayed silent as she carried on ranting.

"You young people, you think marriage is a dirty word. When Daddy proposed to me, we were married eight months later."

"I know, Mum. You tell me this every Christmas."

"And have you taken note this time? Because I hope it's the last time I have to say it."

"Me too." At least we agree firmly on that point.

"Right. Better dash as I have to ring Una and visit the butcher. See you soon, darling."

Sigh.

Maybe kiss recreation will spark some magic and help to move me and Mark forward. We love each other and we still have amazing sex, but outside of the bedroom, increasingly feel like it's just me in this relationship. I know his work is very important, but I have to be just as important to him too.

Am also getting sick and tired of dodging questions about marriage from Mum, from his parents, from Smug Married friends and even from Daniel – who obviously has ulterior motives for digging into my relationship with Mark.

Funny thing is it's all so ironic: the two main loves of my life are both excellent in bed yet each, in their own way, have turned out to be Bridget-Jones-commitment-phobics. One because he shags anything that moves, the other because he's already married . . . to his job.

It's not as if I didn't see the warning signs in both cases: I mean, who the bloody hell takes work with them for a spot of boating on a lake?

After my Thai misadventure, was determined to count my blessings. Always in Mark's favour is I know he will never do what Daniel did. We've both had our hearts broken by cheaters, we both know how devastating that feels and we will never do that to each other.

I still want to be with Mark because he really does love me, just as I am, and I love him too. But feel like am treading water compared to Jude (who'd have thought she'd be married with two kids and pregnant with third? Milo and Poppy are gorgeous. Self has adorable godchildren) and Shazzer (married and pregnant with twins. More godchildren for the collection!).

At least Tom's still around. Having said that, he's so loved-up with new boyfriend Eduardo, it's been two weeks since I've heard from him.

Our last conversation went like this.

ME: Hello, stranger!

TOM: Bridgelene, I'm in serious danger of becoming a Smug Going-out-with-someone.

ME: I'm so happy for you, Tom! Eduardo's lovely.

TOM: Ain't love grand?

ME: (teasingly) Eduardo and Tom, sitting in a tree—

TOM: F-U-C-K-I-N-G!

ME: (laughing) Let's all have dinner here soon: you, Eduardo, me and Mark.

TOM: An evening with BriMark means food testing human logic. Ooh, fun times for my colon!

ME: Oi, you! And I hate our portmanteau; I don't even shop in Primark.

TOM: Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to come up with one for me and Eduardo worthy of the greats like Bennifer, Brangelina, TomKat and, of course, BriMark. See you soon, sweetie.

He's so lovely. Love lovely Tom. Thank God for the gays!

Stubbed out my fag and immediately emptied the ashtray down the loo. As I sprayed the flat, my mind continued to whir round and around about the kiss recreation.

Looking back, if anyone had told me that first eventful night with Mark would perfectly encapsulate the five years of ups and downs to come, I would've told them to piss the fuck off . . .

Saturday 29 December

8st 11 (being lovesick was best unintentional diet plan ever), alcohol units 8 (it's still Christmas), cigarettes 9 (not bad), calories 1497 (was lovesick), thoughts about Mark Darcy (non-stop), doting boyfriend 1 (hurrah! V.g indeed).

3.18 pm. My flat.

When Mark showed up on my doorstep last night, I expected physical exertion to be limited only to shagging. But those best laid plans (in every sense) were blown apart almost immediately thanks to my carelessness and his curiosity.

However, was so romantic kissing in the snow and cannot even begin to describe how being wrapped in his coat felt – that was a first for me. Didn't want to move. Wished for Doctor Who's Tardis so I could teleport us into my bed.

As he held me tightly in his arms, I inhaled deeply; could not get enough of his scent, an intoxicating aroma of natural odour and his cologne (or aftershave. Or whatever fragrance thingy he uses). Was floating on air as we held hands and walked back to my flat. Mark chivalrously gave me his coat while he braved the elements in his polo neck jumper and scarf.

Outside my building, quickly realised I'd locked myself out so had to buzz an extremely unimpressed Mr Ramdas to let me in. Luckily Mark had his wallet on him so he used a credit card to slip the lock to my flat.

After long run Paula Radcliffe would be proud of, desperately wanted to freshen up: my hair was lank thanks to a mixture of sweat and snow, perspiration had made my make-up run and my armpits were so moist, you could grow rice in them.

But Mark either didn't notice or didn't care. The minute I'd hung up his coat and my cardi, he started nuzzling my neck again and before I could stop him, he'd slipped his hands under my vest top and fondled my boobs. Obviously it was heaven, but couldn't fully give in to what he was doing to me - was self-conscious in case I had under-boob sweat.

