2nd Draft

 Revisions by
Andrew Davies

28 May 1999

© Working Title Films




Caption: JANUARY 1




BRIDGET JONES comes into view, bit by bit, in slow motion, walking up the steps, carrying an overnight bag. She looks lovely, and lovable, though not quite beautiful, glowing and alive against the drab and empty background - though she is in fact hungover and feeling pretty frail. There is no one else about at all. Vision of loveliness or not, she is a bit puffed by the time she stands at the top of the steps, and looks towards St Pancras - thick snow lies everywhere.


BRIDGET: (aloud, to herself) Just have a little rest.


She puts down her overnight bag, and fumbles for her cigarettes. One rather bent one left in the packet. Good.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Mmmmmm.


She gets it lit, prepares to take a long comforting drag, but a tickle in her throat makes her cough and drop the cigarette where it nestles in the snow with a faint hiss.


BRIDGET: (continuing; mildly) Oh fuck.


She braces herself, picks up her bag, and walks firmly down the road towards Euston Station.


BRIDGET: (continuing; voice over) But that's actually good, because I'm giving up anyway, or cutting down very drastically, because this year I'm going to be a really positive happening girl. Woman.


She is walking past a billboard that shows a particularly happening girl. BRIDGET shoots the girl a bit of a glare. On the corner by the station, a YOUNG BEGGAR COUPLE, elegantly gaunt, and their handsome dog. BRIDGET stoops and gives them two pounds and a nice smile, and walks on.


BEGGAR MAN: What a lovely caring person.


BEGGAR WOMAN: Shame about the thighs.


BEGGAR MAN: Yeah, she could lose a stone or so...


We are on BRIDGET'S face on hearing this, the dog barks.


DOG: Arf!


BEGGAR MAN: (confirming dog's judgment) ...stone 'n a half, yeah...


BRIDGET’S lower lip juts out, hearing this (it's really her imagination of what they are saying).


BRIDGET: (voice over) Well I will. This year I shall stay under one thousand calories a day; go to the gym three times week, not just to buy sandwiches...




She is crossing the concourse now. Ahead of her the huge boards with the train times. We see "Northampton 10.40 - Platform 9 " and as she passes the noticeboard the display changes to:


Bridget Jones


Annual report 1999


Alcohol Units: 3836 - Could do better


(We are looking at the notices close up one by one now, could intercut with Bridget walking up the platform and the TITLES of the film.)


Cigarettes: 5277


Mars Bars: 243


Calories consumed: 11,090,265


Vital statistics 36, 28, 39 (not bad considering)


Thighs - no comment


Number of boyfriends at today's date: 0


TWO MIDDLE-AGED WOMEN from up North are reading the announcement board.


NORTHERN WOMAN: Look at that. No boyfriend!


NORTHERN FRIEND: It's the thighs.


STATION ANNOUNCER: (voice over) Passengers are informed that there is nothing whatsoever the matter with Bridget Jones's thighs. Passengers are advised that you do not have to look like a stick insect to be attractive.


By the end of his announcement we are on Bridget again, sitting in the train now, as it moves out of the station. We are on Bridget's face, and her view out of the window. Station staff, trolleys, posters.


BRIDGET: (voice over) Quite right. And there are far more important things too, like world peace, and...


We pass a poster featuring a model with ridiculously long slim legs.


BRIDGET: (continuing; voice over) anyway this is the year I'm going to have (by mistake she says the next bit out loud) Thighs to die for!


A bespectacled man walking down the train corridor looks at her in some alarm - she gives him an embarrassed grin.


BRIDGET: (continuing; voice over) And this year I will not fall for any of the following:


As she lists them, we see them coming down the train, as it were on their way to the buffet, but really in Bridget's mind's eye:


BRIDGET: (continuing) Workaholics.....


WORKAHOLIC MAN very preoccupied, dictating into machine from clipboard notes...


BRIDGET: (continuing) Alcoholics....


An attractive but rather wild looking man, a bit like Nicholas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas, lurches down the aisle. He gives BRIDGET a rather charming, hopeless, Nicholas Cage type smile, and we see her start to respond before she determinedly turns away and grits her teeth:


BRIDGET: (continuing) Commitment phobics... married men... misogynists... megalomaniacs… emotional fuckwits… crooks or perverts.


She leans back in the seat, and remembers:




BRIDGET in foreground, rather pissed, singing along with two SECRETARIES to the party tape, singing at each other, as you do:


BRIDGET AND SECRETARIES: (singing) So take a good look at my face - you see my smile just looks out of place...


In the background DANIEL CLEAVER deep in serious conversation with MR FITZHERBERT looks across amused, right at BRIDGET (us). He is to die for.


BRIDGET: (voice over) And I will not obsess about Daniel Cleaver, who is much too grand and important and probably doesn't even know my name...




Close on Bridget's rather sad face.


BRIDGET: (voice over) And I will not sulk about having no boyfriend, even though everyone else in the world is probably shagging themselves silly... I will read improving books...


She gets out a battered copy of The Famished Road by Ben Okri. The page is turned down at page 3. She Grits her teeth and gets down to it.


BRIDGET: (continuing) ...and maybe some perfect man will just happen to pass by and cry: "Hey, you love Ben Okri too!"


She realises that this is absurd. Into the bag goes Ben. Out comes HELLO.



The train has stopped, miles from anywhere. We start to hear the SENIOR CONDUCTOR before we cut to:




Bridget's carriage. We can see other travellers as well as Bridget - many of them look the worse for wear after last night.


SENIOR CONDUCTOR: (voice over; West Indian accent) Virgin Trains would like to apologise for the delay to this train, which is due to a faulty locomotive.


Passengers groan and grimace in a used to it sort of way.


SENIOR CONDUCTOR: (continuing) Richard Branson himself would like to apologise particularly to Miss Bridget Jones, who is suffering a severe hangover and is only making this journey out of the kindness of her heart to please her mum - Richard wants Bridget to know how bad he feels about this delay - thank you Bridget for your continued patience....




A detached house on the edge of a pretty thatched village. Bridget gets out of the taxi - the front door opens as she is halfway up the drive.


MOTHER: Durr! Where the heckers have you been? Mark Darcy's here!


She's dragging Bridget in.


BRIDGET: Sorry, should I...


MOTHER: You remember Mark, you used to play in his paddling pool! (with great significance) He's divorced now. Barrister. Very well off.


BRIDGET'S face. Her mother is dragging her upstairs - we can hear the party guests and see some of them - mostly around sixty, very jolly, smaller number Bridget's age, with babies and toddlers.


MOTHER: (continuing) Look! Bridget's come! At last!


GEOFFREY dances out with his Bruce Forsyth shuffle, but falters to a halt as mother drags Bridget on up and into the bedroom.




Little narrow bed, still decorated for a fifteen year old.


MOTHER: Now you're not wearing that.


BRIDGET: Why not?


MOTHER: Look! She holds up a horrible bright garment.


MOTHER: (continuing) From Geoffrey and Una! They were going to send it, but I said I'll keep it here for her, she can wear it at the Turkey Curry Buffet!




MOTHER: You've got to, Bridget, otherwise they'll think you don't like it.




Bridget comes in, smiling bravely, wearing the horrible garment. GEOFFREY ALCONBURY looms up. Geoffrey is 60 and fat.


GEOFFREY: Here she comes - my little Bridget!


BRIDGET: Not your little Bridget.


Geoffrey puts his arm round her, roaring with laughter as if it's the best joke in the world.


GEOFFREY: That's what she always says! Got a drink? No? Come on then, I could do with a fillup.


As he leads her to the drinks table through the chattering guests, we notice a solitary figure by the window, his back to us, his head turned in handsome profile, his whole posture indicating haughty disengagement. MARK DARCY.


GEOFFREY: (continuing) So how's your love life, Bridget?


BRIDGET: Fine, thanks.


Geoffrey turns to pour drinks.


GEOFFREY: Still no boyfriend, then, I don't know. There we are!


The last referring to the drink he hands Bridget.


GEOFFREY: (continuing) How does a pretty girl like you get to thirty-two without snaffling some poor feller?


UNA ALCONBURY comes up, beaming, stands next to Geoffrey.


UNA: Durr! You career girls! Can't put it off for ever you know. Tick tock! Tick tock!


BRIDGET: I know, I know. But that's enough about me. How's your marriage going, Una? Still shagging, are you, you and Geoffrey, or have you packed it in now? - sorry I didn't actually mean to say that out loud.


They are staring at her openmouthed.


BRIDGET: (continuing) I must go and see Dad, I haven't said hello to him yet.


Una and Geoffrey still in shock - then Una finds a saving formula.


UNA: London - it's all that sort of thing there. You know, cutting edge.


GEOFFREY: Ah. Horrible thing she's wearing too.


UNA: We bought it her for Christmas.


GEOFFREY: Did we. Did we. Very nice, in that case.


Still in shock, he drains his glass. BRIDGET has found her Dad. Long-suffering, ironic, talking to an elderly lady.


DAD: Ah, Bridget, this is... do you know I'm sorry, I've known you for forty years and I've completely forgotten your name.


The woman gives him a terrible look and goes.


DAD: (continuing) Oh, God. Well if you cram your head with too many bits of useless information of course they're going to start falling out on the other side, Hilary Saunders-Jacobs, there you are, remembered, too late, no use, how are you darling?


BRIDGET: I'm fine. It's lovely to see you.


She is very fond of her father and he of her. She kisses him.


DAD: (confidentially) Your mother's succeeded in trapping a barrister. Over there.


We get another view of Mark Darcy. Still alone, still looking very snooty, but undeniably handsome in what appears to be a dark blue sweater.


DAD: (continuing) Pretty nasty beast, no one's tried to get in the cage with him since he nearly took Brian Enderby's arm off. Look out. Here they come.


MOTHER and UNA descend on Bridget together and sweep her off.


MOTHER: Come on. Shoulders back, nice smile.


MARK is talking in low urgent tones to his FATHER and MOTHER.


MARK: ...very much if you'd stop introducing me to your friends' hopeless desperate daughters, what?


The "what" is because his parents have been trying to signal the approach of Bridget. As she arrives and he turns, they can move away. Bridget, of course, has heard the last bit.


MOTHER: Mark! Here she is!


MARK turns slowly, revealing that his plain navy sweater has an Alan Partridge-like diamond pattern on the front in yellow, red and green. Bridget winces. No one who wears a sweater like that could possibly be all right, or sexy. He doesn't seem to like the look of her, either.


MOTHER: (continuing) You remember Bridget, she used to run round your lawn with no clothes on! You remember that, don't you?


Mark takes his time looking at her. Bridget wishes her mum would sink into the earth.


MARK: (eventually) Not as such, no.


BRIDGET: I'm relieved to hear it.


MARK: You don't still go in for, ah that sort of thing I trust?


He says that in a very formal, rather forbidding sort of way, very Mr Darcyish in fact. So that it's just embarrassing, not flirty.


BRIDGET: No. Not as such.


He has started thinking how nice Bridget would look on his lawn with no clothes. A silence develops which he seems disinclined to break. Una decides to help.


UNA: Bridget works in publishing, don't you Bridget?


BRIDGET: I do indeed.


MARK: I, um. Have you been reading any good books lately?


BRIDGET can't help letting out a loud puffing sigh, before, rather grandly:


BRIDGET: The Famished Road, by Ben Okri?


MARK: Really.


BRIDGET: It's not that bad.


During that exchange Bridget's Mum and Una are very conspicuously tactfully extricating themselves and leaving the "two young people" together.


MARK: No - what I meant was that as you work in publishing I'd have expected you to be reading something a bit more, um, of the moment.


This is so snooty and put-downish there is no answer to it. But Bridget has one last try.


BRIDGET: (desperately) So! Is this your first time at a Turkey Curry Buffet?


MARK: Yes, and I sincerely hope the last.


He becomes aware that he's staring at Bridget again. He turns his head and gazes disparagingly at the furniture. Bridget suddenly finds herself saying:


BRIDGET: You don't believe in making much of an effort, do you?


MARK: I'm sorry?


BRIDGET: Well you might have been dragged kicking and screaming to this party, I imagine we're both here to please our parents, but now you're here, I mean, look, are you always like this, hasn't it ever occurred to you it's a bit silly to be called Mr Darcy and then stand about on your own looking too grand to be bothered? I mean, I mean it's a bit like, like being called Heathcliff and spending the whole evening in the garden shouting "Cathy" and banging your head against a tree, don't you think?


A pause, she has rather shocked herself coming out with all that.


MARK: I hadn't realised that was the impression I gave.


Like the original Darcy, he has a cool tone he can resort to when under pressure - he is actually a bit upset that this wild but really rather fanciable girl has taken against him so.


BRIDGET: Well it is. And anyway, if you're supposed to be so clever why are you wearing such a wankerish jumper?


MARK: (coldly) It was a Christmas present. Excuse me.


He stalks off towards the buffet. GEOFFREY looms up.


GEOFFREY: What do you do to them, Bridget, scare them off?


BRIDGET: Spose I do, yes. I am rather scary.


GEOFFREY: Not to me. (He lowers his voice) Have you ever thought about the possibility of an affair with an older man?


BRIDGET: I don't think you'd be up to the sex, Geoffrey.


GEOFFREY: (ruefully) No, possibly not. (As Bridget goes, again rather glumly) I wouldn't mind a crack at it though.




Bridget is on a sofa talking to her Dad. Mark is still standing on his own, by the buffet this time, looking over at her. A middle-aged woman comes up and speaks to him, he responds politely, but he keeps looking over at Bridget.


BRIDGET: You're not desperate for me to get married, are you?


DAD: Good God, no. Not if you don't want to. In any case I'd hardly be inclined to recommend it to anyone.


BRIDGET: You wouldn't have had me if you hadn't married Mum.


DAD: No - there is that. Your presence in the world almost makes the whole sorry business seem worth while.


BRIDGET: That man over there is a complete and utter tosser. I don't know what he thinks he's staring at.


MOTHER and UNA bustle up.


MOTHER: Bridget, look, we've found it!


