Page 186 - Bridget Jones's Diary - by Helen FIELDING

Tuesday 1 August

8st 12, alcohol units 3, cigarettes 40 (but have stopped inhaling in order to
smoke more), calories 450 (off food),1471 calls 14, Instants 7.

5 a.m. I'm falling apart. My boyfriend is sleeping with a bronzed giantess. My
mother is sleeping with a Portuguese. Jeremy is sleeping with a horrible trollop,
Prince Charles is sleeping with Camilla Parker-Bowles. Do not know what to
believe in or hold on to anymore. Feel like ringing Daniel in hope he could deny
everything, come up with plausible explanation for the clothes-free rooftop
valkyrie - younger sister, friendly neighbor recovering from flood or similar -

which would make everything all right. But Tom has taped a piece of paper to
the telephone saying, 'Do not ring Daniel or you will regret it.'

Should have gone to stay with Tom as suggested. Hate being alone in middle

of night, smoking and sniveling like mad psychopath. Fear Dan downstairs
might hear and ring loony bin. Oh God, what's wrong with me? Why does
nothing ever work out? It is because I am too fat. Toy with ringing Tom again
but only called him forty-five minutes ago. Cannot face going into work.

After rooftop encounter I didn't say a single word to Daniel: just put my nose
in the air, slithered past him, marched down to the Street into car and drove
away. Went immediately to Tom's, who poured vodka straight down my throat
from the bottle, adding the tomato juice and Worcester sauce afterwards. Daniel
had left three messages when I got back, asking me to call him. Did not,

following advice of Tom, who reminded me that the only way to succeed with
men is to be really' horrible to them. Used to think he was cynical and wrong but
I think I was nice to Daniel and look what happened.

Oh God, birds have started singing. Have to go to work in three and a half