"Oh God," I moaned as I felt him hard against my back. It was now or never as far as any bathing was concerned.

"Sorry, but you have to excuse me for a minute."

"Again?" he queried desperately.

"I know. I'm sorry. Really need the loo after all that running," I said. In my defence, it wasn't a total lie.

"The bedroom's just there," I pointed. "Why don't you make yourself at home? I'll be with you in a minute." After hurriedly rearranging my vest top, I turned around and gave him a quick peck on the lips before darting into the bathroom.

Time was of the essence so I couldn't wait for the water to get hot. Frantically washed myself down, had a pee and then a speedy douche and was just about to head to the bedroom when I caught sight of my hair. Gaaaaah! I looked like the Scarecrow in The Wizard Of Oz.

Grabbed the bottle of dry shampoo (thank you, Batiste!) and started spraying then reached for my brush. Final result wasn't perfect, but it was better. Hoped he wouldn't—

Was startled by a knock on the door. "Bridget? Are you OK in there?"

Oh shit.

"I'm fine," I called out. "Sorry. Won't be a sec. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be with you in a minute."

Mark's little reminder that he was waiting had an unfortunate effect – it made me anxious and the sweats returned with a vengeance. Had to wash and dry myself again.

On my way out of the bathroom, inspected my reflection and tried to make a snap decision about refreshing my make-up. In the end, decided in favour of a quick touch up.

Started to walk out once more, but at the last second, thought I should make an entrance so I searched the laundry basket for something sexier to pair with my knickers. Lady Luck was smiling down on me - found a black satin camisole right near the top. Gave it a sniff and reasoned I could get away with it because I'd be taking it off anyway. Or he would. To make doubly sure, I grabbed some perfume and gave it a spray.

Finally ready, made my grand entrance, telling myself to ooze the poise of Audrey Hepburn and the sex appeal of Marilyn Monroe. Or maybe I wanted to ooze the poise of Sade and the sex appeal of Princess Diana when she—

"Bridget!" Mark's exasperated voice cut into my thoughts. "I last saw you 25 minutes ago. What took you so long?" he enquired as he dropped my copy of If You Love Me, Say It on the floor.

What?! How is that possible? Thought I'd only been 10 minutes. Where did the time go? And why is it precisely the opposite whenever I'm washing up? At the sink, 10 minutes feels like 25 minutes.

It was at that moment I noticed his clothes draped over my chair with his boxer shorts, neatly folded, taking centre stage on the seat. Folded? Who does that?

"Sorry. I did go to the loo and then I wanted to freshen up because I was all sweaty after running after you and I couldn't relax or feel sexy because I was worried you'd be turned off if you touched me and felt sweat on your hands and then I saw my hair and it looked bloody awful! Supposing you decided to touch my hair? That would be horrible and it's—"

"Bridget," he interrupted, "you're adorable when you ramble on and on."

Adorable? Puppies are "adorable" – I wanted to be a sex kitten a la Brigitte Bardot! Also, couldn't help recalling his initial dismissal of me as "verbally incontinent" and now, apparently, I "ramble". And there was I thinking I was explaining . . .

"Everything about tonight has been a little out of the ordinary," he continued. "Look, you're nervous, I'm nervous – and I'm also jet-lagged, by the way." He stretched out an arm and beckoned me to him. "Come here."

I took his hand and let him pull me down on the bed. After I got under the duvet, I turned to face him. Mark lifted the sheets and, with a white-hot intensity, looked me up and down.

"I've been dreaming of this moment for months," he said huskily as he caressed my face.

I smiled into his eyes and whispered, "Can't believe we're finally together."

He leaned forward and dropped a gentle kiss on my lips. As he gathered me to him and urgently pressed my body against his, the kiss grew in fervour and intensity. I moved my lips downwards but he stopped me at his abdomen.

"Don't want to get too far ahead of you, Bridget," he said softly, drawing me up to him for another searing kiss. Felt him pulling at my knickers, which we hastily removed together, and then I sat up and took off my camisole.

"Christ, you're so beautiful," he said and bent his head to my boobs. Beautiful? Me? But self still has wobbly, lardy arse! Wow. Buried my hands in his hair, gasping aloud as he moved down my body and settled between my legs. Tried to steady my ragged breathing, but it was impossible when I felt his tongue lapping and sliding back and forth.

Transported to another place, at some point I eventually realised Mark had raised his head from between my thighs and asked about protection. Not trusting my voice, I gestured towards the top of the unit by my bed.

He quickly grabbed the packet saying, "I've never used these before."

"They're eco . . . dolphin-friendly . . . biodegradable," I managed to squeeze out.

"Ah."