A photo of a thin eight year old boy in swimming trunks - his erection clearly visible - and a plump five year old girl with nothing on at all.


MOTHER: (continuing) Don't you both look sweet! Mark!




They drag her towards Mark, who is contemplating a curried drumstick with some distaste.


MOTHER: There you are you see! Hard evidence!


Mother is unaware of the double-entendre, and indeed the erection, or doesn't think it matters. She's as happy as Larry about the whole caboodle. Somehow Mark and Bridget survive this exquisitely excruciating moment.


MOTHER: (continuing) Now, we were just saying Mark - you could give Bridget a lift back to London when you go, couldn't you?


MARK: Actually I'm going North for a couple of days but my car's going back tonight. It could take you, if you like.


BRIDGET: What, all on its own?


MOTHER: Durr! Mark has a car with a driver, silly.


BRIDGET: Oh. Well, thanks very much, but I shall be (grandly) taking one of my trains in the morning.




Bridget wearing night things is smoking and shivering with her bedroom window wide open. A knock on the door - she panics and her Dad puts his head round to see her in the act of throwing her fag away.


DAD: Don't do that - I was just going to ask if I could borrow one.


BRIDGET: But you don't smoke.




They are both smoking out of the window now.


DAD: It's since she went to Albufeira with Una. I hadn't grasped it wasn't an ordinary holiday, it was one of those alternative ones.


BRIDGET: You mean like an adventure holiday?


DAD: Sort of. She's had her consciousness raised apparently. She says she's found the new her. I don't like it.


BRIDGET: But what about the old her? Actually I didn't notice any difference.


DAD: She says she wants to be paid for doing housework now. She says she's wasted her life being our slave. She says that as far as I know or care, the, er, clitoris could be something from Nigel Coles's lepidoptery collection.


BRIDGET: Bloody hell.


DAD: Quite.


BRIDGET: Well, um... keep me posted.


DAD: I will.




Moving in towards:




Start in the empty living room, the remnants of Christmas - present wrappings, tatty little tree... through to Bridget staring at herself in the bathroom mirror. Here she is, all on her own... what's to become of her? Hold that moment... then see a look of determination dawn on her face.




Bridget emerges from the Underground among many other people, quite a few of them rather like her, healthy young women with degrees in English and poorly paid jobs in publishing and the like, dressed in black and searching for happiness. As we hear her voice we see statistics chatter across screen.


BRIDGET: January 3rd. Nine stone four. Bad, bad, bad, bad, got to do better, and I will do better, new happening new year Bridget, iron will and buns of steel!


She goes in a coffee shop. She might say "buns of steel" aloud just as she enters the coffee shop, embarrassing herself and alarming a man on his way out.




She smiles brightly at the coffee man to cover embarrassment. The coffee man has served Bridget before.


COFFEE MAN: Large Cappuccino, chocolate croissant?


BRIDGET: (rather grandly) Not today thank you, just a large espresso.


There is a TV set on in the coffee shop. An ad shows a tall leggy hardbodied girl doing her boxercise, really hammering the heavy bag. (Bridget identifies, tough expression, boxer face, throws minimal punches...) TV cuts to same girl striding into boardroom taking place at head of table... voice over says


TV VOICEOVER: You know who you are. And you choose what's right for you.


And as the ad closes in on the bottles of San Pellegrino or whatever on the table...


BRIDGET: Actually I will have a cappuccino, (after a brief struggle) And a croissant.


COFFEE MAN: Chocolate?


BRIDGET: Oh, go on then.


Bridget eyes the croissant lustfully, then looks at her watch. Erk, late again.




Bridget slips as unobtrusively as she can to see MR FITZHERBERT the Editorial Director, speaking to the half dozen denizens of the office: plump and bossy Perpetua, and other females, secretarial and editorial - and by FITZHERBERT's side is DANIEL - gorgeous, energetic, wicked, but keeping the wickedness under control for the moment.


FITZHERBERT: … Daniel Cleaver, who'll be taking over the Iguana imprint as of today…


DANIEL: Thanks - umm... I aim to ease myself in very gently - I wouldn't want anyone to feel threatened, least of all the Iguana. (Bridget laughs) Ok?


Yes, he seems OK with everyone, especially Bridget.




Bridget is typing. Perpetua is talking on the phone.


PERPETUA: Yars, yars... well it is north facing, but they've done something frightfully clever with the light. Bridget. I need that Kafka's Motorbike release by eleven.


BRIDGET: On the case, boss.


But she is suddenly attacked by hunger and weariness and takes a bite of croissant just as Daniel prowls by. Oh, shit.


DANIEL: (grinning) Don't let me interrupt the Stakhanovite flow. Perpetua I've met already. You must be Bridget Jones. Publicity, yes?


Bridget has by now managed to swallow the bit of croissant.


BRIDGET: Yes. But I would like to do more editing.


DANIEL: (appreciatively) Excellent. I'll see what I can do. Meanwhile - attack that slushpile, Jones. There may be gold in there.


Everything he says seems to carry a load of playful sexual subtext, which, since he's so tasty-looking, is most appealing. Life seems to be a delightful joke to him.


He strolls off. Nice shoulders, nice bum. He turns, and catches her looking. Hint of a smile. He's gone.




A dark, higgledy-piggledy wood-panelled club with many tiny rooms, stairs and blazing fires. BRIDGET, JUDE AND SHARON with Chardonnay. JUDE is slight, elegant, clever and successful, but vague, SHARON more robust and strident, Northern accent. They all met at Nottingham University. Bridget is still in a bit of a lust-daze from Daniel.


JUDE: It's as if I was trying to trap him into a forty-year marriage, for God's sake. I only asked if we could go for a mini-break.


SHARON: They're strange creatures, men. Like bloody gazelles. One whiff of commitment and they're over the horizon, little buttocks twinkling away.


BRIDGET: (thinking of Daniel) Nice little buttocks.


SHARON: Oh for god's sake woman, pull yourself together.


JUDE Why is he being like this?


SHARON: Well, he's gay, isn't he? Must be. They all are, deep down. Queer as coots, the lot of them. Hello Tom.


TOM is gay.


TOM: (kissing them all) God, I'm so glad to see you - Bridget! You've lost so much weight!


BRIDGET: (delighted) Have I?


JUDE and SHARON roll their eyes. He says this every time he sees her.


TOM: (pouring himself a drink) I've been having such a tragic time…


SHARON: Tom, do you mind if we talk about something other than you for a moment? We were in the middle of a conversation.


TOM: But not about me? Whatever could it have been about?




Full ashtrays, empty Chardonnay bottles.


TOM: But look, Jude. How can you lead an entire trading floor through the collapse of the Yen to a standing ovation, and then make such an utter bollocks out of dealing with vile Richard?


JUDE: (tearfully) Because economic problems are susceptible to logical analysis.


SHARON: Whereas Vile Richard is an emotional fuckwit who engulfs her in a seething swamp of Emotional Fuckwittage -you've got to chuck him, Jude.


JUDE: So do you think I should call him or not?




BRIDGET: (simultaneously) Yes. I mean no.




A sordid very narrow passageway, full of TRAMPS and sick. The four of them drunkenly lurch out. TOM suddenly slumps against the wall.


TOM: Oh God.




TOM: Oh, it's Jerome.




The four of them squeezed in, passing the lights of Piccadilly.


TOM: (tearful) Oh, he'll come to things, like openings and the Ring Cycle, but when we go clubbing he pretends he's not with me, and then when we get home he never wants to, oh, you know?


BRIDGET: What? You mean you don't, ever?


TOM: Oh, sometimes, sometimes. But it's always me who has to take the so to speak plunge. A shocked pause while they take it in.


SHARON: You know what it is, don't you. He's straight, he just doesn't know it yet.


TOM: Jerome is straight?


SHARON: Straight as a die.


JUDE: Straight as an arrow.


They look at Bridget.


BRIDGET: Straight as a very straight, straight, straight... penis.


She giggles.


SHARON: Shut up, Bridge, you're drunk.




They tumble out of the taxi.


BRIDGET, JUDE AND SHAZZER: (severally) They're fuckwits, fuckwits, perverts and bastards, fuckwits.


TOM: And we girls do not need them because we are happy with each other's company and elevating conversation.


Like all of them, Tom is very pissed and only just manages the longer words.


BRIDGET: Zackly. I mean exackly. I love you, Tom. I love you, Jude and Shazzer. Got to go now, beauty sleep.


She stumbles off.


BRIDGET: (continuing; voice over) From now on, slim, taut, haughty, haughty yes, that's good, icequeen, stun them with my icy sang-froid, (aloud, she essays sexy male voice) Hi, I'm Daniel. (She essays haughty icequeen voice) Not interested - I am the Office Icequeen. Yeah! (Voice over) Wear my little black skirt tomorrow I think. Well Icequeens can wear short skirts if they like - and they can't all be fuckwits - somewhere there's got to be one who's just looking for a nice girl to love, iss not 's if iss 'n outrageous demand…


She trips on a grating and breaks her heel.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Oh, bugger!




Bridget looking not as hungover as she deserves to, looking very nice, big coat, very short black skirt. There are other Bridget-types there, amongst other travellers. All the Bridgets sit nicely, some reading books, some not, men sit between them - businessmen spreading their pink FTs all over the place, big black guys spreading their thighs so wide it looks as if they are doing it for a bet, grossly huge twelve year old boys in massive trainers hitting each other.


BRIDGET: (voice over) If I was nine stone two when I went to bed, how could I be nine stone five in the morning? Questions like these have baffled scientists since the dawn of time...


We look at another "Bridget" in the tube and hear her voice over.


ANOTHER BRIDGET: (voice over) So if he asked for my number that ought to mean he wants to call me, doesn't it? or does he just collect phone numbers for a hobby?


A THIRD BRIDGET: (voice over) Is it my nose? It is, isn't it? It's my nose.


Her nose is perfectly OK.


A JAPANESE BRIDGET: Somewhere there must be someone waiting for me to come in his life. I am hoping he doesn't have a hairy back.




Bridget sits and types - we can see that the heading in a big fancy font is KAFKA'S MOTORBIKE. Sitting down, her skirt is indeed very short. Perpetua is on the phone.


PERPETUA: But my question is - should I go for grey ruched blinds against yellow, or blood red with a floral frieze?


Swing door bursts open with a flourish and DANIEL walks energetically past.


DANIEL: Good morning!


Without stopping, he stoops and murmurs to Bridget:


DANIEL: (continuing) Why Jones, you seem to have forgotten your skirt.


He strides on into his office. Nice shoulders, nice bum. Bridget transfixed.


(For the following, I think it would be best if the office were semi-open-plan, so that we and Bridget can see Daniel through glass in his office, talking to people in person, on phone, and occasionally making eye contact with Bridget.) So, now, she watches him receive a visitor - then tries to pull herself together, and gets back to Kafka's motorbike.


MESSAGE PENDING flashes on Bridget's computer screen. She glances at Perpetua, then presses EXE.


BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: MSG Jones. Re absent skirt. Is skirt off sick? Cleaver.


PERPETUA: (still on phone) Yars... yars... yars.


Bridget grins and types.


BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: MSG Cleaver. Skirt neither sick nor absent. Appalled by management's blatantly SIZIST ATTITUDE to skirt. Suggest management sick, not skirt. Jones.


She presses SEND and looks slyly at Daniel. He reads the message and laughs. And glances over - his warm sexy mischievous smile. Bridget gives him a hint of reciprocation, then lowers her eyes.


BRIDGET: Ice queen. Ice queen.


PERPETUA: Kafka's Motorbike?


BRIDGET: Roarin' up the highway, boss.






BRIDGET: I'm not flirting with him. But obviously I have to reply to his messages because he's my boss.


JUDE: Yes, I do see that, but...


SHARON: Listen, kid. If you want him, take him. Take him, shag him senseless, and toss him aside like an old shoe. It's the only way to do it.


Chap walking past carrying drinks to his girl gets seriously frightened overhearing this. Glasses tinkle and shudder.


BRIDGET: Yeah. Right.




Bridget still labouring at Kafka's Motorbike. Light flashes: Message Pending. She presses EXE.


BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: MSG Jones. Still worried about skirt. Shirt is looking peaky too; wan, thin...


MESSAGE PENDING light flashes again. Bridget presses EXE.


BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: (continuing) MSG Jones... almost to point of being transparent. Cleaver.


Bridget giggles and types energetically.


BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: (continuing) MSG Cleaver. Shut up I am very busy and important. P.S. How dare you sexually harass me in this impertinent manner? Jones.


PERPETUA: Nice to see you getting on with some work, Bridget.


Daniel reading screen, laughing then typing.


PERPETUA: (continuing; into phone) So what you're really saying, Hermione, is that you don't like the terra-cotta.


MESSAGE PENDING on Bridget's screen. She executes


BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: MSG Jones. Mortified to have caused offence. Any sexual harassment entirely unintentional. P.S. I like your tits in that top. Cleaver.


BRIDGET sighs.




BRIDGET, JUDE and SHARON are trying clothes beside an IMPOSSIBLY THIN GIRL and her OBESE FRIEND. Bridget is headless at the moment, voice muffled.


BRIDGET: It's nothing! It's nothing!


She emerges pink faced.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Just friendly banter between colleagues, that's all.


SHARON: Yeah, right.


THIN GIRL: (to her friend) Does it make me look fat?




Bridget typing. Light flashes: Message pending. Message pending.


BRIDGET: Ice Queen. Ice Queen. Oh, go on then.


She executes.


BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: MSG Jones. Skirt plainly still unwell. May I please have skirt's address and phone number so management may send flowers? Cleaver


BRIDGET: Yessssss!




BRIDGET as bride. Daniel is making a speech.


DANIEL: And it all began with some rather irresponsible e-mailing over Bridget's non-existent skirt.


GUESTS laugh. Bridget smiles modestly.




JUDE is trying on a most unhappy cat suit.


BRIDGET: Well obviously I had to give him my phone number when he asked for it, or it would seem rude.


SHARON: Yeah, right.


JUDE: What d'you think?


