THURSDAY, November 20

9st 1 (vg), alcohol units 6 (poor), cigarettes 19 (worse).

7pm: Why hasn't Mark Darcy rung? Why? Realise Paris mini-break did not go particularly well due to missing plane, kitchen fire, etc. but rejection particularly humiliating this week with Royal Golden Wedding merely highlighting own inability to get any relationship off ground for more than five minutes. Whole celebration clearly designed to torture Singletons in manner of - though not quite as bad as - Christmas. Is all very well, Queen beaming everywhere being Epitome-esque Smug Married but what if Duke of Edinburgh had suddenly decided not to call her when they had only just started going out? These days... wait a minute. Maybe phone is not working.

7.05pm: Dialling tone seems normal, but will ring from mobile to check. If not working might mean am still in relationship.

7.10: Phone is working. Am going to spend Christmas in single bed in parents' house. Again.

7.15: Phone is ringing. Hurrah! Christmas will be lovely and romantic, kissing by fireside unwrapping silken underwear from tissue paper in manner of Dunhill catalogue.

7.20: Was Sharon, "You do realise, in 50 years we will be more than 80?"

"So?" I said, wanting to yell "Getoff the phone! Getoff the phone!"

"So? So we'll be dead. So there's no chance of any of us having a golden wedding. So we've blown it."

Agreed to crisis meeting with her and Jude. Maybe reason phone will not ring is that I am in a state about it, therefore better to go out to restore Zen. Might read Buddhism book for a bit. Was forgetting importance of not living in state of neurotic craving. Could murder a cigarette, though.

7.25: Oooh - telephone. Buddhism has worked!

7.50: Was my mother.

"Oh hello, darling, guess what?"

"Mum. Do you mind if I ring you back on the mobile?"

"Mobile, darling? Don't be silly - you haven't had one of those since you were about four. Don't you remember? With little fishes on? Anyway Una doesn't want Uncle Geoffrey on this Internet. He's on it day and night, apparently, its absolutely filthy."

Grrr. What is it about mothers and the phone which, immediately you say you have to go, makes them think of 19 completely irrelevant things they have to tell you that minute?

"...Una thinks he might be one of these 'homos'. Mind you, Raymond and Merle's nephew was one and he was charming. Did I tell you Mavis Enderby's Julie's preggy?"

Finally. I Just had to say: "Mum. I. Am. Go. Ing. Nowbye."

7.51: Mark still hasn't rung.

7.52: Still hasn't rung.

7.53: He's probably gone for a drink after work and will ring when he gets back at 8.

8.01: Maybe I should ring him.

8.20: Pros and Cons:-

Pros: 1) End to torture of waiting for phone call. 2) V. empowering. 3) Might get to talk to him.

Cons: 1) He will think I am too keen. 2) He won't be in. I will leave embarrassing message. He still won't ring. Torture will be worse. 3) Better to wait till he wants to ring me.

But what if he doesn't?

8.25: Clearly, it is over between us. Am going out.

Midnight. My flat. Argor. Eswor blurry goofun. Oof! telphone. Oops.

FRIDAY, November 21

9st 2 (doom), alcohol units and cigarettes 0 (vg but only 8am).

8am: Had v. interesting discussion last night with girls re: Prince Philip's Golden Wedding speech. All agreed was unsettling but why? Then Jude burst out, "It was the fact that he was virtually admitting they are having a relationship."

We nodded thoughtfully. Idea of Queen and Prince Philip holding hands, embracing, jogging in matching tracksuits or looking Reaganesquely into each other's eyes is completely unthinkable: almost like Jeremy Paxman flapping his wrist at Peter Mandelson on Newsnight and going: "Ooh shut up, ducky, you do go on!".

"I mean," said Shazzer. "All that stuff about them having children was tantamount to admitting that they have had sex."

"Shhh, shhh." I hissed horrified by treasonable remark. All agreed, however that while pleased for newly happy-looking Queen, fear and resent "inevitable ensuing pro-Smug Marriage national mood: in unpleasant contrast to recent years where, with Charles, Diana, Fergy etc, it began to seem almost normal to be single and dysfunctional.

Chardonnay seemed best solution, along with growling lustfully, "Phaw - that Prince Philip - phaw."

Upshot was, when got home was bit on squiffy side. Phone rang.

"Hi, it's Mark."

"It's over isn't it?" I slurred sulkily. "That's the trouble with our generation. Prince Philip says tolerance is the most important thing. Tolerance."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just because I set the pan on fire. The Queen set blurry Windsor Castle on fire and he didn't chuck her."

"But the Queen didn't set Windsor Castle on fire."

"Oh we don't know that, do we?" I muttered, darkly. "She could have left a pan on."

"Bridget," said Mark. "The Queen has been working hard to present herself as the People's Monarch. Nevertheless I think it unlikely Her Majesty decided to make a cup of coffee in Windsor Castle using a saucepan instead of a kettle, turned the wrong hotplate on and set fire to a frying pan with half a fillet steak in it."

"Well, even if she had, he wouldn't have chucked her."

"But darling. Nobody's chucking you."

"But... you didn't ring and I thought..."

"I said I'd ring you yesterday or today."

"But you didn't!"

Suddenly, he lost his tolerance. "For God's sake! I didn't get home till 8.30 and you've been out all evening. I'm tired. I'm going to bed. I'll call you in the morning. Bye."

9.00: He hasn't rung.

9.30: Still hasn't rung.