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.That is your particular problem or sore spot.When you are at thenarrow, pointy end of the spiral you come back to that situation very often asthe rotations are quite small.As you go round, you will go through thetroubled time less and less frequently but still you must come back to it, soyou shouldn't feel when it happens that you are back to square one.Trouble is now I have sobered up not sure I am 100 percent sure what she wastalking about.Mum rang up and I tried to talk to her about how difficult it is being a womanand having a sell-by date for reproduction unlike men, but she just said, 'Oh,honestly, darling.You girls are just so picky and romantic these days: you'vesimply got too much choice.I'm not saying I didn't love Dad but, you know, wewere always taught, instead of waiting to be swept off our feet, to 'expectlittle, forgive much.' And to be honest, darling, having children isn't allit's built up to be.I mean, no offense, I don't mean this personally but givenmy chance again I'm not sure I'd have.'Oh God.Even my own mother wishes I'd never been born.Monday 14 August9st 5 (great-turned into lard mountain for interview, also have spot), alcoholunits 0, cigarettes many, calories 1575 (but threw up so effectively 400,approx.).Oh God.Terrified about interview.I have told Perpetua I am at thegynecologist - I know I should have said dentist but opportunities to torturethe nosiest woman in the world must not be allowed to slip through the net.Iam almost ready and merely need to complete my makeup while practicing myopinions on Tony Blair's leadership.Oh my God, who's the Shadow DefenseSecretary? Oh fuck, oh flick.Is it someone with a beard? Shit: telephone.Ican't believe it: terrifying telephonic teenager with patronizing South Londonsing-song going, 'Hel-lo, Bridget, Richard Finch's office here.Richard's inBlackpool this morning so he won't be able to make the meeting.' Rescheduledfor Wednesday.Will have to pretend have recurring gynecological condition.Might as well take rest of morning off anyway.Wednesday 16 AugustHorrible night.Kept waking up bathed in sweat, panicking about the differencebetween the Ulster Unionists and SDLP and which of them Ian Paisley wasinvolved in.Instead of being ushered into the office to meet the great Richard Finch, I wasleft pouring sweat in reception for forty minutes thinking Oh my God who's theHealth Secretary? before being picked up by the singsong personal assistant -Patchouli - who sported Lycra cycle shorts and a nose stud and blanched at myJigsaw suit, as if, in a hideously misjudged attempt to be formal, I had turnedup in a floor-length shot-silk Laura Ashley ball gown.'Richard says to come to the conference, know what I'm sayin'?' she muttered,powering off down a corridor while I scurried after her.She burst through apink door into a vast open_plan office strewn with piles of scripts, TV screenssuspended from the ceiling, charts all over the walls, and mountain bikespropped against the desks.At the far end was a large oblong table where themeeting was in progress.Everyone turned and stared as we approached.A plump, middle_aged man with curly blond hair, a denim shirt and huge redspectacles was jigging up and down at the end of the table.'Come on! Come on!' he was saying, holding up his fists like a boxer.'I'mthinking Hugh Grant.I'm thinking Elizabeth Hurley.I'm thinking how come twomonths on they're still together.I'm thinking how come he gets away with it.That's it! How does a man with a girlfriend with looks like Elizabeth Hurleyhave a blow job from a prostitute on a public highway and get away with it?What happened to hell hath no fury?'I couldn't believe this.What about the Shadow Cabinet? What about the PeaceProcess? He was obviously trying to work out how he could get away withsleeping with a prostitute himself.Suddenly, he was looking straight at me.'Do you know?' The entire table of grunge youths stared.'You.You must beBridget!' he shouted impatiently.'How does a man with a beautiful girlfriendmanage to sleep with a prostitute, get found out and get away with it?'I panicked.My mind went blank.'Well?' he said.'Well? Come on, say something!' 'Well, maybe,' I said, becauseit was the only thing I could think of, 'it was because somebody swallowed theevidence.'There was a deathly hush, then Richard Finch started to laugh.It was the mostrepulsive laugh I've ever heard in my life.Then all the grunge youths startedto laugh as well.'Bridget Jones,' said Richard Finch eventually, wiping his eyes.'Welcome toGood Afternoon! Take a seat, my darling,' and then he winked
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