SHARON: You look like a pantomime snake.


BRIDGET: And if he does ask me out, I'll say no.




Intercutting between Daniel and Bridget, on the phone.


DANIEL: So I wondered if the skirt would care for dinner on Friday evening?


BRIDGET: I shall get my secretary to ask its agent.


DANIEL: Ah, don't suppose you'd like to come along too?


BRIDGET: Ooh yes please I'd love to!




BRIDGET is brushing dry skin, showering with exfoliating scrub, massaging anti-cellulite massage oil, plucking eyebrows, cleansing and moisturizing. Statistics appear on screen as she speaks.


BRIDGET: (voice over) Friday January 31. 9 stone 1 excellent - cigarettes 29 in two hours is that possible? - Being a woman is worse than being a farmer... harvesting, weeding, crop-spraying... if I just let it revert to nature... vast mountain ranges, acres of rainforest... maybe I should...! could be destroying the habitat of all sorts of rare species here... I wonder if Daniel cares about the rainforest...! bet he does... he's got a very gentle nurturing look about him...


She goes into a bit of a daze... across the screen we see "sexual thoughts about Daniel" flicker up from 439 to 445.




Real fire blazing in grate, TV on, Bridget in underwear with towel round head is trying to wax her legs while talking into phone.


NEWS ANCHOR: (on TV) So would you agree that the Nato leadership have had to abandon any pretence of a high moral standpoint now that ground troops have begun to penetrate the hinterland?


BRIDGET wrinkles her nose in effort to understand, then gives up, and zaps the sound down. Faces continue to talk animatedly on TV, with shots of warplanes taking off, mountains, Blair, Clinton.


BRIDGET: Shaz. I am not. Going. To sleep with him. OK?




SHARON talking into mobile next to DISAPPROVING MAN.


SHARON: Yeah, right. So why are you waxing your bikini line?




The entryphone rings. Bridget panics.


BRIDGET: Gaah! Has he gone out of his mind? He's here - forty minutes early! I'll call you tomorrow, bye!


She puts the phone down, picks up gown, heads for door.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Ice-queen. Ice-queen.


She picks up entryphone.


BRIDGET: (continuing; seductively) Hello. Oh Dad.


She pulls private horror face.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Come in.


She bangs her head repeatedly against the doorframe.


DAD sitting on sofa with mug of tea. Bridget is being sympathetic while rubbing her hair with towel and glancing worriedly towards the clock.


DAD: Over thirty years of marriage would appear to count for nothing. It's as if I'm one of those East European dictators whose time has come, and she's the leader of the uprising. At the moment it's not quite clear whether I'm to be strung up from the lamp post, executed by firing squad, or simply torn limb from limb. That, probably. That's what it feels like.


He looks at her and attempts a wry smile but he is clearly in a bad way.


BRIDGET: Oh, Dad. You're not supposed to be like this.


DAD: I know, I know. Bloody nuisance. I just thought you might have some, you know... advice.


BRIDGET: Well - maybe it's a sort of... later-life crisis. I mean you've retired, maybe she wants to retire as well. You mustn't get all upset about it.


DAD: I think she hates me, Bridget.


The phone rings. Bridget picks it up, staring at her Dad.


BRIDGET: Tom, this isn't a good moment. Daniel's going to be here in ten minutes. And Dad's here - and the flat's a tip - what? I threw them away an hour ago. Can't it wait till... OK, OK.


She puts the phone down and gives Dad her phone book.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Dad. Sorry. Will you call, this number in five minutes? Tom's left his mobile and I've thrown it away with the newspapers.


She grabs a coat and exits.




BRIDGET stands on a low wall by three communal dustbins. Mark Darcy appears, dressed in formal dark clothes, lovely overcoat, carrying a briefcase.


MARK: Hello.




She becomes aware that she has mad hair, and her coat is open revealing she is wearing nothing but her sexiest underwear underneath.


MARK: What are you doing?


BRIDGET: Waiting for the dustbin to ring.


MARK: Ah. Er... have you been waiting long?


BRIDGET: Oh... about the usual.


The dustbin starts to ring. Bridget starts trying to reach into it. Mark joins her on the wall.


MARK: Please. Allow me.


He reaches into the dustbin. He's tall, and surprisingly agile.


MARK: (continuing; into phone) Bridget Jones's phone. May I ask who's calling? (Handing phone to Bridget) It's for you.


BRIDGET: Thank you. Thanks, Dad. I'll be back in a minute. Hang on. (To Mark) Thank you - good night.


She heads off. He gives her retreating back a long smouldering look.




BRIDGET enters, breathless.


BRIDGET: Bloody, bloody Mark Darcy. "Have you been waiting long?" Dad, I'm rushing but I'm listening.


She dives off into the bathroom.


DAD: She says she's wasted her life. She says we need time apart. Oh by the way someone called David rang?


BRIDGET shoots out of bathroom.


BRIDGET: David? Daniel?


DAD: Yes, that's right. He said he had to work tonight, and he'll call you over the weekend.


Bridget's face.




Friday night. Bridget huddled in a state on the sofa, in dressing gown, eating, stares at the phone. Frasier is just ending on the TV, we hear the theme tune, don't need to see the screen. She zaps tv off, stares at the phone.






Bridget pacing the room... which is in a mess, all the things she's started and abandoned, books, magazines, food... she looks out of the window. Grandstand music on TV. Down in the street a young couple walking along hand in hand stop and kiss. Bridget lets out a sort of suppressed howl, goes to the phone and starts to shake it.


BRIDGET: Come on! Come on!






Saturday night. Bridget on the sofa in her dressing gown sucking her thumb or having otherwise regressed. Angus Deayton fills the screen saying something witty, audience sycophantically laughs, Bridget lets out a little sob.






Bridget stares at the telephone, willing it to ring. Picks it up, dials 1471. Puts it down again.


BRIDGET: (voice over) Sunday February 1st. 9 stone 4: disaster. Calories 300, off food, very good. Number of 1471 calls despite not having left the flat 44, insane. Negative thoughts 942. Positive thoughts 1, well done.


BRIDGET eating Branston pickle, then muesli out of the packet with a spoon. The phone rings. She grabs it.


BRIDGET: (seductively then psychotically) Hello? Shaz! Have you gone out of your mind? Get off the phone! Get off the phone!


She puts the phone down. It rings immediately.


BRIDGET: (continuing; seductively) Hello? Mum.




MOTHER and BRIDGET face each other across the table.


MOTHER: I've spent thirty five years cleaning his house, washing his clothes, bringing up his children...


BRIDGET: (hurt) I'm your child too.


MOTHER: I'm like - Germaine Gear, you know.


BRIDGET: Bloody hell.


MOTHER: The Invisible Woman. Well now I want something for me. Is that too much to ask?


Mother glances across the room, and suddenly makes to leave.


MOTHER: (continuing) Anyway, darling, must whizz. I've got to catch the butcher!


Bridget follows her glance to the exit where JULIO, late in life Latino smoothie, taps his watch then ducks away.


BRIDGET furtively following MOTHER and JULIO through the store. She watches them furtively on the escalator. Then, as Bridget travels down, she sees Mother in the perfume department coquettishly spraying perfume on her wrist, which Julio sniffs and nuzzles.








MAGDA: Mummy will smack! She will smack! Oh, hi, Bridge, I hope you're still coming to our anniversary.




MAGDA is pretty, same age as Bridget, but married, one baby under arm, another little toddler staggering around with a turd in its hand, handsome husband (JEREMY) sitting in background with drink and newspaper.


MAGDA: We've got someone for you. Single? Divorced? Very rich? No! In the POTTY! The POTTY! Well put it in Daddy's hand then!


JEREMY resignedly holds out his hand for the turd, but looks dangerously at Magda.


MAGDA: (continuing) Sorry Bridge, I'd better go, bye.




Bridget replaces phone, punches answerphone button.


ANSWERPHONE: (severely) You have no messages.


Bridget crashes her head on the table.




Perpetua is on the phone. Bridget watches the door and the clock.


PERPETUA: The problem is, if we hang on to the Bechstein there simply won't be any room for the Biedermeier.


Bridget makes a face, then looks at the clock.




The door bursts open. DANIEL enters, looking not in the least furtive or guilty, and breezes through.


DANIEL: Morning, everyone! (He leans and whispers as he passes Bridget) Message pending, Jones.


She turns her head away, disdainfully.




BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: Messages pending: 6.


DANIEL types a message and looks over anxiously. BRIDGET calmly marks up a manuscript, ignoring him.




BRIDGET'S COMPUTER Messages pending: 14.


DANIEL approaches Bridget. Perpetua watches disapprovingly.


DANIEL: (in an undertone) Look, sorry, Jones, I suddenly got called to a business dinner, and I left your skirt's number in...


Bridget's phone rings. She picks up.


BRIDGET: (sweetly, interrupting him) That's fine. Excuse me.




MESSAGE PENDING flashes repeatedly on her computer screen. Bridget smirks and types.


BRIDGET: (voice over) Monday March 2nd. 9 stone 1, cigarettes 12, messages pending from Daniel 24. ICE QUEEN RULES OK.


DANIEL looks across at her hungrily. She ignores him, and carries on typing.




BRIDGET, leaving, gets into lift, followed by SIMON FROM MARKETING - a plump bore - and DANIEL.




Tense silence. SIMON FROM MARKETING gets out. The doors close.


BRIDGET and DANIEL are drawn like magnets into a wild passionate kiss.




DANIEL and BRIDGET emerge, trying not to giggle. FITZHERBERT passes.


DANIEL: (his hand on Bridget's bottom) Have a pleasant evening, sir.


FITZHERBERT: Ah, you too, Cleaver. Good night, Bridget.


DANIEL: (growls) All right, Jones, you sexy devil, I'm taking your skirt to the Pont de la Tour to fatten it up. Coming?




They are eating. DANIEL is enjoying looking at her enjoying herself. Enjoying her response to him. All this on just looks - she thinks it's lovely, but perhaps she'd better make an effort to show she's an intelligent woman in touch with world issues. She blurts:


BRIDGET: What d'you think about the situation in the Balkans then?


He grins.


DANIEL: What do you think about the situation in the Balkans?


BRIDGET: Well I think it's very bad they've started penetrated the hinterland - they've completely surrendered the high moral uplands.


DANIEL: (thoughtfully) The high moral uplands. Whereabouts would they be then?


BRIDGET: (panicking) Actually I'm very worried about the rainforest too. What do you think about the rainforest?


DANIEL: I adore the rainforest.


He takes her hand.


BRIDGET: I'm actually fiercely political.


They both start to laugh.




Lights twinkle on the Thames and Tower Bridge. BRIDGET and DANIEL emerge from the restaurant.


DANIEL: Coffee? My flat's just down the road.


BRIDGET: (primly) No, thank you, I'd better get a taxi. But thank you so much for dinner.


He lightly brushes the hair from her forehead and kisses her.




A flash loft overlooking the Thames. Camera follows trail of coats and shoes from door to sofa where Daniel is unzipping Bridget's skirt.


DANIEL: Mmmm, poor tired little skirt, I think it needs a lie down, don't you?


Bridget giggles and nuzzles.


BRIDGET: Skirt's had a lovely time. Mm, that's better. Oh, Daniel...




Daniel and Bridget are in bed, sheets already tangled, we can imagine there's already been quite a lot of delightful, playful, foreplay... Daniel is out of sight at the moment... Bridget has a blissful expression on her face.


BRIDGET: Mmm, you do adore the rainforest, don't you?


He comes up smiling, nuzzling.


DANIEL: Born and bred in the rainforest, Miz Jones... now... I think it's time to... penetrate the hinterland, don't you?


He's giving her lots of little kisses as he manouevres into position, she's in heaven...


BRIDGET: Oh, Daniel... you do...


DANIEL: Concentrate, Jones.




She stretches both arms up over her head and closes her eyes...




Bronzed muscular Daniel sends the canoe shooting up the narrow river under the overhanging trees with one powerful stroke of his paddle, ecstatic Bridget leaning back in a floaty dress trailing her fingers in the water, another great swoosh of the paddle and the river opens out into a broad pool where a huge waterfall gushes down, Bridget's ecstatic gaze, and exotic birds flutter up, their bright wings filling the screen, shimmery cascady music...




Bridget happily, dreamily nestled in crook of Daniel's arm.


DANIEL: Damn. I forgot to put the car in the Citroen garage.


Funny thing to think about at such a moment, thinks Bridget, then stops thinking and snuggles happily again.


BRIDGET: D'you think Perpetua's noticed?


DANIEL: Noticed what?


BRIDGET: You know.


Just a flicker in Daniel's eyes - warning signs.


DANIEL: Hey, Jones. We're not an "us."


BRIDGET: (not worried yet) Aren't we?


DANIEL: We're just... two people - enjoying ourselves. Mmm? I mean it's not as if we were having a relationship, is it?


BRIDGET: Isn't it? I rather thought we sort of were.


DANIEL: One night out, and we're having a relationship? Jesus.


She's sitting up now.


BRIDGET: So all that - messaging and everything just didn't mean anything?


DANIEL: It didn't mean I'm about to ask you to marry me! Jesus Christ!


BRIDGET jumps to her feet and starts scrambling into her clothes.


BRIDGET: This is all just... do you know what this is?


Sweetly furiously incoherent, she starts bustling round looking for her coat and bag and putting them on.


BRIDGET: (continuing) I mean who said anything about wanting you to marry me? Who do you think you are? And what d'you mean, you don't want a relationship, what are you so scared of?


DANIEL: (now angry too) Oh, for Christ's sake.


BRIDGET: No, you don't want a relationship, I mean what would you prefer, would you rather - stick your cock through a hole in a fence, or what?


Daniel is staring at her, gobsmacked, as well he might.


BRIDGET: (continuing) You know what all this is, don't you? Fuckwittage! You're a fuckwit, and this is Fuckwittage, and I'm not interested in fuckwits and their fuckwittage - so I'm going! Goodnight.


She marches out, in a bit of a tangle, her coat covering some chaos underneath.




