Page 301 - Bridget Jones's Diary - by Helen FIELDING

1 a.m. Totally alone. Entire year has been failure.

5 a.m. Oh, never bloody mind. Maybe Christmas itself will not be awful. Maybe
Mum and Dad will emerge radiantly shag-drunk in the morning, holding hands
shyly and saying, 'Children, we've got something to tell you,' and I could be a
bridesmaid at the reaffirming of vows ceremony.

Sunday 24 December

9st 4., alcohol units I measly glass of sherry, cigarettes 2 but no fun as out of

window, calories 1 million, probably, number of warm festive thoughts 0.

Midnight. V. confused about what is and is not reality. There is a pillowcase at
the bottom of my bed which Mum put there at bedtime, cooing, 'Let's see if
Santa comes,' which is now full of presents. Mum and Dad, who are separated

and planning to divorce, are sleeping in the same bed. In sharp contrast, my
brother and his girlfriend, who have been living together for four years, are
sleeping in separate rooms. The reason for all this is unclear, except that it may
be to avoid upsetting Granny who is a) insane and b) not here yet. The only thing
that connects me to the real world is that once again I am humiliatingly spending
Christmas Eve alone in my parents' house in a single bed. Maybe Dad is at this

moment attempting to mount Mum. Ugh, ugh. No, no. Why did brain think such
thought?