Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy

Of course this immense body of knowledge was entirely theoretical: rather as with a philosopher who sits in an ivory tower (NB an actual ivory tower, not IvoryTowers.net, the dating website), developing theories about how life ought to be lived, without actually living it.

The only thing I had to work with was the experience with Leatherjacketman. Examining the mistakes I made there, from my newly well-read perspective of informed understanding, allowed me to heal my sense of incompetence, grossness, failure and unlovableness and give me hope that, even if all is lost, if indeed it had ever been found, with Leatherjacketman, it was perhaps not lost with all other males of the species for ever.

However, there was another section – RULES FOR GETTING DATES – which was entirely empty.

WALLOWING IN IT

Monday 26 November 2012

132lb, Twitter followers impressed with knowledge of dating self-help books and Dating Rules 468, romantic prospects 0.

12.30 p.m. Just got back from Oxford Street. Whole thing is mutated as if by an avalanche of lights, sparkly baubles, romantic shop-window tableaux and festive songs on a loop, inducing the panicky feeling that Christmas has suddenly fast-forwarded itself and arrived, and I’ve forgotten to buy the turkey. What am I going to do? I’m not ready for the impending hysterical-taste-of-others exam, the sense of needing to do all the things you already have to do plus another twice-as-big layer of Christmas things on top. Worse, the forcing down the throat of perfect nuclear family, hearth-and-home tableaux, the tragic emotions, the helpless flashbacks to Christmases past, and doing Santa on your own and . . .

1 p.m. House seems dark, lonely and forlorn. How can I possibly get on with writing screenplay when feel like this?

1.05 p.m. That’s better, was wearing prescription sunglasses again. But still cannot face the thought of getting the tree, and getting out all the decorations that Mark and I bought together and . . . at least we have the St Oswald’s House cruise to look forward to . . .

1.20 p.m. Oh God. What am I going to do about that? I have to let Mum know in just under four weeks. The children will drown, and it’ll be impossible, but if I don’t go, I’ll just be on my own with the kids, trying to make it all work, and I’m just alone. Aloooone!

Sunday 2 December 2012

9.15 p.m. Just called Jude and explained psychological meltdown. ‘You have to get online.’

9.30 p.m. Have signed up for a free trial on SingleParentMix.com. Have followed Jude’s advice and slightly lied about my age as who is going to even look at a profile over fifty? Though don’t tell Talitha I even thought that. Have not put a photo up or a profile or anything.

9.45 p.m. Ooh, I’ve got a message! A message! Already! You see there ARE people out there, and . . .

Oh. It’s from forty-nine-year-old man called ‘5timesanight’.

Well, that’s . . . that’s . . .

Just clicked on message:

Just clicked on picture. Is of a plump, heavily tattooed man, wearing a short black rubber dress and a blond wig.

Mark, please help me. Mark.