BRIDGET is dancing wildly and singing snatches to the record.


BRIDGET: Go on now go! Walk out the door!


… and so on.




The music has stopped. Bridget, slumped, stares forlornly ahead, glass in hand.


BRIDGET: Alone. I'm completely alone. I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life.


The doorbell rings.




BRIDGET opening the door. DANIEL smiles sexily.


DANIEL: Jones, you appear to have forgotten your skirt.


He holds out the skirt. They fall into each other's arms.




Bridget emerges from tube with other Bridgets, looking radiant, walking on air... hear her voice over:


BRIDGET: (voice over) Monday something the somethingth, nine stone exactly, brilliant, cigarettes nil don't need them alcohol units nil because my body is a temple, positive thoughts about Daniel seven hundred and sixty four and why bloody well not?


She strides past the coffee shop, calling:


BRIDGET: Morning!


COFFEE MAN: Bugger me.




Bridget coming in all pink and glowing, what's it going to be like when she sees Daniel again?


PERPETUA: (on phone) - including a key to the gardens and you can tell 'em that's a deal-breaker!


Phone down.


BRIDGET: Morning! Isn't it a lovely day?


PERPETUA: I beg your pardon.


BRIDGET: Isn't it a lovely day?


PERPETUA: Have you won the lottery or something?


BRIDGET: No! (She can't help herself) Um... is Daniel Cleaver about? I just needed to...


Her besottedness is all too apparent. Perpetua ignores it.


PERPETUA: He's in Frankfurt. Didn't you know?


Bridget didn't. This is a BIG shock. She was expecting, you know, red roses and stuff.


BRIDGET: No. Um... d'you know when he'll be back?


PERPETUA: He didn't say.


BRIDGET stands there, all dazed.


PERPETUA:  (continuing) Are we planning to do any work today, Bridget? Has it slipped your memory that the Kafka's Motorbike launch party is only four days away?


BRIDGET: He'll be coming back for that I expect, won't he?


PERPETUA: (cruelly)Who?


BRIDGET: Um, Daniel Cleaver.


PERPETUA: I have no idea.




SHARON: Classic fuckwittage. Shag and run.


BRIDGET: But it's work. You know, Frankfurt.


JUDE: But the next morning? Without saying a word?


BRIDGET: (unhappily) Well I expect it slipped his mind. Men aren't the same as women.


TOM: So, what was it like, anyway, the sex I mean?


JUDE: Tom, honestly.


BRIDGET: Ecstasy.


They all groan.




Very brief montage, to six brief chords of music, of Bridget not being rung up by Daniel. Glaring at phone, ostentatiously turning back on phone, cradling phone and pleading with it, trying to charm a ring out of it like snake charming, finally defeated, wrung out, head in hands at the kitchen table in her vest and pants.




BRIDGET emerges from tube looking very smart and walks through alley to St Martins Lane and on to Ivy. Lots of people out and about on the town. Hear her statistics over and see them on theatre posters, in shop windows, and so on.


BRIDGET: (voice over) Thursday March 27th, eight stone twelve, cigarettes 43, number of calls from Daniel in Frankfurt telling Bridget how much how much he's missing her, nil. Nil! Sod all! He's chucked me, he's chucked me, he's chucked me! Come on Bridget, this won't do. You're on your way to one of the key publishing parties of the year! How to behave at a party, 1. try not to get too pissed, 2. circulate, 3. drop names every five seconds Martin Amis, Salman Rushdie, Nelson Mandela 4, when introducing people include additional information, as in "Margaret comes from New Zealand and is a keen horsewoman. John is keen on hang-gliding and comes... all over your face. I can't believe I said that. Lovely to see you, hi, fantastic, incredible", 5. try not to break down sobbing, try to remember ice queens rule.


JEREMY (of Jeremy and Magda) is standing by the Orion building in St Martins Lane, looking at his watch....Bridget delighted and surprised to see him.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Jeremy! What are you doing in these parts?


JEREMY: (panicking) Ah.


BRIDGET: Look I can't stop I'm late - I'll see you at your anniversary do…


JEREMY: Ah, right…


Just as a fresh young girlie of about 23 bounces up behind him, pulls him round and gives him a big kiss, she's obviously in love with him. BRIDGET openmouthed.


She and Jeremy stare at each other appalled. Bridget manages to mutter:


BRIDGET:  See you then, then...


…and turns away, in shock.




Bridget, still in shock, goes in.




Everyone's there: SALMAN, MARTIN, MELVYN, NICK, JULIAN. There is a big poster cut out with a huge photo of Kafka and a Kawasaki. There is also a vintage motorbike in the flesh, or metal. The author, who looks as fucked over and miserable as Kafka himself, and has been persuaded to wear a rather silly leather riding helmet, stands ignored next to a pile of his books. Bridget feels overawed and hovers nervously near a group which includes Julian Barnes.


JULIAN BARNES: The problem with Martin's definition of the novella is it only applies to him.


He smiles at Bridget and tries to include her.


JULIAN BARNES: (continuing) What do you think?


Bridget's mind goes blank. All she can think of is:


BRIDGET: Do you know where the toilets are?




Bridget hits herself hard on the forehead


BRIDGET: Very very bad. Try again.


She takes a deep breath and re-enters.




PERPETUA is standing with NATASHA, a thin ambitious Miss Bingley, who keeps looking over at someone we can't see.


NATASHA: The wife was really thick, apparently. I think what he needs is intellectual challenge.


PERPETUA: Hello, Bridget.


Bridget suddenly sees MARK DARCY, looking tremendously elegant, chatting to Salman Rushdie.


BRIDGET: (to Perpetua) What's he doing here?


NATASHA: Mark Darcy? He's only the leading European authority on intellectual property. (As if explaining to an idiot) "Books?"


Bridget makes a face like the gurning idiot she feels herself to be. Mark looks over, and approaches. Natasha takes his arm.


NATASHA: (continuing) I was just saying, Mark, I think people should be made to read the classics before they're allowed to watch them on television - then they'd realise that what they're gawping at as they channel-hop between Blind Date and Mr Blobby isn't the real Austen or the real Dickens at all, but some dreadful ersatz supermarket confection - "literature-lite" - you know?


She actually makes the quotation marks with her fingers.


BRIDGET: (sturdily, sure of her ground for once) Blind Date's on Saturdays.


NATASHA: I'm sorry?


BRIDGET: Blind Date's on Saturdays, after Gladiators. So they wouldn't be channel-hopping between that and the literature lite because the literature lite's on Sundays.


They all stare at her.


MARK: Bridget's a postmodernist, I believe.


Bridget sees this as a putdown, which it wasn't meant to be.


BRIDGET: Do you know Mark Darcy, Perpetua? Mark is a top human rights lawyer with his own car and driver. Perpetua is one of my colleagues and she's buying a flat in Fulham.


MARK: (playing the game straightfaced) Natasha Glenville is a top family law barrister who plays a mean viola. Natasha: Bridget works in publishing and keeps her mobile phone in the dustbin.


NATASHA: How bizarre.


MARK smiles, superciliously, Bridget thinks.


BRIDGET: Yes, well. I think I'll just go and circulate now. Cheerio!


MARK is sorry to see her go - even makes a move, but too late:


MARK: Look…


Natasha restrains him - we go with Bridget.


BRIDGET: (aloud) Tosser.




BRIDGET: Sorry, didn't mean you. But come to think of it...


She passes on, smiling sweetly.




IRVING WELSH: (agreeing) They're all cunts.


SALMAN RUSHDIE appears at his elbow. Salman's FOUR BODYGUARDS loom up behind him, bulging.


SALMAN RUSHDIE: (severely twinkling) Irving, Hanif, you are making a simple category mistake. What you mean is: they all have cunts.


He moves on serenely.


IRVING WELSH: Fuckin' clever clogs Salman Rushdie. Why cannae I have a bodyguard? Plenty of cunts wantae kill me.


BRIDGET: (wafting serenely) Inner poise. Above it all. Ice Queen.


She spots a CHILD crying and tugging on his mother's Gucci skirt. His piggy is trapped under her Prada mule. MARK watches as Bridget bends down, extracts the piggy, hands it to the little boy.


MARK: Excuse me.


But as he starts to approach Bridget, Daniel appears, with a bottle of champagne. Julian Barnes claps Mark on the shoulder.


JULIAN BARNES: Darcy! How's single life treating you?


DANIEL puts his hands round Bridget's waist. She jumps.


DANIEL: Jones. I see you've found someone of your own mental age to network with. Come on. (He growls sexily) Let's go. I must have you now.


BRIDGET: Sod off.


DANIEL: (he seems genuinely hurt and puzzled) Why? What's wrong?


BRIDGET: You just disappeared. I thought I was never going to see you again.


DANIEL: Four days, Jones. Frankfurt. We're in the book trade.


Daniel's air of sweet reason and utter guiltlessness shakes her a bit, but:


BRIDGET: You never phoned.


DANIEL: I tried to, honestly - but you were engaged all the time.


BRIDGET: No I wasn't.


Daniel suddenly sees Mark, and looks uneasy. Mark gives him a terrible look, then looks away. Daniel makes a big effort. He really is very charming and sexy indeed when he puts his mind to it.


DANIEL: Oh, Bridge. Don't be like this over a phone call, I've missed you so much, I kept ringing to say, but it was always engaged or the answerphone. God, you look so good. Wait till you see the present I've got for you.




DANIEL: It's back at the flat. Come on. You know you hate it here. I'll go first and you follow.


BRIDGET: Well; maybe just for a coffee.


Daniel gives her one of his wonderful girl-melting looks promising all sorts of delights, and buggers off. Bridget, at a loose end, really just waiting for Daniel to clear the scene so she can follow, she turns and finds herself very awkwardly face to face with MARK DARCY and can think of nothing to say. He looks awkward and strained - and sounds it, as he says:


MARK: Er - how are your parents?


BRIDGET: Fine, thanks.


A long fraught awkward pause, then, abruptly:


MARK: Look, would you like to have dinner sometime?


BRIDGET: What for?


MARK: Well, the usual reasons I suppose.


BRIDGET: Oh. It's extremely kind of you, but there's no need, I'm not a desperate case these days, I'm seeing someone actually and I'm very happy.


MARK: Oh. Daniel Cleaver?


BRIDGET: Yes, as it happens, do you know him?


MARK: Yes, I used to know him rather well. Bridget, don't be offended, but be careful - I'd hate to see you get hurt.


BRIDGET: And what makes you think I'd get hurt?


MARK: Well, he's a shit, you see.


BRIDGET: And what's he done to deserve that little bit of character assassination?


MARK: I'd rather not discuss it if you don't mind.


BRIDGET: Well I'd rather you kept your nasty little insinuations to yourself if you don't mind, I happen to be in love with Daniel Cleaver, and if anyone's the shit in this I'd say it's you, all right? And just to make things perfectly clear, I don't accept dinner invitations from shits and tossers!


She has raised her voice quite a bit in the course of this last, and Mark freezes as if he has been hit. Bridget marches out, hearing:


PERPETUA: She's very immature, of course...


…before the party noise starts up again in earnest.




BRIDGET lying happily on Daniel's chest, postcoital. He is stroking her affectionately and smoking a cigarette. Football is on the telly.


BRIDGET: Daniel. Where's my present?


DANIEL: (laughing) That was the present. A sort of Frankfurter.

BRIDGET: Oh. Very nice too.


DANIEL: So how do you know Mark Darcy?


BRIDGET: Oh, he used to let me play in his paddling pool apparently.


DANIEL: Did he, the bastard.


BRIDGET: He thinks you're a shit.


DANIEL: He thinks I'm a shit. He’s the shit in this scenario.


BRIDGET: (happily) That's what I told him.


DANIEL: My loyal trusty Jones.


BRIDGET: What shitty things does he do?


DANIEL: Well, he got me sacked from Mulligans for one thing.


BRIDGET: No. Why? How?


DANIEL: How, he was on the board. Why, I think he thought his wife fancied me.


BRIDGET: I bet she did fancy you. You're so gorgeous. Imagine having to have sex with Mark Darcy. All stiff and bony, and he probably looks all disapproving even when he's doing it.


DANIEL: Well you have got to have sex with him. You've drawn him in the raffle.


BRIDGET: No, no, please, please, can't I have sex with you instead?


DANIEL: Mmm, all right then...


He starts, trying to arrange it so he can see the football at the same time.




MONTAGE: BRIDGET weighing herself, measuring her thighs, writing statistics down on wall chart, filling in weight graph.


BRIDGET: (voice over) Saturday May 15th. 8 stone 12 vg thighs... 15 vg, cigarettes 0 - excellent, alcohol units 3, amazing. Feel marvellous. Inner poised sex goddess. Can't believe how wrong everyone has been about Daniel.


Phone rings. She goes and picks it up.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Darling. Oh, hi Shaz.




Sharon in t shirt and track suit bottoms. Standing with cordless phone looking out of the window.


SHARON: Miserable bloody day. How d'you fancy a drunken lunch, write off the afternoon?


BRIDGET: Oh Shaz, that'd be great but I'm spending the day with Daniel. He's being really lovely.


SHARON: I hate it when things go well for other people. What are you doing?


BRIDGET: Oh, I don't know... picnic, maybe a pub in the country...


SHARON: Yeah, all right then, go on, shag yourselves silly, don't mind me.


BRIDGET: What about Jude or Tom?


SHARON: Jude's trapped vile Richard into a minibreak and Tom's got some school thing. I'm fine, I'm fine. I'll just get on with my crocheting, I'm never at a loss, me.


BRIDGET: See you in the week then? Bye.


Sharon clicks the phone off. She stands there. She sighs through her nose.


SHARON: (glumly) Shit.




BRIDGET talking on mobile as she walks.


BRIDGET: Daniel, I'm running a bit late, anyway I'm on my way now, bye.


She clicks off and it rings again immediately.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Hello? Dad? I don't understand.




BRIDGET: (on mobile) I'm so sorry, Daniel, it's a crisis, I'm on my way home to see Dad, can we make it tomorrow instead? I'm really sorry, Daniel.




