Page 219 - Bridget Jones's Diary - by Helen FIELDING

9st, alcohol units 0, cigarettes 4 (v.g.), calories 3222 (British Rail sandwiches

hideously impregnated), minutes spent imagining speech will make when
resigning from new job 210.

Ugh. Hateful conference with bully-boss Richard Finch going, 'Right. Harrods
one-pound-a-pee toilets. I'm thinking Fantasy Toilets. I'm thinking studio: Frank

Skinner and Sir Richard Rogers on furry seats, armrests with TV screens, quilted
loo paper. Bridget, you're Dole Youths Clampdown. I'm thinking the North. I'm
thinking Dole Youths, loafing about, live down the line.'

'But . . . but . . ' I stammered.

'Patchouli!' he shouted, at which point the dogs under his desk woke up and
started jumping about and barking.

'Wha'?' yelled Patchouli above the din. She was wearing a crocheted midi-
dress with a floppy straw hat and an orange Bri-nylon saddle-stitched blouse on
top. As if the things I used to wear in my teens were a hilarious joke.

'Where's the Dole Youths OB?'

'Liverpool.'

'Liverpool. OK, Bridget. OB crew outside Boots in the shopping center, live at

five-thirty. Get me six Dole Youths.'

Later, as I was leaving to get the train, Patchouli yelled casually, 'Oh yeah,

like, Bridget, it's not Liverpool, it's, like, Manchester, right?'