Hurrah! Bridget's back and it's v v good
©
Ifan Bates
BJ
famously invented a whole new vocabulary to describe modern life:
singletons, smug marrieds and emotional ****wits spring to mind; not to
mention a whole new way of thinking about it: she recorded in her diary
her daily struggles with her weight, her alcohol consumption, number of
cigarettes smoked and the ups and, let’s face it, mostly downs of her
media career. The
main thing about the all-too-human Bridget that appealed - to me, at
least - was the uncomfortable way in which she felt out of step with her
peer group, most of whom were busy getting married (smug) and thinking
about kids (smugger) whilst she was busy being messed around by various
commitment-phobic men (emotional ****wits). Her parents and their
friends often, at eccentrically middle-class events such as a Boxing Day
turkey curry buffet, posed the question most likely to drive a singleton
to distraction: ‘how’s your love life?’ The second book chronicled
her first real relationship in years, with the scarily clever,
serious-but-also-seriously-loving human rights lawyer Mark Darcy. In
this third instalment Bridget is 51, mother to two small children and -
shock, horror - a widow. Mark died five years ago (I won’t spoil it
for you by revealing how) and thus once again our heroine finds herself
out of step with her friends, most of whom are still married and raising
their children with the help of their other halves. Everywhere she looks
is a sea of couples slipping comfortably into their middle years, safe
in the knowledge that dating is but a distant and faintly horrific
memory. Bridget
gets a toy boy, the kids get nits, her mother’s in a home and although
the laughs are still there aplenty, there is also a sad, bittersweet
edge to the novel that makes it feel just, well, a lot more grown up,
like our gal herself. Bridget has dealt (is dealing) with unspeakable
horrors and that she generally comes out on top - in spite of her
unorthodox methods - makes her more of an idol than ever.
I
laughed, I cried and most of all I loved. Ignore all those sour grapes
female columnists who are clearly bitter they didn’t write this tour
de force series themselves and get involved immediately, I promise and
swear you won’t regret it. Bridget’s back - which is nothing short
of ‘totes amazog’ as she herself now likes to say. Hurrah! |