Page 292 - Bridget Jones's Diary - by Helen FIELDING

2 p.m. Bumped into Rebecca in Graham and Greene buying a scarf for £169.
(What is going on with scarves? One minute they were stocking filler-type items
which cost £9.99 next minute they have to be fancy velvet and cost as much as a
television. Next year it will probably happen to socks or pants and we will feel

left out if we are not wearing £145 English Eccentrics knickers in textured black

velvet.) 'Hi,' I said excitedly, thinking at last the party nightmare would be
over and she too would say, 'See you on Sunday.'

'Oh, hello,' she said coldly, not meeting my eye. 'Can't stop. I'm in a real rush.'

As she left the shop they were playing 'Chestnuts roasting on an open fire' and
I stared hard at a £185 Phillipe Starck colander, blinking back tears. I hate

Christmas. Everything is designed for families, romance, warmth, emotion and
presents, and if you have no boyfriend, no money, your mother is going out with
a missing Portuguese criminal and your friends don't want to be your friend
anymore, it makes you want to emigrate to a vicious Muslim regime, where at
least all the women are treated like social outcasts. Anyway, I don't care. I am
going to quietly read a book all weekend and listen to classical music. Maybe
will read The Famished Road.

8:30 p.m. Blind Date was v.g. Just going for another bottle of wine.

Monday 11 December