Tuesday 15th February

9 st 5 (how can put on two pounds in a day?), alcohol units, 5, cigarettes, 6, calories, 3100.

10:30 am. 'So how was yesterday in lovers' ville, Bridget?' asked Richard Finch while lighting up out of a window.

'Fine.'

'Spend Valentine's day with ourself did we?'

'No! I mean out of choice…not because…anyway, Richard I'll have you know, I am a proud singleton who will not be warped into this commercialised trap which is Valentine's day. Plus, next time you enquire to why I haven't a-.'

'Yes, course you are darling. Anyway, new tax year starts soon so I want you to do a piece on the rising housing market. I'm thinking mansions, luxury penthouse suites, west-end Pied de Terres etc. That will a long way away from your hovel so I've booked a car in 10 minutes. Remember, I want big, big, big. No one's interested in shacks. Got that?'

'Yes,' I reply gloomily, making a face.

'Oh and Bridget? The tax year begins in April, not January.'

'Of course I knew that! I say, haughtily though flushing violently. Does it?

6 pm. Back at flat.

Perhaps could ring Mark Darcy for legal advice. Yes and then could have meeting with him about legal stuff but actually would steer meeting towards our relationship! Genius!

6:08 pm. Except, what do you need a lawyer for?

6:10 pm. Don't really want to become criminal just to talk to Mark though…

6:11 pm. But then again…

6:13 pm. No. Must be on best behaviour

6:15 pm. Ooh! Answer phone flashing!

8 pm. Was Richard Finch. Humph.

'Bridget, Liz's got glandular bloody fever so I want you down at Huntercombe by lunchtime tomorrow. There are directions on your desk…what else…it's a black tie thing and oh yes, the book is called: 'My Struggle with Freedom' by 'Amelia King.' Google it. But don't worry, you won't have attempt to do an interview You're only there to make up the numbers.'

8:05 pm. Grr. Now have to go to work for no good reason to get sodding directions.

8:06 pm. And have to get dress out.

8:10 pm. And was meant to be meeting Tom, Jude and Shazzer at 192 ten minutes ago!

8:30 pm. 192.

'God, I feel like a sodding pensioner,' scoffed Shazzer. In a club before 9!'

'I feel like a deflated balloon with no one to blow me.' sighed Tom.

'Up,' corrected Jude. 'No one to blow you up.'

'What?' asked Tom miserably. 'Oh right, balloon.'

'Tom, what's wrong?' we asked leaning in closer.

'Amit. He's run off…and gone to…to be…oh I can't bear to think about it!' he cried. 'All I wanted was some Asian arse and a free haircut but the bullshitter has to run off to become a Buddhist.'

'Ha!' cried Shazzer. 'A Buddhist?'

'Yes, a fucking Buddhist Monk. He said he felt there was a void in his life, which not even I could fill.'

'Oh Tom,' I said, putting my arm around him. 'You don't need him. He's just an Asian arsehole who needs deporting.'

'Well, I suppose,' replied Tom lightening up. 'I don't need an elephant thingy God to fill my life. Bridge, let's get married. I mean, I'm a bloke and last time I looked, you were a girl and then we could adopt Russian orphans. Five girls, one boy.'

'Won't he feel a bit left out?'

'No, because he'll have his 'sisters' to 'play with.'

'Tom you are disgusting,' said Jude, reaching over for her drink.

'No, he's not!' slurred Shaz, stumping out her fag. 'Michael Jackson never had any sexual contact when he was a teen and look what happened to him. He became sodding Peter Pan. Tom's right.'

'Like always.' put in Tom

'Well I better be going.' I announced, downing my drink and trying to clamber over Tom to get out. 'I'm off to Huntercombe tomorrow. New book launch. Very swish. Not like those we had when I worked for…anyway, must be off! Top journalists need their sleep, you know.'

'Wow,' sighed Jude, 'Huntercombe in Hampshire or Edinburgh?'

'And don't forget Huntercombe in Newquay.' added Shazzer

'What?' I demanded. How many are there?'

'Shaz, there's no Huntercombe in Newquay! It's just a small fishing village in Cormwall.'

'Yes, there is! I've been there!'

'There isn't! There's one in Hampshire, Edinburgh, Paris, Leeds and Newport.' retorted Jude, smugly

Ooh, I hope it's in Paris! Wouldn't that be nice? I'd be able to smoke without feeling-.

'So where is it then, Bridge?' asked Shaz, glaring at Jude.

'Well, I er…'

'It will either be in Hampshire or Edinburgh,' declared Jude. 'No one will want to drive all the way to Newport.'

'They might! growled Sharon.'

'What about Leeds,' asked Tom.