DANIEL looking gorgeous and sweaty just back from early morning run.


DANIEL: Hey. Not to worry. Tomorrow's fine. Just come on round.


He puts the phone down.


DANIEL: (continuing) Hmm.


He's not upset. Every problem is an opportunity in disguise. He gets out his little black book and riffles through numbers.




DAD is going to pieces in some style, sitting unshaven in his vest at the kitchen table with a bottle of whisky. Bridget is watching him nervously as if he might explode.


DAD: Why, when people abandon their partners, for - just to pick an example out of the air - some Hispanic gigolo with a gentleman's handbag, do they think it's better to pretend there's no one else involved?


BRIDGET: Perhaps she's worried that you might, you know, attack him or something.


DAD: Yes, I could do that, couldn't I? I could slaughter the pair of them with my Black and Decker bandsaw in a sickening suburban bloodbath. That should earn me some respect in de hood.


He pauses to pour himself a big shot of scotch.


BRIDGET: (nervously trying to lighten the tone) In de hood of Grafton Underwood, you mean.


DAD: (savagely) Exactly. I mean isn't life grotesque and absurd enough for her as it is, why does she feel she has to push back the boundaries of the ridiculous?


BRIDGET: But - you love her really, don't you, you love each other, this is just a...


She tails off.


DAD: It's all just a. Listen. This is how it is, if you haven't realised. You meet someone and you feel some sort of combination of lust and tenderness and call it love, and then you marry them and find out what they're really like and what you're really like, and possibly you don't come to feel a mixture of contempt and loathing and fear, but something more like a sort of... rueful cameraderie... and basically you have two choices, either to go through the whole caboodle with someone else, or a succession of someone elses - or you can settle for the one you've got, and hope to trudge together towards the grave with some vestige of kindness and dignity. And that was what I was hoping for, you see, before this. Bit fucking optimistic, it would seem.


The phone rings twice, then stops.


DAD: (continuing) It's on the... thing.


BRIDGET: (shakily) You don't think that - this - might be, I don't know, a sort of melting pot in which you could um - rekindle your original feelings?


DAD: Oh, for God's sake, Bridget, how could I rekindle my original feelings for a woman who calls me Daddy?


Suddenly the ansaphone blurts out:


MOTHER: (on ansaphone) Hello, Daddy, it's me-ee! Just making sure you're coping - I'll pop round tomorrow with some butterfly buns and a lasagne! Byeee!


DAD turns and looks at Bridget: you see? Bridget's face.




Curtains drawn, empty beer cans and full ashtrays everywhere. DANIEL sits on the sofa with his hand down Bridget's top, watching football. BRIDGET looks frustratedly at a pile of mini-break brochures. The phone rings. She picks up.




MOTHER on mobile phone is in a rowing boat, reclining against cushions, being rowed by a leering JULIO.


MOTHER: Oh, hello darling. I thought you'd be outside enjoying the sunshine.


BRIDGET: I'll just take you into the bedroom.


MOTHER: (to Julio) She's taking me into the bedroom.


JULIO: Soon I shall do that also.


BRIDGET: Look, how did you leave it with Dad? Is he all right?


MOTHER: He's fine, darling! Lighten up! Life is for living!




DANIEL: Noooo! You stupid fucking bastard from hell!


MOTHER: Don't forget the tarts and vicars. Mark Darcy's coming.


BRIDGET: Look why are you still trying to fix me up with men when you're trying to be a person in your own right?


MOTHER: I am a person in my own right, darling, it's just you seem to need a little more help.


BRIDGET: Well actually I've got a boyfriend now.


DANIEL: Oh, no! What are you? Jesus!


MOTHER: Have two. You could handle it. Easy peasy.


She dimples at Julio.




A pastoral scene: water, trees, women sitting in groups on the grass in little dresses and swimsuits (some in middle distance in nothing at all) Bridget, Jude and Sharon.


SHARON: So what did you do Sunday?


BRIDGET: Well, it was really nice, we...




BRIDGET: Watched the football. But we're going to do something really nice next weekend.




Sunshine, blue sky, couples walk arm in arm. Information on screen (perhaps trailed behind a little aeroplane in the sky) "Saturday June 4. 9 stone, 15 in, 17 cigs, deliriously happy".



Curtains drawn, beer cans, ashtrays. DANIEL sits on sofa with Bridget watching football. The phone rings. Daniel lunges at it, picks it up then clicks it off.


BRIDGET: Daniel.




BRIDGET: Don't suppose you want to come to my Mum's friends' Tarts and Vicars party do you?


DANIEL: Nooo! Go on! Go on you great wet girl!


Bridget pouts. He tries to put his hand down her top, she wriggles away.


DANIEL: (continuing) What's the matter with you?


BRIDGET: Well I know that men and women's needs are different...


Daniel is not listening, he is attending to the football.




BRIDGET: (still talking) So the thing is I thought we might, you know, go for a mini-break.


DANIEL: Yesss! Yesss! Yessss!


After a moment of euphoria she realises he's talking about the football, and gets up.


BRIDGET: Did you hear any of that?


DANIEL: (bangs beer down on table) What is this? You want to have a relationship - we have a relationship. You want us to spend Sunday together. We spend Sunday together. Now we have to go frolicking over the hilltops and shagging in four-poster beds.


BRIDGET: I only asked if we could sort of go outside sometimes.




BRIDGET, JUDE AND SHARON are sitting round the table, which is covered in M and S food and bottles of wine. There are mini-break brochures everywhere. They are already really drunk.


JUDE: He stood me up for relationship counselling so the woman thought I'd made him up. And then he came round and we shagged, and then he said he wanted to keep seeing me and just be friends.


BRIDGET: Bastards! Fuckwittage! How can they be like that?


SHARON: Because they can. Because you let them. It's as simple as that. If they can do it to you, they will. That's how it is. That's the way they are.


She pours a glass of Kir Royale right down her throat. Her brutal insight shocks the group into semi-sobriety.


BRIDGET: Bastards! Why aren't women like that?


SHARON: Actually, they are, when they get the chance.


BRIDGET: I don't think I'd ever be like that.


SHARON: (fondly) No, maybe you wouldn't, Bridge. You're the exception that proves the rule.


BRIDGET: And nor is Daniel like that, not really. I mean it's not a crime to want to watch the football with his hand down my top. And he does like other things too.


She is thinking happily about the sex. And is rather smug about it, and not very aware of how Jude and Sharon might be a bit cast down by her happiness.


SHARON: Yeah, well: when the revolution comes, we'll be calling the shots not them, no more waiting by the phone, we'll keep them in kennels as pets and use the fuckwitting bastards for our pleasure as and how we wish!


JUDE: Fuckwitting bastards, right.


BRIDGET: (happily) Buggering bloody bastards (behind her hand) 'cept Daniel.


SHARON: (dangerously) What was that?


BRIDGET: Nothing, nothing. Buggering blurry bastards.


Her lips move minimally. We know she is thinking "'cept Daniel." Sharon eyes her suspiciously. The doorbell rings. They freeze and look at each other. BRIDGET lurches towards the entryphone.


BRIDGET: (continuing) I bet that's Daniel. Buggering blurry bastard. (Into entryphone) Hello? Yurr it's 'im.


She presses the buzzer, unlatches the door, and lurches back to the table.


SHARON: Culture of entitlement, y'see. Young women's bodies when they're old and fat. Think women are just there for... 'ere 'ave we run out of wine?


The door opens. It is Daniel, fresh faced, clean shaven, in a suit, carrying Tesco Metro bags.


DANIEL: Oh hello ladies. I'm sorry to barge in on your girls' evening like this, but I've been in the board meeting from hell all evening and... (gives Bridget little kiss) I so much wanted to see you. I've brought some bits and bobs for the store cupboard.


He starts putting the shopping away. The girls stare at him, openmouthed.


DANIEL: (continuing) So, urn... you're Sharon, and you're Jude, right?


SHARON: Other way round.


DANIEL: Really. I don't know - somehow I thought you'd be... bigger, Sharon. Well, well. Nice to meet you both at last.


There is a brief moment of eye-contact with Sharon in which he is saying "you and I could get it on, no problem" and she is thinking "cheeky arrogant sod, how dare you assume I fancy you too" though she does. She would of course never try to pinch her friend's boyfriend - but she wouldn't mind getting to know Daniel a bit better.


DANIEL: (continuing) Excuse me one second.


He turns to Bridget.


DANIEL: (continuing) Bridget, I've been thinking about what you said - you're quite right - and I think we should go for a mini-break this weekend. I'll pay.


Bridget looks at him speechless. He takes her in his arms and kisses her. Jude and Sharon make as if to leave.


JUDE: Well, we'll be off then.


DANIEL: Hey, look, I can't have you walking the streets alone at this time of night. Let me give you a lift.


JUDE: We're fine, honestly.


DANIEL: No, really, I insist - just to set my mind at rest?


SHARON: (unexpectedly) All right.


DANIEL: (to Bridget) I'll be back in a flash. Right, ladies.


Bridget basking in her chivalrous boyfriend.




See Bridget coming out to where Daniel looking very handsome in white open neck shirt is waiting by his flash car with the door open. Hear her voice over:


BRIDGET: (voice over) Saturday June 21, 8 stone 10, perfect, thighs 14 and a half, miracle, boy friends 1, all a girl needs, God's in his heaven all's right with the world.


She gives Daniel a kiss, gets in, radiant.




Solid traffic jam. One car pulls out of the queue and zooms up the hard shoulder. Other drivers toot, yell, and gesture.




DANIEL is grinning.


DANIEL: Way to go.




DANIEL and BRIDGET come in, she's in heaven.


BRIDGET: (sings softly) If they could see me now, that little gang of mine...


DANIEL: Yes indeed. Quite a pair, those two.


BRIDGET: Best friends a girl ever had.


DANIEL: Look, are you quite sure you don't want them along? We could send a car for them, no trouble at all.


BRIDGET: (happy, snuggling) No, I'm all right, thanks.


Receptionist comes.


DANIEL: Hello. Daniel Cleaver and Bridget Jones. Seems very quiet here, are we the only guests?


RECEPTIONIST: We have a wedding, sir. There's just one other couple who aren't involved.


She gestures over to where a couple is approaching the double doors. MARK DARCY and NATASHA. BRIDGET, who hasn't noticed their approach, gives DANIEL a sexy little kiss. Might we see Mark clocking this?


DANIEL: Oh my god.


MARK: Well. What a surprise.


There is a tense moment, the two of them obviously hate each other's guts. There's more to it: Mark is obviously affected by seeing Bridget and Natasha is alarmed.


MARK: (continuing; to Bridget) I take it you're… heading for the Alconburys too?




DANIEL: Well isn't this all going to be jolly? I'll see you upstairs in a minute, darling. Just going to find the bar.




The black sky threatens rain. The WEDDING PARTY shivers on the terrace.


MARK AND NATASHA in rowing boat are sensibly clad, Ralph Lauren style.


NATASHA: Oh I know. I've read Derrida, I've looked at Barthes, but one has to accept in the end that cultural hierarchies are just a fact. I mean they absolutely are.


BRIDGET and DANIEL are also in a boat. Bridget, blue with cold, sports a floaty white dress and hotel bath towel. DANIEL, surrounded by beer cans, is lighting a fag. Bridget trails a hand in the water and pulls it out to find it covered in slime-gobbit. Their laughter carries across the water to MARK.


NATASHA: (continuing) I mean - you know - the Ring Cycle - Nabokov – Casteneda…


MARK'S face. BRIDGET is now trying to swap places with DANIEL. The boat wobbles and nearly capsizes. More hoots of laughter. MARK watches.




Chintz, fourposter. Daniel and Bridget in hotel bathrobes watching the football with curtains drawn.


DANIEL'S hand is down Bridget's front.


DANIEL: No! Noooo!


He looks at his watch and gets up and starts getting dressed.


DANIEL: (continuing) Just going down to get some fags.




A formal gilt-lamped lounge. Mark and Natasha are taking tea.


NATASHA: I mean twenty minutes to bring tea, and then he was over-familiar.


MARK: Oh, come on. He made the briefest remark about the weather.


NATASHA: I didn't come here to discuss cloud formations with scaly operatives. Aargh.


MARK has poured tea on NATASHA'S immaculate cream trousers. She jumps to her feet.


MARK: I'm so sorry. Let me get you someone.


He rounds a corner to find DANIEL talking sexily on a mobile.


DANIEL: Yeah, I know, I know, but if I just happened to pass by... no harm in that, is there?


DANIEL sees MARK watching and cuts off guiltily.


DANIEL: (continuing) Why don't you just go and fuck yourself Darcy?


MARK: I'd have said you were rather more uniquely equipped for that sort of thing.


DANIEL: (not very brilliantly) Oh, fuck off.




BRIDGET is trying on a bunny outfit, trying to pin on her tail in front of the mirror. DANIEL bangs into the room and stops in his tracks.


DANIEL: Ding dong! Little tail problem? Let me help you.


BRIDGET: Honestly. Tarts and Vicars. They're a strange warped generation.


He adjusts the tail.


DANIEL: Hm. Not sure. Just go over by the window and bend over.


BRIDGET innocently obliges.


DANIEL: (continuing) Mm.


Bridget suddenly clocks.


BRIDGET: You dirty old bugger.


She laughs and starts hitting him. He grabs her - he's behind her, pinning her arms.


DANIEL: (murmurs) Ever tried it - bunny fashion?


She turns her head and does a bunny-wrinkle with her nose. Daniel growls sexily and starts undoing her bunny outfit.


BRIDGET: What's up, Doc? Is that a carrot in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me? How do rabbits do it anyway?


DANIEL: There's a lot of hopping to begin with. The girl rabbit hops away and the boy rabbit has to catch her.


By the time he has said that Bridget is hopping away round the bedroom going "Ooh - ooh - ooh!" holding her paws up in front. Daniel prowls after her.


BRIDGET: Hey, that's prowling, not hopping.


DANIEL: Yeah, well, I'm not a rabbit really, I'm a FOX!


