Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy

12.30 p.m. Right. There is absolutely no need to panic. If a story is sound, and has themes relevant to modern life, then the actual setting ought to be immaterial.

1 p.m. Whole thing about Hedda and the boring husband going on a honeymoon not on a yacht and then coming back and living on a yacht seems completely nonsensical.

1.15 p.m. Wish head would stop itching.

1.20 p.m. Maybe they could have been on a road trip in the American West? Yes, surely as a car would be a nice change from a yacht?

4.30 p.m. Think will call Brian the Agent and talk it through with him. I mean, that’s what you do with agents, right?

5 p.m. Explained the whole thing to Brian the Agent, while maniacally scratching head.

‘So here’s the thing,’ said Brian. ‘Apparently, Greenlight hired a yacht in Hawaii for the Puff the Magic Dragon stoner movie, and now the stoner movie has fallen over, so they need another vehicle for a Hawaiian yacht.’

‘Oh,’ I said, crestfallen. I mean, I thought the reason Greenlight so loved The Leaves in His Hair was . . .

‘So what do we do?’ Brian said cheerfully. ‘We make Hedda Gabbler work on a Hawaiian yacht, right?’

‘Right,’ I said, nodding emphatically, even though Brian could not see emphatic nodding, infestering surrounding area with nits, as was on phone. Which was fortunate as otherwise would have also infestered Brian Katzenberg.

Thursday 25 April 2013

5 a.m. In bed writing crazily. Surrounded by revolting mess of Nicorette packets, coffee cups, pages of script all over floor, Diet Coke, Red Bull cans, etc., etc. Feel completely disgusting. Stomach is just huge bulge of grated cheese, rye bread, Diet Coke and Red Bull, and head is constantly itching. And still have not finished any coherent pages and is all spelt wrong and spacing mad, etc, etc. Also cannot even text Roxster to cheer self up because he is asleep.

10 a.m. Somehow spurred on by adrenalin rush of deadline, finished ‘pages’ and have emailed them off, even throwing in an extra, admittedly idiotic, scene I did in about twenty minutes flat, of Hedda throwing herself off the boat at the end, then Lovegood her alcoholic ex-lover doing the same and them both appearing putting on scuba gear at the bottom of the ocean like in For Your Eyes Only. But still, will give pleasing sense of more pages having been written.

Now am going back to sleep.

NIT-INFESTERED POWER MEETING

Friday 26 April 2013

12.30 p.m. Greenlight boardroom. Oh God. There was a tense atmosphere when I walked in. They were all talking amongst themselves and suddenly stopped.

‘Bridget, hello! Come and sit down!’ said Imogen. ‘Thank you for the pages. There are some lovely things in there.’ (Have subsequently come to realize that ‘There are some lovely things in there’ means ‘It’s crap’.)

There was a flat, tired air of weariness, quite different from the excitement of last week. Felt overwhelming urge to scratch my head.

‘How is the road trip a good idea when these are people who like yachts?’ George bulldozed in.

‘That’s exactly what I thought!’ I said, quickly giving my head a scratch as if to illustrate the dilemma, but actually to squash the worst bit of itching. ‘If Hedda’s going to come back and be disappointed by her new yacht, how can she already have been on a honeymoon on it?’

‘Yes, but they don’t have to go on a road trip, they could go to . . . to . . .’

My phone vibrated. Talitha.

‘Vegas!’ said Damian eagerly.

‘Not Vegas,’ said George disparagingly. ‘People get married in Vegas, they don’t have their honeymoons in Vegas.’

‘What about Costa Rica?’ said Damian.

The phone vibrated again.

Was Tom.

‘Or the Mayan Riviera?’ said Imogen.

‘Not Mexico. Kidnappings,’ said George.

‘But does it matter?’ I ventured, trying not even to start with the chilling implications of Tom’s text. ‘Because we’re not going to actually see them on the honeymoon, only when they get back.’

Everyone stared at me, as if this was a totally brilliant, original thought.

‘She’s right,’ said George. ‘We don’t need to see the honeymoon.’

Suddenly had sinking sense that George was not actually interested in the quality of my writing so much as the filming locations. Felt should quickly text Tom back reassuringly about the crabs/nit distinction, though did not have a definitive answer. Simultaneously sensed I must seize my advantage, and take control of the meeting.

‘Look,’ I said, in what I could already tell was going to be an annoying, schoolmarmy voice, scratching my head, and having a lurching fear that the reason Roxster hadn’t texted was that he too now had nits or maybe even—

‘I think the yacht is a great idea,’ I fraudulently enthused, ‘but it does throw up some issues with the adaptation. It’s important that we remember that The Nits in His Hair is making an—’