Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy

‘Mummy,’ said Billy, ‘why are you wearing a tea towel round your neck?’

9.30 a.m. Back from school run with latest edition of Grazia, and found an article headed: ‘Is This the End of the Skinny Jean?’

Am going to go back to dressing like the mother in Good Luck Charlie.

HEADY GLAMOROUS TIMES

Monday 20 May 2013

Film stars met 1, mini-breaks planned 1, parties about to go to with Roxster 1, rides in posh car 2, compliments from film star 5, calories consumed with film star 5476, calories consumed by film star 3.

2.30 p.m.

Everything could not be better. I am about to be picked up in a ‘car’ to go and meet Ambergris Bilk in the Savoy. Have tried on various versions of the skinny-jeans/scarf/shirt-buttoned-up-to-neck celebrity-at-airport look but finally have opted for the navy silk dress, even though it is becoming a little worn. Talitha has helped me order some dresses from Net-a-Porter for her party and have got a really nice one which is J.Crew and not that expensive.

Also in three weekends’ time Roxster and I are going on a mini-break. A mini-break! Just the two of us, for the whole of Saturday afternoon, Saturday night and Sunday. Am so excited. Have not been on a mini-break for five years! Anyway, must get on with notes for meeting.

5.30 p.m. In car on way back from meeting. Was initially disappointed when Ambergris arrived, as had expected her to sweep in in skinny jeans, shirt buttoned up to the neck, blazer, floaty bohemian scarf and enormous overpriced handbag, so that I could see how it was done, and everyone would look at and admire us. Instead I hardly recognized her when she suddenly slunk into the booth wearing grey sweats and a baseball cap.

There was a sort of bonding prologue – which I am getting used to amongst women in the movie business – taken up with Ambergris complimenting me on my outfit, the fact that it was just the navy silk dress seeming irrelevant. I felt that I too must then compliment her on her sweats.

‘They look so . . . sporty!’ I gushed wildly, just as an absolutely enormous tea arrived on a three-tier cake stand. Ambergris took a tiny smoked-salmon sandwich and toyed with it for the rest of the conversation, during which I consumed the entire bottom layer of sandwiches, three scones with jam and clotted cream, a selection of miniature tarts and pastries, and both the free glasses of champagne.

Ambergris expressed awe and wonderment at my script, placing her hand on top of mine, saying, ‘I feel humbled.’

Spirits soaring with the notion that my voice was really going to be coming to the fore, I moved on to making nice about Dougie: brushing over the anxieties Ambergris clearly shared with Damian and Imogen, that he ‘so needed it’ and hadn’t actually made anything which anyone had heard of.

‘Dougie really understands my voice,’ I said, putting a reverential warmth into the word ‘Dougie’. ‘You should do a meeting with Dougie.’ (I so have the lingo down now.)

It was agreed that Ambergris would do a meeting with Dougie and, all too quickly, it was time for Ambergris to go. I felt like we were best friends already. Also felt that was about to throw up from consuming an entire tea for two plus both of our glasses of champagne.

5.45 p.m. Just rang up Greenlight ‘from the car!’ to boast about the success of the meeting, only to find that Ambergris has already called – from her car! – to say how intelligent and empathetic she thinks I am!

TALITHA’S PARTY

It was the hottest day of the year and the sun was still high when we met for Talitha’s party. Roxster looked at his most gorgeous: in a white T-shirt, lightly tanned, a half-shadow outlining his jaw. The invitation said: ‘Casual Summer Party’. Was slightly worried about New Spring Whites dress, even though Talitha had chosen it, but when Roxster saw me he said, ‘Oh, Jonesey. You look perfect.’

‘You look perfect too,’ I said enthusiastically, practically panting with lust. ‘Your outfit’s absolutely perfect.’ At which Roxster, who clearly had no idea what he was wearing, looked down, puzzled, and said, ‘It’s just a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.’

‘I know,’ I said, giggling inwardly at the thought of Roxster’s ripped torso in a sea of suits and panama hats.

‘Do you think there’ll be a full buffet or just finger food?’

‘Roxster . . .’ I said warningly. He nuzzled up to me with a kiss. ‘I’m only here for you, baby. Do you think it’ll be hot dishes or just cold? Joke, joke, Jonesey.’