Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy(35)

10.15 p.m. Just called Magda.

‘Come to us,’ she said firmly. ‘You can’t possibly do any of those things with two kids, or stay in your house relying on a neighbour you’ve only just met. Come to us in Gloucestershire. I’ll get the couple next door over from the farm – they’ve got kids the same age and that’s all kids need. Plus, there’s nothing they can spoil and we’ve still got all the Xboxes. Never mind anyone else. Just email them back quickly, and say you’ve found a perfect kid-friendly plan. And tell your mum you’ll do a special Christmas at St Oswald’s House when you get back. It’ll all be perfectly fine.’

Monday 31 December 2012

Christmas has been perfectly fine. Mum was perfectly happy with the post-Christmas-Christmas plan and had a whale of a time on the cruise, calling up, gabbling about ‘Pawl’ the pastry chef and some man going into everyone else’s berths. Rebecca thought the whole overbooking thing was hysterical and said we should definitely do the Drag Queen Market or the money-launderer’s vodka boat and if not she was available for wine and burnt food.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were really nice at Magda and Jeremy’s. Magda did Christmas Eve with me; the stockings, helping wrap the giant pile of plastic crap, which ‘Santa’ had of course ended up ordering from Amazon, and putting it under the tree. And I seriously think Billy and Mabel thought it was great. Billy doesn’t really remember Christmas with Mark, and Mabel never had one. Billy only had two of them and he was so little . . . And the rest of the time we’ve been in and out of Rebecca’s house, crossing the road with pans of burnt food, and moaning about computer games, and her and the kids in and out of ours and next year is going to be so much better!





PART TWO





2013 DIARY


Tuesday 1 January 2013

Twitter followers 636, resolutions made about not making resolutions 1, said resolution kept (0), resolutions made 3.

9.15 p.m. Have made a decision. Am going to completely change. This year am not going to do any New Year’s Resolutions but instead focus on being grateful for myself as I am. New Year’s Resolutions would be expressing dissatisfaction with status quo rather than Buddhist gratitude.

9.20 p.m. Actually, maybe will just do Capsule New Year’s Resolutions in manner of soon-to-be Capsule Wardrobe.

I WILL

*Focus on being a mother instead of thinking about men.

*If by any unlikely chance do run across any attractive men, put the Dating Rules into practice and be an accomplished dater.

*Oh, f*ck it. Find someone really great to shag who is really good fun and makes me feel gorgeous, not horrible, and have SEX.





PERFECT MOTHER


Saturday 5 January 2013

9.15 a.m. Right! Caring for two children will become effortless now I have read One, Two, Three . . . Better, Easier Parenting, which is all about giving two simple warnings and a consequence, and also French Children Don’t Throw Food, which is about how French children operate within a cadre which is a bit like in school where there is a structured inner circle where they know what the rules are (and if they break them you simply do One Two Three Better, Easier Parenting and then outside you don’t fuss about them too much and wear elegant French clothes and have sex).

11.30 a.m. Entire morning has been totally lovely. Started day with all three of us in my bed cuddling. Then had breakfast. Then played hide-and-seek. Then drew and coloured in Plants and Zombies from Plants versus Zombies. You see! It’s easy! All you have to do is devote yourself completely to your children and have a cadre, and, and . . .

11.31 a.m. Billy: ‘Mummy, will you play football?’

11.32 a.m. Mabel: ‘Noo! Mummy, will you pick me up and thwing me round?’

11.40 a.m. Had just escaped to toilet when both cried ‘Mummy’ simultaneously.

‘I’m on the TOILET!’ I retorted. ‘Hang on a minute.’

Shouting ensued.

‘Right!’ I said brightly, pulling myself together and emerging from the loo. ‘Let’s go out, shall we?’

‘I don’t want to go out.’

‘I want to do compuuuteerrrrrrrrrr.’

Both children burst into spontaneous crying.

11.45 a.m. Went back into the toilet, bit my hand really quite hard, hissing, ‘Everything is completely intolerable, I hate myself, I’m a rubbish mother,’ tore up a piece of toilet paper pettily and, for lack of a grander gesture, threw it into the toilet. Smoothed myself down and stepped out again, smiling brightly. At which I distinctly saw Mabel waddle up to Billy, whack him on the top of the head with Saliva, then sit down to innocently play with her Hellvanians while Billy burst into loud spontaneous crying again.

11.50 a.m. Oh GOD. I really, REALLY want to go on a mini-break with someone and have sex.

11.51 a.m. Returned to toilet, put towel over face and muttered, shamefully, into towel, ‘Look, will everyone just SHUT UP?!’

The door burst open. Mabel stared solemnly. ‘Billy’s exasperating me,’ she said, then ran back into the room yelling, ‘Mummy’s eatin’ a towel!’

Billy rushed eagerly, then suddenly remembered: ‘Mabel hit me with Saliva.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘You did.’

‘Mabel, I saw you hit Billy with Saliva,’ I joined in.