When he reached for me again, felt as if my body was going to explode – can't remember the last time I wanted it so much. He kissed me deeply and, at last, eased inside my body but after only a couple of minutes, I felt him shudder, cry out my name and collapse on top of me.

For a second, the only sound was our heavy panting. And then—

"Oh fuck! Darling Bridget, I'm so sorry."

I immediately went into supportive partner mode. "It's OK. It doesn't matter, these things happen," I said, ignoring the gnawing ache of my disappointment.

"Well, the last time that happened to me was my first time. Bloody hell!"

I rubbed his arm and continued to reassure him. "Mark, it's OK."

"I know it wasn't good for you. Or me, for that matter. But all I've been thinking about is what you said at my parents' party. After dumping my suitcase at home, I came straight here."

"Mark, it's fine. Really."

"I feel like such an arse. Too bloody excited and too tired to control myself."

"You're not an arse. And I understand," I insisted, telling myself not to think of Daniel and how fantastic he was in bed.

He shifted position and said, "Look, let me—" The next thing I felt was his fingers between my legs and shortly afterwards, with a burst of intense pleasure, I finally came.

As we lay in each other's arms and exchanged loving kisses, I tried not to want more. What a bloody bizarre evening! Our first time wasn't what either of us had wanted or anticipated but there were some positives . . .

MARK DARCY SEXUAL PROS

He thinks I'm sexy.

He's a wonderful kisser.

He's v. good with his tongue.

He's v. good with his fingers.

He's generous with foreplay.

He's got a gorgeous bottom.

He's already calling me 'darling'.

Whenever he stares at me, I melt.

He looks good naked.

He asks me if something he does feels good.

He tells me if something I do feels good.

He takes direction v. well.

MARK DARCY SEXUAL CONS

Reserving judgement . . . for now.

Felt him nuzzling my neck. "Let me get some sleep and recharge my batteries. Tomorrow will be much better, I promise. Good night, darling."

"G'night."

8.33 am.

Woke up feeling disorientated and, for a split second, I thought I'd dreamt it all. But no – hadn't. There he was staring adoringly at me.

"Good morning," he smiled.

I smiled back. "Good morning."

"Yes," he said moving forward to kiss me. "It is."

Slowly and very intimately, Mark caressed my body. Mmmmm. Floating on wave after wave of dizzying emotions, I cried out his name . . . and that was when he pounced.

After all the months of frustration, we were ravenous for each other. It was passionate and it was tender and at times it felt like the dirtiest game of dare ever played: who could moan the loudest? Or thrust the fastest? Or make the other come hardest? Or . . . Mmmmmm.

Never let it be said that Mark Darcy's not a man of his word; he promised it would be better and over the course of several hours, that's exactly what it was. Three orgasms better, to be precise.

"You should've tried to kiss me at the tarts and vicars party," I said after our first ecstatic shag of the morning. "We could have saved so much time."

"You were wearing that sexy Playboy Bunny outfit, Bridget - a kiss would never have been enough." After a pause, he added, "Don't suppose you still have it, do you?"

"Lent it to Shazzer last month. She keeps forgetting to give it back."

"Ah. Pity." He could not keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"But now that I have someone to wear it for, I'll get it off her this week," I promised.

Mark sighed. "I could have been arrested for some of the thoughts that crossed my mind whenever I saw you."

Knowing I'd had such an effect on him was turning me on. "You liked how I looked in it?" I asked the question because I already knew the answer. I just wanted to hear him say it.

"'Like' is a gross understatement. Being near you was torture; I was so hard, I could have cut diamonds."

"Really?"

"Truly. You looked so sexy, Bridget. It took my breath away."

He was making me feel like a sex goddess; I was more than ready for round two. Mark groaned as my hand travelled down his chest and past his abdomen.

"Tell me what you wanted to do to me that day," I said softly as I stroked and felt him grow harder. Mmmmmm.

"Bridget Jones, not only am I going to tell you," he gasped. "I'm also going to show you."

What happened next is triple X-rated.

Am blushing at the memory of some of the things he did to me (and some of the things I did to him) during that second session . . . Turns out Mark Darcy's an exotic tiger of a man in bed (influence of Japanese first wife, I wonder?) who can go longer than the Duracell Bunny.

As for the third shag, there was no finesse to it whatsoever. We just fucked each other's brains out. So that's what barristers have hidden beneath the wigs and gowns!

Very much looking forward to having him again when he returns to my bed; he left an hour ago to pick up some clothes and toiletries – and more condoms. Oddest thing - other pack of eco-condoms has done a Lord Lucan and totally disappeared. Where is pack hiding? Where did I put it? Where? Where?

Still can't believe how fantastic shagging was! To think self was so worried after last night, but concern was misplaced. Have an insatiable sex-god for a boyfriend. Hurrah!