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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.

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