Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy

Minutes late for school pickups 0 (but only as trying to impress Mr Wallaker), conversations with Mr Wallaker 0, seconds of eye contact with Mr Wallaker 0.

9.15 p.m. It seems Rebecca was right. And although I have not breathed a word about any of it (except, obviously, to Talitha, Jude and Tom), the news is out that Mr Wallaker is not married. Which is awful because now there is a feeding frenzy over Mr Wallaker. Everyone is trying to fix Mr Wallaker up with their single friend. Farzia did suggest trying to shove me at him, but it is pointless. Even though my heart leaps now, when I see him on the steps, Mr Wallaker does not come up and tease me any more. Mr Wallaker does not run into us on the Heath. The magic is gone. And it is all my own fault.

Mr Wallaker is in charge of more and more things at the school: sport, chess, music, ‘Pastoral Care’. He is like Russell Crowe in Gladiator – when he was a slave and organized the other slaves into an army and defeated all the Greeks or Romans. It’s like putting ants down in any situation: ants will just do what ants do. If you put someone really cool and capable down anywhere they will just be cool and capable. And be set up with every unattached woman in sight except me.

Friday 27 September 2013

9.45 p.m. ‘It’s you he loves,’ said Tom, on his fourth mojito in the York & Albany.

‘Look, can we just shut up about Mr Effing Wallaker?’ I muttered. ‘I’ve accepted my life now. It’s good. It’s the three of us. We’re not broke. I’m not lonely any more. I’m a great tree.’

‘And The Leaves in His Hair is going to be made!’ encouraged Jude.

‘What’s left of it,’ I said darkly.

‘But at least you’ll get to go to the premiere, baby,’ said Tom. ‘You might meet someone there.’

‘If I’m invited.’

‘If he’s not calling you, if he’s not texting you, he’s just not that into you,’ said Jude unhelpfully.

‘But Mr Wallaker has never called her or texted her,’ said Tom squiffily. ‘Who are we talking about here?’

‘Can we please stop talking about Mr Wallaker? I don’t even like him and he doesn’t like me.’

‘Well, you did rather give him an earful, darling,’ said Talitha.

‘But there was so much depth to what was building,’ said Tom.

‘When he’s hot, he’s hot; when he’s not, he’s not,’ said Jude.

‘Why don’t you get Rebecca to fix you up?’ said Tom.

10 p.m. Just went round to Rebecca’s. She shook her head. ‘It never works, that sort of thing. They sense it a mile off, by radar. Just let it unfold.’

THE MIGHTY JUNGLE

Friday 18 October 2013

Number of times listened to ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’ 45 (continuing).

9.15 p.m. The choir auditions have come round again. Billy is lying in bed singing ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’, then going, ‘Eeeeeeeeeeeeoheeeeoheeeeoh’ in a high-pitched voice while Mabel yells, ‘Shut up, Billy, shut uuuuuuuuuuurp.’

This year we have been practising hitting actual notes. Was in fact quite carried away with self this evening, teaching them Doh Ray Me, parroting Maria in The Sound of Music (I actually do know the whole of The Sound of Music off by heart).

‘Mummy?’ said Billy.

‘Yes?’

‘Can you stop, please?’

Monday 21 October 2013

Times practised ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’ before school 24, hours spent worrying whether Billy will get into choir 7, times changed outfit to pick up Billy from choir auditions 5, minutes early for pickup 7 (good, apart from reasons for same: i.e. impressing hopeless love prospect).

3.30 p.m. Just about to pick up Billy and get choir audition results. Beside self with nerves.

6 p.m. Freakishly was already waiting inside the school gates before Billy came out. I saw Mr Wallaker emerge onto the steps and glance round, but he ignored me. Was sunk into gloom, realizing that now he was officially single, he feared that all single women, including me, were going to nibble at him like piranhas.

‘Mummy!’ Billy emerged, grinning the fantastic ear-to-ear grin, as though his face was going to burst. ‘I got in! I got in! I got in the choir!’

Delirious with joy I encircled him in my arms at which he grunted, ‘Ge’ awfff!’ like an adolescent and glanced nervously at his friends.

‘Let’s go and celebrate!’ I said. ‘I’m so proud of you! Let’s go to . . . to McDonald’s!’

‘Well done, Billy.’ It was Mr Wallaker. ‘You kept trying and you made it. Good effort.’