'Or Paris?' I put in hopefully

'No, the Leeds Huntercombe is only for weddings and expensive family gatherings,' said Jude as if reading off leaflet.

Hmm, maybe should ring office to see which Huntercombe is correct.

Wednesday 16th February

8 st 13 (too busy to weigh self and besides, must have lost weight what with all this running about), alcohol units 20, cigarettes 25.

4 pm. Huntercombe, Hampshire.

Realised in middle of night that if right bloody Huntercombe was in Edinburgh, then would have to catch train at 7 in morning to have any hope of being there by lunch time. So got up at 6, flung contents of wardrobe into leather holdall and rushed over to office to find…Huntercombe was in Hampshire. Bloody Hampshire. Not Paris or Edinburgh. Hampshire. Which, it turns out, is only an hour away!

5 pm. Nice room though. Overlooking lake.

5:15 pm. Telephone.

Was Finchey.

'Bridget, turns out Amelia King is stuck in Switzerland having botox and won't be here until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest so you've got the evening off.'

'What am I supposed to do?'

'Well, there are a lot of things. For a start, you could finish that article on 'Children for the over 30's' which should have been in yesterday. Oh and don't think you can touch the mini bar. I'm not paying for your alcohol habit.'

5:30 pm. Really want drink. Grr. Fucking spoil sport.

8 pm. Couldn't face having dinner on own in front of everyone so ordered room service.

8:10 pm. And bottle of vodka.

9 pm. Was just going to have early night when knock at door.

'Jones, what a pleasant surprise!'

Was Daniel. Stood there in disbelief and confusion. Why didn't I check the sodding peephole? Last time had seen Daniel was in supermarket and had quickly abandoned shopping.

'Jones, don't look so frightened! I won't bite! Unless of course you want me to…'

'No! Daniel, what are you doing here?'

'I'm meant to be at this sodding book launch but the author's gone and got delayed. But I heard you were in the building, Jones and thought you'd be terribly lonely, all on your own and with no one to play with.'

'I'm not on my own actually. I am part of a top journalistic team.'

'Yes, but we all know you can't stand most of them.'

'I can!' I retorted. 'It's just we have…personality…differences.'

'And the ones who aren't married are all under 25…'

Hmm, he had a point there. Except the ones who were clinically ugly or gay.

'Christ Jones, your room is a bit small. Where's your Jacuzzi?'

What? All I had was shower and a sunken bath.

'I chose not to have one!' I replied hoity-toitedly. 'I'd rather have a sunken bath than a Jacuzzi.'

'Really? Wow, that's incredible. And, it looks like you don't have a private balcony either. Or a-.'

Suddenly, was loud bang outside and in commotion, grabbed Daniel's arm and held on tight for life. (Promise, officer)

'I've missed you Jones.' And then, for no apparent reason, we were snogging on the bed. The vodka kicked in and was giggling like 14 year old school girl and then…well, let's just say, one thing led to another.

Thursday 17th February

22 st 3 (guilt weighs a tonne), cigarettes 7, calories 702.

9:45 am. Gaah! Breakfast ends in 15 minutes!

9:46 am. Just then Daniel rolled over and out of bed. No! No! No!

10:30 am. Shook Daniel and both agreed was one off. Well, I did anyway. Was out of door before he could answer. Will not feel guilty though. Sex is all part of healing process and after what I've been through…it could take a long time.

Nothing left at breakfast so had to wait in plush sitting room until I saw Daniel come down the stairs.

7 pm. Have just found dress still in bag all crumpled and creased.

7:05 pm. Maybe will iron dress. Yes, that's a good idea.

7:10 pm. Where the fuck is the fucking iron? Honestly, am in posh hotel! Would expect them to provide ironing board. Along with private balcony in every room.

7:20 pm. Rang reception and found iron was in wardrobe along with ironing board. Humph. How was I meant to find that?

7:30 pm. Accidentally burnt hole in dress so have cut off bottom (of dress, although that may be a good idea) to fix it.

7:40 pm. Tried on dress to find was wearing ankle swinger with hem unravelling.

7:50 pm. To fix 'ankle swinger' problem, chopped off more of dress so now comes below knees. Managed to glue hem to stop it unravelling with glue meant for false eyelashes.

8:30 pm. Arrived just in time for dinner. Found was on table with Hiliary from the Mail and strange woman called Iona Harpington-Smith who seemed to know Jude but it turned out, after talking for most of the main course, in fact didn't.

9:30 pm. Speeches were so boring that found self counting each individual glass bead hanging from the chandeliers. Then, we were led into another room which had been prepared for ball room style dancing. Felt slightly embarrassed as dress was not in keeping with the 'dragging along floor' style which seemed the most popular. And had no one to dance with.

