Wednesday December 17 9st 1 ( poor) alcohol units 5 (vg) cigarettes 19 (excellent) calories 80
(canape) good but maybe unhealthy slightly?
6.30pm:
Will I never learn? Week before Christmas, always swear next year I will
escape to tiny woodman's cottage deep in forest to sit quietly by fire
instead of waking up in huge, throbbing mountingly hysterical city with
entire population going "oh my God" at thought of work, cards,
and present deadlines and getting all dressed up, and stuck in traffic
every night, arriving at do's wanting to shout "Oh will you all
just SOD OFF!" as everyone exhausted and sick of sight of each
other.
Also
Christmas reminds one of entire year's failure to achieve anything eg
form functional relationship. V.
sad re: Mark Darcy. Relationship
left frustratingly ambiguous having spent one weekend together in Paris
and one here, but now he has gone back to work in Japan. Hoped
obsessively he might ring to suggest eg, spending Christmas in twinkly
Swiss Mountain village but he has not even rung for 10 days. Am just
rubbish. Am love pariah. Am going to end up... Oh-oh. Realise what has
happened. Clearly have got in mad mood through stress. Will call Jude.
6.45pm:
Have left message asking if she is mad too. Anyway tonight am going to
stay in quietly, listening to classical music.
7pm: You
see, it is good to calm down, everyone needs to nourish their soul.
7.02pm: V.
boring though.
7.04pm:
Think will ring up Sharon.
7.15pm:
Hurrah! Shazzer has invited me to party.
Midnight:
Hair would not go right, then entire city gridlocked so when arrived
Shazzer had been standing outside for 15 minutes, and gave me real
earful. Next thing bumped into old friend, Michael, who said
"Bridge, isn't it about time you had a baby?" Was
just about to give him earful when he said "Why don't you have a
baby with me?" I gawped. "I
mean," he said hurriedly, "be a single Mum. New Labour, new -
Oh... well anyway just going to get a drink. I'll make up the six quid
for you."
Could
suddenly imagine being trendy single Mum with lovely tiny pink baby to
love and teach things to, shopping with it in markets, keeping it in the
bedroom and slipping off marvellously during dinner parties to feed it.
Shot off to discuss with Shazzer, who was talking to posh lady in crusty
sequined top.
"Trouble
is," said Shaz. "On top of, 'Why aren't you married?' every
minute of the bloody day you'd have 'Who's the father?' to contend
with." "You
could say it was an immaculate conception."
"I
think all this would be extremely selfish..." the posh lady
snapped.
"Why?"
said Shaz belligerently.
"Because
a child needs two parents. You would be doing it to satisfy yourself
when actually you're just too selfish to have a relationship." Blimey.
Knowing how mad we all are this week I could see Shaz taking out a
sub-machine gun and gunning her down. Maybe lady was right, though.
Maybe we are the fussy generation and actually just want to be free and
have fun while whingeing about non-existence of 50s-style marriage.
"That's
rather a narrow, paternalistic, unrealistic, partisan Smug
Middle-Class-Married-Parent view isn't it?" Shaz was saying.
"Look at the Caribbean"
Mmmm.
I thought, lovely luxury hotel and white sand.
"The
womenfolk bring the children up in compounds and the men just turn up
sometimes and shag them, and now the women are getting economic power
and there are pamphlets saying "Men at Risk" because they're
losing their role." Sometimes
wonder if Sharon quite such a PH-style authority on, well, everything as
she pretends to be.
"A
child needs two parents," said the woman, coldly.
"Bollocks.
Children need relationships and life and people around, but it doesn't
have to be a husband..."
"Yur.
You can't spoil a child by loving it," I slurred suddenly
remembering something my - ironically enough - mother always comes out
with.
"Shut
up, Bridge, you're drunk. " Eventually
Posh woman stormed off and I ended up having snappy exchange with Shaz
about Caribbean social mores at which spotted future father of my child
chatting up 12-year-old and decided to go home. Got
back to lovely message from Jude.
"Yes.
Also mad. The cat has picked up my mood and started pooing in the
basket. I'm going start doing that too. Call me." Hurrah,
love the lovely friends. Maybe if Jude had a baby too we could live in a
community together and... aargh.
12.15am:
Have set wastebin on fire with fag end. Will just have a glass of wine
then ring.
1am: Called
Jude but the cat had just pooed again. "Can I call you back in a
minute?"
When
it rang I picked up and sing-songed. "Would you hold? Just pooing
on the carpet."
"I'm
sorry?" said a male voice. Oh my God. It was Mark Darcy.
Grr.
What is it about him that he always catches me at the wrong moment. For
the entire last 10 days I have answered the phone by simply saying
"hello". (Jude and I sometimes answer by purring "So you
did call" which can be amusing. Also one time Shaz worked for a
programme called The Night is Young, and had to answer phone saying
"He-llo. The Night is...")
"Bridget,"
said Mark. "You've gone curiously silent. Are you pooing on the
carpet?" Tried
to explain about Jude and the cat...
"I
see, " he said, dismissively. "Are you going to your parents
for Christmas?" Yesss!
Yess! Swiss Mountain village! "Not sure, actually," I replied,
airily.
"Pity.
I'm going to mine for a few days."
"Well
I'm bound to be there for some of the time," I gabbled. Mark's
parents live in the same village. "Great!
Well, in that case..." Now
in turmoil. Definitely vg that Mark coming to England but no question of
sleeping together at parents so does that mean we are "just
friends"? Oh God. Am going to spend Christmas Day with Mum, Dad and
Granny, the Alconburys, Mark's parents and Mark himself whom Mum has
been trying to get me off with for four years and does not know I am
sleeping with. And now neither do I. Still it will be lovely to see him.
Hurrah!
Happy Christmas. |