Bridget squeals and hops out into the corridor - Daniel follows and catches her from behind - her costume is falling right off her front now. Then MARK and NATASHA come round the corner and stare transfixed. Everyone freezes for a split second, then Daniel bundles Bridget back into the bedroom and they collapse on the bed.


BRIDGET: Oh, God. That was so embarrassing.


DANIEL: (growls sexily) Who cares what those stuffed shirts think? Come on bunny.


He starts the bunny action.


BRIDGET: Mind my tail then.


…and we cut to Mark and Natasha's bedroom.




They've just come in.


NATASHA: Bizarre. What some men find attractive.


MARK goes over to the window and stares out. He wishes he were with Bridget.


MARK: Yes. (Long pause) Yes.




Next morning. Daniel is asleep. Bridget, already dressed as a bunny girl, looks at him and does a little dance of joy. She puts her face very close to Daniel and stares at him till he opens his eyes.


DANIEL: Gaaaaah!


BRIDGET: Come on, we'll be late for the tarts and vicars.


DANIEL: I'm not coming.


BRIDGET: But you promised.


DANIEL: Sorry, love, it just completely went out of my mind. I've got to write a speech for the Sales and Marketing do in Macclesfield.


BRIDGET: But you promised to come.


DANIEL: (shiftily) Oh, come on, for Christ's sake. It's only a party.


BRIDGET: Now they'll all think I've made you up.




A sunny day, cars parked outside. BRIDGET in Bunny outfit walks round side of house.


BRIDGET: Well it is only a party. Sales and Marketing are important. Inner poise. Inner poise. The Inner Bridget steady at the wheel.


She rounds the corner. A buffet table is laid out on the lawn.


The GUESTS, none of whom wears fancy dress, gawp at Bridget. UNA ALCONBURY hurries across with a jug of Pimms.


UNA: Bridget! Durr! Late as usual. Where's your boyfriend?


BRIDGET: Where are the rest of the Tarts?


UNA: Oh, didn't Geoffrey call you?


GEOFFREY: (looming up drunk and leery) How's my little Bridget?


He squeezes her tail.


GEOFFREY: (continuing) Parp parp. So where's this chap of yours then?


BRIDGET: He had to work.


GEOFFREY: Ha! A likely tale. Parp parp! Parp parp!


BRIDGET: Get off.


She is painfully aware of Mark and Natasha approaching, both in elegant casual clothes. Natasha is trying to suppress laughter.


MARK: Hello again.


NATASHA: Are you on your way to another party then? We thought it was some sort of - sporting outfit.


BRIDGET: I'm on my way to work actually.


MARK smiles.


NATASHA: Sorry don't quite follow that - oh there's your mother darling…


… and she goes off thinking Mark will follow but he lingers - he can't take his eyes off Bridget in her outfit.


BRIDGET: (wretchedly) They told me it was tarts and vicars. And then Daniel couldn't come, he's got to work.


MARK: On Sunday.


BRIDGET: (challengingly)Yes?


MARK: Rotten luck. (He clears his throat) For what it's worth I think you look lovely.


He turns and stalks off. She stares after him.


At this point Bridget's MOTHER makes her entrance, wearing something unsuitably young, on the arm of JULIO. DAD looking dangerous in the background.


MOTHER: Bridget darling, what are you wearing, you look like a prostitute! Come and meet Julio!


JULIO takes Bridget's hand.


JULIO: Ravishing.


He starts to kiss her hand.


DAD: (coming up) You might at least leave my daughter alone!


He pulls Julio roughly away. MOTHER screams. Julio sneers nervously. Dad makes to attack him, clumsily, Julio clumsily backs off and falls sprawling, trying unsuccessfully to get up. MOTHER puts herself between them. Geoffrey is clumsily trying to restrain Dad, who is irritatedly trying to shake him off. The whole thing is messy and awkward and embarrassing.


MOTHER: No, no, you mustn't! He is my love teacher!


Guests stand round gawping. Bridget wishes she could sink into a hole in the ground.




BRIDGET still in Bunny outfit with anorak round shoulders gets out of taxi and rings the bell. After a few moments Daniel looks out of the window. She waves. He disappears.


DANIEL: (on entryphone) I'm just on the phone to the States. Can I meet you in the pub in five minutes?


BRIDGET: (cheerfully) Ok.


She sets off, looks down at Bunny outfit, returns and rings again.


DANIEL: What's the problem?


BRIDGET: Daniel I've had such a horrible time, I don't want to go to the pub in my bunnies. Can't we just stay in please?




BRIDGET: (continuing) Daniel?


More pause, then the buzzer is pressed.




DANIEL stands in the entrance hall looking nervous. BRIDGET falls into his arms.


BRIDGET: (into his chest) It was horrible. No one else was dressed as a tart or a vicar and Dad hit Mum's gigolo and Mark Darcy was awful.


DANIEL: Come in the living room. Let me get you a drink.


As he takes her into the living room something falls in the bedroom and a suppressed desperate female voice distinctly says "Shit."


BRIDGET: What was that?


DANIEL: Next doors. Fucking party walls.


She stares at him then heads for the bedroom.




Someone is desperately trying to struggle into her clothes. Eventually her head emerges. It is Sharon. Sharon and Bridget stare at each other.


SHARON: Oh, shit.




Bridget, still in the remnants of the Bunny costume, sobbing on the sofa, really down. Amongst the sobs, the only words we can distinguish are:


BRIDGET: Oh, Sharon...




Semi-darkness. Bridget is tragically staring at the television, where a rather moulty looking lion is mounting a lioness in a nature film.


DAVID ATTENBOROUGH: (voice over) Coitus is brief, almost perfunctory...


Bridget lets out a little sob.




Another evening. Bridget is just sitting there staring into space. The phone goes. She doesn't move.


SHARON: (on ansaphone) Bridge? It's Sharon. Bridge, we've got to talk. Please pick up if you're there. (Pause) Bridge, I'm so sorry. (Pause).


Then we hear her put the phone down, Bridget sits there.




The sitting room is empty. The phone goes.


DANIEL: (on ansaphone) Hey, Jones. Cleaver. I've been missing you, are you OK? Haven't caught something off that, skirt I hope? Listen - that thing the other day... that was nothing, that was just a bit of nonsense... come on Bridget pick up, I know you're there... oh, fuck it.


As he speaks we slowly track into the bedroom and find Bridget, lying on her face on the bed, clothed, her face to one side. She can clearly hear the message.




BRIDGET sits at the dinner table, pale and wan. She is next to the bloke they have invited for her. The others are all couples. The bloke raises his glass.


BLOKE: Jeremy and Magda! Three years! Well done, brilliant!


OTHER COUPLES: Jeremy and Magda!


JEREMY: Thank you, Simon. It's not so bad, really. You should try it yourself.


He puts his hand on Magda's.


JEREMY: (continuing) There's a lot to be said for it, believe me.


He catches Bridget's eye and looks a bit sick.


SIMON: Ooh, well, major step, bit scary.


MAGDA: Yes it is scary, I know just what you mean, committing your whole life to just one person, but then: you have to take that risk some time, you have to - you have to offer yourself up to - to whatever comes, or, you know, what' s the point of being in the world? And there are times when you just think Christ this was all a terrible terrible mistake...


People are realising that Magda is in a state, she's sort of laughing but very close to tears... Jeremy squirming trying not to look at Bridget.


MAGDA: (continuing) But then the children come, and you - can't go back then, and it is sheer hell a lot of the time, but then you feel this great rush of love just as you're clearing up some - sick or something, and you think this extraordinary beautiful creature came out of me, we made it together, we did that, and somehow - somehow - that sort of makes it all w… wor…


She is trying to say "worthwhile" but she is gasping, she can't get her breath. She stumbles out of the room. Jeremy just sits there, so does everyone else. Perhaps half the people there (the men and Bridget), know Jeremy is shagging someone else.




Bridget walks towards a table where Sharon is sitting, and sits down.


SHARON: Thanks for coming.




The tables have filled up now, Bridget and Sharon, are well down a bottle of wine.


SHARON: And it was all about how you and him had got all out of control and he felt trapped, but he couldn't bring himself to tell you because you were such a sweetie...


BRIDGET: He felt trapped.


SHARON: That's what he said.


BRIDGET: Even though I'm such a sweetie.


SHARON: That's what he said. And of course I said well if that's how it is of course you've got to tell her, and he said I know, I know...


BRIDGET: And then you shagged him.


SHARON: I don't quite know how that happened.


BRIDGET: Well I think what you do is, you take your knickers off and he…


SHARON: Oh, Bridge, don't, please. I'm so ashamed of myself.


BRIDGET: So he's your boyfriend now, not mine, is he?


SHARON: No he isn't.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Well I'm sorry but I just don't think I can handle that, what?


SHARON: I haven't seen him since and he hasn't called. He really is a bastard, Bridget.




Everyone else has gone. Bridget and Sharon have two empty bottles of wine on their table and are well down the third.


BRIDGET: Bastard. Tell you what, we'll put out a contract on him.


SHARON: Fatwa, fatwa. Mind you, didn't seem, to work with Salman. Bastard.


BRIDGET: Sexy bastard though.


SHARON: Oh, yes indeed.


BRIDGET: Knew his... knew his way 'round rainforess.


They look at each other.




BRIDGET: You see, what it's like - I saw this lion programme and I got it in a flash - they're like a lot of mangy lions, and we're like lionesses, and all they want to do is jump on us and shag shag shag then run away!


SHARON: (nodding) Bastards.


BRIDGET: And If they do settle down all they want is lie round with their paws down our fronts watching other lions playing footy, just resting up so they can go out and shag other lionesses, and it is all just immature fuckwittage!


SHARON: This is brilliantly insightful stuff.


BRIDGET:  And what we have to do is...


SHARON:  Kill the fuckers.


BRIDGET: Recover our pride.


She pours out the rest of the wine, knocking the upended bottle to get the last drops out.




Bridget coming up the steps amongst other Bridgets, hear her voice over:


BRIDGET: Tuesday 23rd August, 9 stone 3, calories 4235, don’t care, cigs 23, so what, proud lioness building up strength.




BRIDGET is typing. See the statistics spread across the screen and hear her voice over. (Perpetua in background going "mmm… mmm… mmm" on the phone.)


BRIDGET: Strong, strong, poised and strong.


She looks and feels pretty ropy actually.


DANIEL comes in with LARA, who is a gorgeous blonde about six feet tall. Clearly "with" Daniel.


DANIEL: Listen up everyone - Iguana's making changes, not quite a U turn, more of a wriggle on the rocks, we're starting a Self-Help List, and this is Lara Hodge-Normington. Lara's joining us in an advisory capacity.


BRIDGET stands up abruptly. PERPETUA's alarmed face. DANIEL looks scared. Then Bridget turns her head slowly and moves away from him. He makes an involuntary movement to follow, then stops himself.


BRIDGET: Just going to the loo.


And goes.


DANIEL: (nervous laugh) She should be getting over me by now.


PERPETUA: What I'd like to be getting over you is a large polythene bag.




Bridget exercising a bit of control, looking in the mirror.


BRIDGET: Good girl. Strong strong. Proud lioness. Toughing it out.




BRIDGET, SHARON, JUDE, TOM. Bottles, pizzas. BRIDGET on floor, surrounded by self-help books, drunk… she picks them up, tosses them, aside.


BRIDGET: Bollocks... crap... tosh, gibberish and nonsense. Any fool could write that. I could.


JUDE: (dramatically) Do it!


BRIDGET: I will! (Pause) I'll just have a little drink first though.




There is an envelope on the mat, BRIDGET opens it; and invitation from Mark Darcy to a Ruby Wedding Party for his parents.


BRIDGET: Man oh man. I'd rather tear my own head off and eat it. On the other hand... what would the proud lioness do?




PERPETUA is talking on the phone. BRIDGET is gearing herself up to typo something important.


PERPETUA: Get him to get caterers Natasha. You can't organise a Ruby Wedding for him… but if he wants to, why would you want to do it yourself? Oh, I see, yup, yup, no well in that case, absolutely.


While she is saying this, Bridget takes a deep breath and types:


Mangy Lions and Proud Lionesses




Bridie Jeunesse


Getting Back the Pride.






DAD emerges from the changing room, gorgeous in evening dress.


BRIDGET: Very sexy and distinguished.


DAD: I look like something out of the Third Reich.


BRIDGET: "Every woman adores a fascist." (Adding hastily as he stares at her) Sylvia Plath.


DAD: But I don' t want to be adored by women. I just want my old wife back.


DAD: (continuing) You are going to come?


BRIDGET: Oh, dad, Mark Darcy always makes me feel like a prat and I'm only just starting not to feel like a prat.


DAD: It isn't the easiest thing you know - cuckolded in the eyes of all one's friends by a - pomaded tour guide.


She looks at him - she's going to give way.




A grand Holland Park mansion, music and laughter emerging, all the windows lit, tiny red lights in the trees, a covered walkway to the door.




A dazzling glamorous scene - a modern minimalist interior, red candles, largo staff, canapes, and black-tied guests. BRIDGET, beautiful, elegant as we have never seen her before (but maybe some Bridgety flaw?) appears at the head of the staircase with Dad, resplendent in his Third Reich cummerbund. Mark looks at her, stunned. Natasha (who has made a bit of a mistake with a Versace) looks threatened. BRIDGET turns to say something to Dad, which makes him laugh. As they start their descent we see MOTHER watching DAD.


UNA, cleavage on show, and Penny Husbands Bosworth - merrily widowed member of the Grafton Underwood set - talking at the bottom of the stairs as Dad and Bridget join them, A WAITER hands them champagne.


UNA: What do you think? Bit showy, isn't it?


DAD: A young man gives a party for the parents who brought him into the world and nurtured him: I find it pleasing, I find it appropriate.


He takes a canape.


DAD: (continuing; to waitress) Thank you, my dear. Your breasts look very fine, this evening, Una, if I may say so: worth the trip in themselves, I'd say. Ah, Geoffrey.


GEOFFREY approaches, pissed.