9:45 pm. Was just going to leave when familiar voice said: 'Bridget! How lovely to…are you here alone?'

10 pm. Was Mark Darcy, all dressed up. 'Want to dance?' he asked, even though there were only ten couples on the enormous dance floor.

'Yes.' I replied. Mark led me out and we began dancing to music provided by very odd looking orchestra.

'Are you staying here?' he asked.

'Yes, just-' I pointed in the direction of room even though room was upstairs-'Room 372.'

'Oh, right. I'm staying in a hotel in the town. Tell me, what do you think of the book? I mean, did you predict the ending?'

What? How could he ask me that? I hadn't read the book. But I couldn't admit that to Mark, could I? 'Yes, yes I did. I mean, it took me a while but by about half way through, I knew it.'

'Crikey. You're the first person I've spoken to today who's thought that.' He spun me around in time to the music before going 'Bridget, have you actually read the book? It's just that, you've gone bright red and…'

Bugger. 'What are you saying? That I go around pretending to have read books I haven't?' I asked indignantly.

'Bridget, it's ok, I know you and well, it doesn't matter. It was a boring book anyway. I only read it because well, our firm was sent a signed copy and I don't really have much to do in the evenings. I spend most of them'-he looked straight into my eyes-'alone.'

'So do I. Mark, I just wanted to say that-.'

'Can I cut in?' interrupted a VERY familiar voice. Swung round to see was Daniel.

'Piss off.' said Mark.

'Darcy, that's no way to speak to an old friend. Why, are you frightened I might-' he laughed-'steal her away?'

'Daniel,' I said. 'Stop it.' Could see Mark starting to get angry.

'Stop it?' he repeated. 'That's not what you said last night, Bridge. In fact, I clearly remember you asking for more.'

Bastard. Fucking bastard. Was blushing bright red and Mark had loosened his grip on me. Why now?

'Fuck off Cleaver.'

'Ok, I'm going Darcy. Sorry if I made you feel inadequate. But, it's not my fault you can't please in bed.' He turned to me. 'Goodnight Jones.'

After he had walked out the door, the song ended and Mark let go of me, looked me straight in the eye and asked 'Did you?' before walking off when I gave a little nod.

1 am. Why? Why? Why?

1:20 am. Actually, why am I feeling guilty? I wasn't cheating on Mark. He went off with Rebecca and she is basically Daniel in female form. He is a complete and utter bastard; she is a complete and utter bitch. Yes. Feel much better

6 am. Woken up by banging at door. Grr! Is this my wake up call?

7:30 am. Was Mark Darcy! 'Reception wouldn't let me through before six.' he announced before he lifted me up and threw me on the bed! Half way through our activities, he paused and asked 'Have you ever done it against a wall?'

'Er, I can't remember.' I said, flushing furiously. Actually I had a few years ago when I was going out with Daniel but thought it best not to mention that. 'We might wake the neighbours, though!' I giggled.

'Yes, but fuck them.' he grinned mischievously, then lifted me up and pinned me against the wall of my crappy Jacuzzi-less bathroom. I wrapped one of my legs around him as he pumped harder. We were wall shagging! Honestly, me, Bridget Jones! I was not a wall virgin! Well, not with Mark anyway. But then it dawned on me that this was an old house with old walls not made for pursuits like this… Was too happy to care. Life is for living, not worrying about trivial matters.

10:30 am. When we'd finished, we lay in each other's arms until something horrible happened. Suddenly. Mark cried 'Oh Christ! I should never have done this!' and started getting dressed.

'Done what?' I asked

'This. Bridget, I never meant to hurt you but…'

'But what?'

'It was just seeing you again and then Cleaver and then I…anyway that's not the point.' He was now pulling on his jacket.

'What is it? Tell me!' I begged desperately.

'I've got a plane to catch in four hours!' Mark was saying. He pressed a number on his mobile a said into it 'Hello, it's Mark Darcy here. Listen I've been held up and-.'

'A plane?' I said in disbelief. 'But where are you going?' I looked at him, 'This wasn't…a quick thing before you went on holiday?'

'Ok, thanks again. Bye.' He looked at me. 'Bridget, it's not a holiday. I've been asked to work on a case. For a year.'

I couldn't take it all in. A year? What was I suppose to do in a year? 'Am I meant to wait for you? Is this all this was? Something to remember me by?' Was all fired up now. 'I think you should go now…to er…'

'Columbia.' filled in Mark. 'South Columbia, actually. Goodbye Bridget.' He leaned over to kiss me but I pulled away. 'Right, of course, I'll um…send you a postcard.'

When he'd gone, I sat there crying until the cleaners came.