Thursday 19 October
9st4 (bad); alcohol units 3 (both healthy and normal); cigarettes 33; fat
units 17 (fat unit concept depressingly repulsive, resolve to return to
calorie counting tomorrow. Wonder is it possible to calculate fat unit
content of entire body? Hope otherwise). Instants 3 (fair); calls to
1471 to see if Daniel has rung 21 (excellent progress).
Incensed by patronising article in the paper by Smug Married journalist.
It was headlined with subtle-as-a-Nick-Ross "Or is it?"-style
irony: The Joy of Single Life. "They're young, ambitious and rich,
but their lives hide an aching loneliness.
Met Sharon, Rebecca and Tom in Cafe Rouge after work. Tom, too, was
working on a furious article about the Smug Marrieds' gaping emotional
holes. "Their influence affects everything from the kind of houses
being built to the food that stocks the supermarket shelves," Tom's
article rants. "Everywhere we see Anne Summers shops catering for
housewives trying pathetically to stimulate the thrilling sex enjoyed by
Singletons and ever-more-exotic foodstuffs in M&S for couples trying
to pretend they're in a lovely restaurant like Singletons and don't have
to do the washing up."
am bloody sick of this arrogant hand-wringing about single life,"
shh," we went, putting our faces right on to the menus.
about time everybody realised that a quarter of all households are
single and that instead of seeing the single state as some tragic
dysfunctional cock-up and single women as desperate barren spinsters,
they recognised that many women - because at last they can and don't
need a stupid man to survive economically - might prefer to be single
than come home from a full day's work to cook and wash socks for some
determinedly unevolving, domestically retarded, emotional
we're not lonely, as we have extended families in the form of networks
of friends connected by telephone," said Rebecca.
Hurrah! Singletons should have an accepted status - like geisha girls do
- instead of having to explain ourselves all the time," I shouted
happily, slurping on my tumbler of Chilean Chardonnay.
girls?" said Sharon, looking at me coldly.
up Bridge," slurred Tom. "You're just trying to escape from
your yawning emotional hole into drunkenness."
so's bloody well Shazza," I said.
not," said Sharon.
blurr are," I said.
Shuddup," said Rebecca, burping. "Shagernothebol
Friday 20 October
9st6 (inflated with wine box interior-style wine bag therefore very
misleading statistic); alcohol units 4; cigarettes 25; Instants 5 (but
stayed in); 1471 calls 22 (OK); hours spent imagining Daniel begging me
to come back 1.5 (excellent); hours spent imagining Daniel's face when
he finds out I'm going out with Mr Darcy 3 (poor); hours spent imagining
sleeping or shopping in supermarkets with Mr Darcy 4 (v bad).
God I'm so lonely. An entire weekend stretching ahead with no one to
love or have fun with. Anyway I don't care. I've got a lovely steamed
ginger pudding from M&S to put in the microwave.
Saturday 21 October
9st1 (Brilliant. Have lost 6lbs in one day. Brilliant); cigarettes 30;
alcohol units 6; calories 1,598 (VG); number of correct lottery numbers
2 (VG); items purchased through shopping then returned to the shop for
refund in sick cycle 4; items subsequently repurchased 2 (though intend
to take shiny black PVC jeans back again - whole PVC trouser concept
suggests intolerable sense of sweatiness and lack of hygiene).
This morning received a letter from Richard Finch, the editor of Wake Up
Britain, offering me a job. I think... anyway. This is all it said:
"OK, my darling, dicks on the table time, you're on."
Monday 23 October
office Just called Richard Finch's insufferable teenage assistant Zoe
and it is a job offer. I am going to be paid an unimaginable pounds
32,000 a year (knee-length boots, certainly, fake ponyskin coat,
possibly) but must start in a week. I don't know anything about
television, but sod it, I'm stuck in a dead end here and it is just too
humiliating working with Daniel since we split up. I had better go tell
can't believe this. Daniel stared at me, ashen faced. "You're
heartless," he said. "Do you have any idea how hurtful these
last few weeks have been for me? You can't leave me." He looked as
if he was going to cry. I thought my heart was going to break, felt so
guilty and cruel. Just about to say I'd stay when Perpetua burst in:
"Daniel, you selfish, self-indulgent, manipulative, emotional
fuckwit. It was you, for God's sake, who chucked her. So bloody well put
up with it."