GEOFFREY: Hello everybodayyyyy! Oops. Bridget? Still no feller? How are we going to get you married off at this rate?


DAD: (suavely) What a fucking idiot you are, Geoffrey, to be sure, but if you dropped dead at this moment I dare say we should all miss you in a way, in a sort of - do you remember Captain, Bridget, that smelly old Labrador who was always hugging visitors' legs? - what made me think of him now?


Dad is a bit hyper because he's very tense expecting Mum to show up with Julio again. And here she comes now, but on her own - and Mark Darcy is also approaching with his parents.


UNA: (hissing) Pam! Pam! What do you think?


MOTHER: (mouthing like Les Dawson) Showy.


MARK DARCY is waiting, listening.


UNA: Exactly what I said, showy.


MOTHER:(she brushes Dad's shoulder) Dandruff! I think if parties get too fancy it starts to look a bit common. Oh hello Mark!


MARK: Good evening.


MOTHER: Hello!


MARK: Would you excuse me a moment?


He heads off hurt towards the stairs. Dad gives Mother a filthy look, then turns to the Darcy parents.


DAD: What a splendid occasion - you must be very proud of him.


ELAINE: Yes, we are - he's always been the best son any mother could hope to have. He was a lovely little boy, and he's a lovely grown-up man - I suppose I'm biased,  but I don't care.


She smiles at Bridget.


PENNY: Now come along, Colin! You promised me a dance!


Dad holds up his hands in mock surrender and allows himself to be led off. Mother looks very disgruntled.


MOTHER: Ridiculous woman.


ELAINE: Is Julio not here, then, Pam?


MOTHER: No, he's wanted in Portugal, poor lamb, seems they can't do anything without him – Bridget, why don't you see if Mark fancies a dance?


GEOFFREY: Ooh, she scares them all off, our little Bridget - come and have a dance with your Uncle Geoffrey!




Presents are on display, BRIDGET bursts in with a cup of tea. She shuts the door and leans on it.


BRIDGET: Oh my bloody god and fuck. Calm. Strong. Proud lioness.


She is just taking a look at the presents when Mark enters, startling her.


MARK: I'm sorry. I didn't realise there was anyone here.


BRIDGET: I was just...


They are staring at each other awkwardly as usual, standing quite close. She turns away, and as if hypnotised, Mark follows her, led by his nose, as it were. She stops and turns. They both look a bit startled now.


MARK: I'm sorry. I... like your scent.


BRIDGET: Thank you. (Pause) I'm sorry about my mother being so rude. It's a great party. Thank you for inviting me.


MARK: Actually I didn't. It must have been my mother.


BRIDGET: Oh, fine.


MARK: I hear Daniel turned out rather bad.


BRIDGET: Thank yon for bringing that up.


MARK: I did try to warn you.


BRIDGET: Look, do you go out of your way to make me feel like a complete idiot every time I see you?


MARK: (mortified) No.


BRIDGET: Because actually you don't need to bother, I already feel like one most of the time.


MARK: Look…


NATASHA appears in the doorway.


NATASHA: Oh there you are. (To Bridget) Not in your bunny girl outfit today then.


BRIDGET: No, we bunnies wear full evening dress in the winter.


NATASHA: Mark these caterers are utterly inept, they've completely buggered up the placement, I told you you should have let me do it.


BRIDGET: Excuse me.




BRIDGET is having a fag. Waltzy music drifts out. Another pissed person - a BLOND WHIPPERSNAPPER - approaches unsteadily.


WHIPPERSNAPPER: Hi, don't suppose you fancy a dance or anything. Oh sorry. (He holds out a hand) Simon Dalrymple. Eton.


BRIDGET: (shaking his hand) Bridget Jones. Northampton comprehensive.


WHIPPERSNAPPER: Yah, great. So um, could we dance?


BRIDGET: Why not?


They begin to.


WHIPPERSNAPPER: (after a while) Sorry about the boner.


BRIDGET: The what?


WHIPPERSNAPPER: The boner. Stiffy. Not used to dancing with an older woman, y'see. I mean one who's left school.


BRIDGET: Oh, right.


MARK appears in doorway.


MARK: I'll take over now, Simon. Come on, there's a good chap. Harriet's looking for you.


WHIPPERSNAPPER: Oh, right. Cheers then. Sorry again about the, er…


Hs limps off adjusting his boner.


MARK: (holding out his hand) May I?


BRIDGET: You're just so bloody arrogant and insensitive, aren't you? I wish you'd just - fuck off and leave me alone.


She makes to go - he gets hold of her and turns her to face him.


MARK: Listen to me - I wasn't trying to upset you by bringing up Daniel - I was going to tell you - he did it to me as well.


BRIDGET: Now that does surprise me.


MARK: I mean my wife. (Pause) He slept with my wife. Two weeks after I married her.


BRIDGET: Oh. I'm sorry.


MARK: Look, I'm sorry if I've been, ... the thing is I can't stop thinking about you. It's extremely inconvenient, in fact it's bloody absurd but there it is. I just can't...


He walks to and fro, runs his hands through his hair and carries on.


MARK: (continuing) I realise there are elements of the ridiculous about you. Your mother is a real embarrassment.


BRIDGET'S jaw drops at the impudence of this.


MARK: (continuing) You smoke, which I actually find the mark of a person with no self-respect.


BRIDGET: Have you finished? I thought you were apologising? Do you want me to start on you?


MARK: What I'm trying to say is - all the other women I know are so deadly poisonously dull and depressing and actually not very nice.


He says this, especially the last, as if he's only just discovered it.


BRIDGET: I thought you were going out with Natasha.


MARK: I sit in this ridiculous mausoleum of a house, and wish I was with you, and I keep thinking about the things you've said to me - some of them quite offensive but... what I'm trying to say is... for whatever reasons I find myself liking you very much...very much...


BRIDGET: Apart from the smoking and...


MARK: Just as you are.


NATASHA appears at the French windows.




MARK: (savagely) Oh, fuck! Excuse me.


He goes.


BRIDGET: Just as I am?




JUDE, SHARON, BRIDGET, various stages of getting dressed. Two perfect figured girls just out of the shower are yelling at each other.


JUDE: Just as you are?


PERFECT FIGURED GIRL: He said if he caught me smoking skunk again he'd take away the flat, and I'm like "fucking Daddy".


JUDE: You know what you should do, you should ask him to your party.




PERFECT FIGURED GIRL: I'm like "Daddy you can fucking fuck off because it's in trust!"


PERFECT FIGURED GIRL TWO: What are they like?


They head off, dripping water from their to-die-for flanks.


BRIDGET: He is a supercilious sod who despises me and everything about me. If he thought I was after him I couldn't bear it .


Sharon, clocking this.




BRIDGET is hurrying downstairs with her bags for work and a recipe book. There is a pile of cards on the mat.


BRIDGET: (voice over) Thursday 25 October. Birthday, Hurrah! 8 stone 11, brilliant! cigarettes 0, alcohol 0, hurrah! Cards… excellent.


She picks them up and opens the first one. It shows sheep in the country and says "Guess which one is you?" She opens the card. It says  "you're the one over the hill."




BRIDGET is typing furiously, ignoring MESSAGE PENDING. Through the partition Daniel keeps looking at her.


PERPETUA bustles up, brandishing the MS of Mangy Lions and Dominant Mares.


PERPETUA: Ah Bridget. This one is actually rather good. In fact everyone's raving about it. We're rushing it out for Christmas. Well spotted, Bridget, drop a line to the author with the standard contract.


BRIDGET: And I can be the editor?


PERPETUA: Well, that was the deal.


BRIDGET: Yessss!


PERPETUA: (disapprovingly) And Daniel says will you read your messages.


BRIDGET in a daze presses EXECUTE.


BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: MSG Jones. Congratulations. Could we have a drink? To celebrate? Cleaver.


BRIDGET: He remembered. He remembered my birthday.




Bar is full of yuppies, Daniel has his arm round the back of Bridget's chair.


BRIDGET: I mustn't be long, I'm cooking supper


DANIEL: Supper? And you haven't invited me. Oh Bridge, I've been desperate to talk to you. I feel such a stupid shit about the way I behaved.


He takes her hand.


DANIEL: (continuing) I think about you every day.


BRIDGET: I've thought about you too.


DANIEL: The thing is, Lara and I... I can't explain, it's very special. We're, well we're getting married.


She stares at him.


DANIEL: (continuing) But what I wanted to say: that doesn't mean that you and I can't see each other now and then.


BRIDGET: See each other?


DANIEL: Well, you know.


BRIDGET turns her wrist to look at her watch. Her drink, which was in that hand, pours slowly and steadily into Daniel's lap.


BRIDGET: Oh, is that the time?




A scene of utter carnage. Half cooked dishes in pans, carrier bags and open recipe books all over the surfaces and floor. Bridget, who has had a drink or two after the one in the Savoy, is reading from a piece of paper.


BRIDGET: Schedule - 7.00 prepare Grand Marnier soufflés. 7.10 go to shop for forgotten ingredients. 7.20 make frisee lardon frissled charouso bollocks thingy. 7.30 clear up flat removing all signs of sluttishness also unhip kitchen accoutrements, e.g.


She looks round. We see a flour shaker in the shape of a baby with a huge bonnet, a biscuit tin with squirrels dancing round it, a kitchen roll holder with a smiling flower on the end, a tube of contraceptive jelly. Oh, God. She pours a generous dollop of Grand Marnier.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Whose sodding birthday is it after all?


And drinks. She pours a bit more Grand Marnier and heads for the bathroom.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Far better to be dressed and cooking when they come than not looking nice.


Close up on CLOCK FACE, hands moving round.




The doorbell rings. Bridget emerges from the bathroom in bra and pants with wet hair.


BRIDGET: Great. Shaz.


She rushes over, presses the buzzer and leaves the door open. Then rushes back to the kitchen and treads in a pan of mashed potato.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Gaaah!


MARK DARCY appears at the door carrying champagne, flowers, and a box of Belgian chocolates.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Gaaah!


MARK: I'm so sorry I think I may be a little early. Your friend Sharon was kind enough to pass the invitation on, I think she did say eight sharp. Should I, er???


BRIDGET: No, no, more the merrier. (She peers behind him) Where's whatsername?


MARK: Ah. It didn't work out.


He's in now, smiling at her.


MARK: (continuing) You're looking very lovely if I may say so.


BRIDGET: Thank you.


MUSIC: Let There Be Love - Nat King Cole.


MARK is helping to sort out the carnage, stirring the soup.


BRIDGET: (continuing) How does it look?


MARK: Very good. Er, blue.


BRIDGET: Oh shit it must have been the string.


MARK: Ah it's string soup, is it?


BRIDGET: The string I tied the bones up with for the stock, silly.


MARK: Real stock. I'm impressed.


BRIDGET: But I could only find blue string. It's a disaster isn't it?


MARK: Blue soup could be very good. Blue soup could be the next thing.


BRIDGET: Maybe we could have the salad for the starter. Oh god I've left the tuna in the office. Oh shit shit shit. They're all going to be here in a minute and it's all gone wrong and it's my birthday.


MARK: Let's keep a sense of perspective here. Sit down.


She sits down. He pours out two glasses of champagne and clinks glasses with her.


MARK: (continuing) Happy birthday.


BRIDGET: How did you know it was my birthday?


MARK: Oh - I have a very highly developed sixth sense. You just said it was. (Pause) Actually I've always remembered the date of your birthday, since paddling pool days.


BRIDGET: Did I really run round your lawn naked?


MARK: Yes, you really did.


BRIDGET: How old were we?


MARK: Well you were five and I was eight.


BRIDGET: That's a pretty big age difference. Quite pervy really.


MARK: (smiling) Yes, I suppose it was. Great


BRIDGET: Oh God Mark what are we going to do about this bloody dinner?


MARK: Send out for pizza. People aren't coming for Grand Marnier soufflé in a sugar cage. They're coming to see you.


BRIDGET: Yes, they are, aren't they?


She looks really pleased then looks up at the clock.


BRIDGET: (continuing) So where are they, then?


MARK: They'll be here. Um, look - do you think I could just…


He is leaning towards her. Her eyes widen, then soften. They are moving towards a kiss, when JUDE SHARON AND TOM appear in the doorway loaded with carrier bags.


SHARON: Sorry we're late. Happy Birthday! Hope you liked your present.


BRIDGET:  Mark, Sharon, Jude, Tom.


They all say hi and Mark says how d'you do.


BRIDGET: (continuing) We were just… (she stops) I'm afraid the food's all gone a bit wrong.


JUDE: That's amazing, we had this weird flash that it might have, so we stopped by the Shah and got a takeaway.


BRIDGET: (moved) Did you?


JUDE: Happy birthday!


SHARON: (hugging her) Happy birthday, girlfriend.


TOM: (handing over an enormous box of Milk Tray) Happy birthday, skinny.


MARK, out of this but not shunned, watches: the warmth and tenderness of this fragile urban family.




They are all gorging and laughing, falling about drunk, on the sofa and the floor, JUDE is demonstrating proud lioness with Tom.


JUDE: Ok, so I'm the proud lioness and the mangy lion comes slouching round for his bit of nookie... what do I do?


Tom makes a rather hesitant lion.


BRIDGET: Do what feels natural.


Jude snarls and starts cuffing Tom about the head.


TOM: Ow, get off you mad bitch!


JUDE: Oh Tom lions don't go like that, you're hopeless.


TOM: Well I'm miscast, I want to be the lioness and Mark can be the lion.


BRIDGET: Absolutely not! (Now she has to say why) He's not mangy enough.


TOM: Oh, thank you very much I'm sure. All right, let's try again.


He tries a really big snarl.


Mark puts his arm round Bridget, she lets her head fall against his shoulder, her fingers curl into his - Sharon clocks it.




They are all leaving. Tom is unable to walk unaided, Mark is helping Sharon get him down stairs.


SHARON: Blurry good night.


JUDE: Wonderful night.


TOM: Cunnery, culinary trumph. Try. Umph. You're a big lad for your age.


MARK: Thank you Tom.


TOM: 've you ever thought of, how shall I put it...


MARK: (over his shoulder) Back in a minute.


Bridget, the door still open, left alone, sits down and sighs happily, surveying the remnants of the evening, the cards, presents, and Mark's coat and briefcase still on the sofa.


BRIDGET: You see, even when everything seems awful, nice things sometimes happen.




DAD in pyjamas, on phone.


DAD: My dear. Rather bad news I'm afraid. Your mother and Julio are wanted by the police.




Mark appears in doorway, smiling. His face changes as he sees Bridget.


BRIDGET: Look, don't worry too much, Dad. Nothing's ever as bad as it seems. We'll sort it out. I'll be' there. I'll be there as soon as I can.


She puts the phone down and sinks down at the kitchen table. MARK comes forward and takes her hands.


MARK: Tell me.




MARK is striding round the room on the telephone. BRIDGET is sitting with DAD. GEOFFREY is clucking round uselessly.


GEOFFREY: I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Gurrr. I don't know.


MARK: (into phone) Right. Good. And it's specifically a UK offence? Or could they be charged in Portugal too? With what exactly? OK, hang on.


He puts the phone under his chin and writes.




DAD talking to Bridget, Mark Darcy still on the phone in the background.


DAD: The time share apartments never existed, apparently, or belonged to someone else. Julio, using your mother as, as it were, front man, has defrauded large numbers of people - including your mother and me - of considerable sums. In our case, everything. We may lose this house. Oh, by the way, he's not Spanish or Portuguese, he comes from Peterborough and his real name's Adrian Timms. When I think about my life… what I thought it was…


UNA bustles up with tea in a mug decorated with apricots.


UNA: Is that too milky for you, Colin?


DAD: I don't know... I don't understand... just don't know what to think.


UNA: There's no need to get in a state about it. I'll just tip some out and top it up with hot water.


MARK, off the phone now, clears his throat for attention. Everyone looks up respectfully.


MARK: They're still in Portugal apparently. If it transpires Mrs Jones was assisting her - friend - in ignorance of the fraud, she may get off reasonably lightly - provided we can find her and get her back within a reasonable interval.


DAD: But how can we possibly do that? We don't even know where she is.


MARK: I have a colleague with connections in Lisbon.


Hs looks at his watch.


MARK: (continuing) There's nothing more to be done tonight. The best thing is for everyone here to get some sleep, I'll drive back to London and see what can be done in the morning. I'd better say now that I can't promise a happy outcome.


He looks very grim and scary. Bridget rises, to go with him.


MARK: (continuing; curtly) I think you should stay here with your father.


INT. 192. NIGHT.


BRIDGET, JUDE, SHARON and TOM are tucking into the Chardonnay.


BRIDGET: No. Nothing since the dinner party. It's obvious - he can't afford to have anything to do with the daughter of a known criminal. I think he did want to help though. Oh, well.


JUDE: Another bastard. I thought he really liked you.


TOM: He did, you could tell. I think he liked me, too. There was real tenderness in the way he carried me downstairs. Strength, too. Great shoulders. Nice tight little buns.


SHARON: Oh do shut up Tom. This is just another fuckwit.


BRIDGET: I don't think so. I think he's really OK. I'm the fuckwit. I should have got divorced from my mother when I was eleven, you can do it now, it's all the rage, instead I stuck it out, and look what happened - not content with shagging herself silly all over Europe when she should have been getting meals on wheels, she has to go and ruin my chance of happiness with the first really nice boyfriend I've had for years.


SHARON: Come on Bridge. Strong, strong. Big mare now.


BRIDGET: I don't spose she did it on purpose.


JULIAN BARNES and SALMAN RUSHDIE come in with Rushdie's four armed guards. JULIAN BARNES leans graciously down from his great height and speaks solicitously to Bridget.


JULIAN BARNES: So sorry to hear about your mother, Bridget - any news?


BRIDGET: Bloody hell - does everyone know? No - no news.


JULIAN BARNES: I gather Darcy's on the case - that man is pure gold, if anyone can fix it he will.


SALMAN RUSHDIE: He's on it big time. Full-on. Balls-out .




JULIAN BARNES:  He's been out there all this week. We're all on hold.


SALMAN RUSHDIE: You got a diamond geezer there, Bridget. Oh - congratulations on the book.


They pass on, regally, the bodyguards scanning the joint for assassins, Uzis out.


BRIDGET: (in shock) Bloody hell.




DAD and BRIDGET are walking through he Arrivals hall.


DAD: Apparently if they retrieve the rest of the money the, the - Peterborough Lothario might be quite leniently dealt with, which would be a shame. I don't know how I can ever thank Darcy, a busy man like him. I think he had some contact in the Portuguese judiciary. There but for the grace of God... your mother could be rotting in some foreign dungeon.


BRIDGET: And serve her right! Ah well. Let's hope it's knocked some sense into her.


MOTHER rounds the corner flanked by two POLICEMEN, trolly laden with bags.


MOTHER: Oh, there you are, Daddy! Oof. I'm dying to get home and put the kettle on. D'you think Una remembered the timer? (To Bridget) Hello darling! I've bought you a leather clutch bag! Ugh. Have you been smoking? You smell like Yates's Wine Lodge.


The policeman take Dad to one side.


BRIDGET: What on earth do you think you were doing?


MOTHER: Oh, it was just some mix-up over, the planning permission. I don't know what Mark Darcy thought he was doing,  throwing his weight about and carrying on like Lord Muck.


BRIDGET: Oh God. Don't you know you're lucky to have a house to go back to?


DAD: Pam, these gentlemen need you to accompany them to the police station.


MUM: Oh, don't be silly Daddy.


BRIDGET: Do something with her.


DAD grabs her hard by the shoulders.


DAD: Pam. At this precise moment you are still under arrest. Now will you for once in your life behave like a grown woman?


She stares at him. Her lip begins to tremble. She starts very quietly:


MUM: I do know, you know - what I'm like - and I do wish I could help it - and it doesn't help that you and Bridget have your lovely grown up club of two and what's silly old Mummy done this time, and yon might just ask yourselves if that's not the way you want it, feel more comfy when you don't have to think of me as a person like you, but you did once, you were mad about me, you couldn't get enough of me, and I thought well it would be nice to feel like that again - adored - adored! - but of course silly old Mummy made a mess of things again...


She starts to sob - great heaving sobs. Dad takes her gently in his arms, she doesn't resist.


DAD: Oh, Pam. Pam.


It's not a great romantic reawakening. But it is a recognition of her as a person, the one he's chosen to share life's long journey with. Bridget, moved and rather awed. The policemen wait. Ono of them looks at his watch. Mum and Dad don't move. (Shall we say it's a quiet time at the airport, there are staff and travellers, but not too many, and they all have their own lives to get on with. So just a few curious glances in passing. Don't want to pre-empt the director, but I do rather see the crane shot going up and looking down at them.)




BRIDGET is decorating an extremely small Christmas tree on her own.


BRIDGET: Thursday 21 December. 9 stone 3 - but still time to lose half a stone before Christmas. Cards received 5 - vg but three from paperboy. Cards sent 1. 1471 calls to see if Mark Darcy has rung 12 - not vg but no need to tell anyone…




BRIDGET going down the steps of the Underground Station.




Bridget sits between a BUSINESSMAN spreading his FT and a YOUNG BLACK MAN spreading his enormous thighs. Opposite, TWO YOUNG LOVERS still at it on the morning after, and some Bridgets…


BRIDGET: (voice over) You'd think he'd make just one teeny tiny call, just to say oh, I don't know, you'd have been all right if it weren't for your idiot mother problem... it's probably the smoking... who'd want to kiss anyone with breath like a pub ashtray?


Her gaze wanders over the Bridgets opposite. Hear their thoughts:


ANOTHER BRIDGET: (voice over) I could just tell he thought I looked like a whale in those cargo pants.


A THIRD BRIDGET: (voice over) It's my nose, it is, it's my nose... oh when will I find someone to love me?






BRIDGET is sitting at the computer.


PERPETUA comes in and throws down the best-seller list with a ring round MANGY LIONS.


PERPETUA: Straight into the chart at number seven. Well done.


The phone rings. PERPETUA grabs it.


PERPETUA: (continuing) No! I don't believe it! I don't believe it! (Dramatic announcement to entire office) We've exchanged on Drayton Gardens!


DANIEL walks past.


DANIEL: My heart, it soars like an eagle. (Under breath to Bridget) Keep up to date with your e-mail, will you Jones?


BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: MSG Jones. Bridget. I have to talk to you. Come for a drink after work. Please?


She looks over at him. He looks back, anguished, and types:


BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: (continuing) MSG Jones. Fancy the Savoy? Cleaver.


She makes it go away and types:


BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: (continuing) MSG Cleave. No. Jones.


She presses Send. Another message appears.


BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: (continuing) MSG Jones. Would you please come to my office. This is a professional request. Cleave.


BRIDGET gets up and walks composedly towards his office.




BRIDGET sits with her hands folded on her knees. DANIEL is striding round running his hands through his hair.


DANIEL: Every time I look across the room I think what a fucking idiot I've been.


BRIDGET: That a fact?


DANIEL: The thing is, that Lara thing - it was just a way of hiding my – thing, thing is I felt compelled to be unfaithful because I loved you so much.


BRIDGET: So you were so commitment-phobic you get engaged to someone else?


DANIEL: Oh, Bridget. It took me losing you to kind out how much I needed you. I can't live without you, Bridget.


The door opens and PERPETUA bursts in.


PERPETUA: I'm not having this. Just because your money-grabbing fiancée found someone richer than you to run off with…


DANIEL: This has nothing to do with you, Perpetua.

PERPETUA: Just bloody well leave her alone!


DANIEL: I think Bridget can speak for herself. Bridget? I've told you how I feel, sweetheart. Now… what do you say?


He does look, terribly appealing and rumpled and sexy.


BRIDGET: Sorry, Daniel. I just don't feel able to commit.


She gets up, and walks out, very calm and together.


INT. 192. NIGHT.




SHARON: Excellent! Outstanding!


TOM: Dominant lionesses... dominate.


BRIDGET: So - who's coming round tonight?


JUDE: Sorry… actually I've got a date. New chap.


TOM: New chap! What's he like?


JUDE: Well... how young is too young, would you say?


BRIDGET: I'd say as long as he's not young enough to be your legal son.


JUDE: He's 24 and he's taking me to the Oxo Tower!


BRIDGET: Shazzie?


SHARON: My osteopath's coming round. He, um, asked me if I'd consider mixing business with pleasure.


BRIDGET: I see. Tom?


She looks at Tom.


TOM: I've got the new PE bloke coming round, said he'd drop in for a bite. His very words. Wish me luck. Supposed to be straight but he'll turn, I can feel it in my bones.


BRIDGET: Well fine. That's fine!


She looks round brightly.




BRIDGET walking in sleet.


BRIDGET: (voice over) And it is fine, they're happy, I'm happy. Because there's no point worrying about the future because you never know what's round the corner.


She rounds the corner where a big crackhead DRUNK is slouched with bottle.


DRUNK: Give us a quid then you fucking yuppie!


She gives him one.


BRIDGET: Merry Christmas.


DRUNK: Don't think you can buy my fucking friendship!


She goes on.


BRIDGET: (voice over) No it is great really. Even if everyone else in the world is at a great big party and you're going to end up all alone half eaten by dogs, at least I'm free! (Aloud) Free and independent! Never blurry mind!


She fumbles in her rucksack.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Fuck, I've lost my keys.


A big car approaches, MARK DARCY driving. He spots BRIDGET sitting on the step, tipping out the contents of her rucksack. He parks the car.


At a distance we see him approach. Bridget explains. He tries to slip the lock with his credit card and wipes her eyes. He looks at the window, takes off his jacket, climbs up and gets in. We see BRIDGET'S face smiling fondly, then he appears at the door, takes her in his arms and kisses her.




Once again the Turkey Curry Buffet is in full swing. Caption on screen: January 1, 2001. Mother is wearing, a policeman's helmet. Una is bustling about. MARK and BRIDGET in different parts of the room exchange a look.


MOTHER: Isn't it super? The policeman said I could keep it.


DAD removes the helmet and shoves it under the buffet table, BRIAN ENDEKBY lurches up to Bridget.


BRIAN ENDERBY: Bridget! Another New Year, and still no feller!


Bridget smiles secretly.


MOTHER: Bridget! Why don't you see if Mark wants a vol-au-vent?




She walks over to MARK, radiant, gorgeous and flirty, with the tray.


BRIDGET: (continuing) Would you care for a vol-au-vent?


MARK takes the tray from her and puts it down.


MARK: Thank you, no. Actually, what I'd really care for is this.


He takes her in his arms and kisses her passionately, to assembled gawps and gasps.


BRIAN ENDERBY: (to Geoffrey Alconbury) See that? Got a feller after all.


GEOFFREY: Won't last.


MARK: And now, if you'll excuse us, Bridget and I are going on a-mini-break.


He picks her up in his arms and carries her out.




MUSIC: You've got to give a little, take a little, let your poor heart break a little…


Bridget and Mark walk through the pool of light across the threshold.




MARK and BRIDGET at dinner, shes about to light a cigarette, he makes to kiss her, she puts the cigarette down and kisses him.




Mark and Bridget coming in, she's happy, tipsy, carrying a half-full champagne bottle. Mark gently takes it from her, puts it in the bin, and leads her to the four-poster. She looks up lovingly into his eyes, he unzips her dress, and it slips off, to soaring romantic music.




The dregs of the Turkey Curry Buffet. MOTHER is holding forth to the remaining guests, who are slumped in recumbent postures.


MOTHER: He's divorced, you know, wife was Japanese, very cruel race. Actually I don't think it was quite right, taking her off like that without being married.


DAD: (wearily) Pamela.


Then he smiles.




MARK is asleep. BRIDGET creeps out of bed and across to the bin, where she retrieves the champagne.


BRIDGET: Waste not, want not.


She is just raising the bottle to her lips, when she catches our eye, guiltily. Freeze frame.