BRIDGET JONES DIARY

By Helen Fielding
EXT. LONDON. VIEWS. DAY.
 
It is snowing. Hushed New Year's morning. Views of London
after the night before. Party stragglers. The fountain in
Trafalgar Square has frozen. Lone pigeons cower under
falling snow.
 
EXT. BRIDGET'S STREET. BRIDGET.
 
EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. SKYLIGHT WINDOW. DAY.
 
Framed through the skylight window, a very messy bed - no
human being decipherable.
 
INT. BRIDGET JONES'S FLAT. BEDROOM. DAY.
 
Strange sounds emerge from the bed - then slowly movement -
and at last - the worse for wear - mascara eyes - crazy
hair - still in clothes from the night before - Bridget
Jones emerges.
 
BRIDGET: Fuck a duck.
 
As she crawls out of bed.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: New Year's Day. Another year gone. O God.
Everyone else has mutated into Smug Marrieds, having
children - Plop! Plop! Plop! - left, right and centre. And
I'm still going to bad parties.
 
INT. NEW YEAR PARTY. NIGHT.
 
Cut to Bridget at a party drinking a dangerously large
shot.
 
Cut to Bridget being chatted up by a questionable man at
the party - while scooping from an enormous bowl of
Guacamole... over his shoulder Sharon shows dismay and Jude
thinks he's gay.
 
Cut to Bridget, still talking to the handsome man, takes a
mighty drag from a joint - and falling straight behind a
couch. The man takes advantage of the moment to slip away.
 
Cut to Bridget emerging from behind the couch, by Sharon
and Tom and Jude - making a 'don't worry - I'm fine' sign -
then taking the joint back again casually - having a puff -
and there she goes again, down behind the couch.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY.
 
Cut to her sitting, present time, on a chair, in a short
nightgown. She picks up a diary, unwraps plastic wrapping.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: Have made big decision. This year will take
total control of my life and become perfect modern woman.
Resolution Number One - in order to mark triumphant year in
which everything stops being shit and turns out v.g. - will
keep a diary.
 
Kick straight into Sinatra's upbeat version of the Rodgers
& Hart classic 'Have You Met Miss Jones?' for the credits.
 
Bridget cross-legged, writing in new diary.
 
BRIDGET O.S. (CONT'D) : January 1st. 9 stone 5. Alcohol
units - 35 (ouch!) cigarettes 22 (she crossed out the '2'
and make it '3' - '32') calories 5424 - shouldn't have
finished that Guacamole.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: Not time in short credit sequence to
demonstrate all resolutions - but major ones include...
[During this sequence she is seen enacting most of these]
will stop smoking, stop drinking... (She stubs out an only
just lit cigarette - throws away a glass of wine and then
sort of catch-scoops it just in time back into the glass,
has a sip - nasty! - so throws it away again.) …a lot. Stop
fantasizing about unrealistic men...
 
INT. BRIDGET'S BATHROOM. INT./EXT.
 
Her hand slips in and slips a George Clooney calendar off
the hook it hangs on the door.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S BEDROOM. DAY.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: ...and, crucial I believe, will always throw
yesterday's used pants in laundry basket... (She pounces on
a rogue pair, but we see, as she turns towards the laundry
basket, that she actually has another pair of pants stuck
to the back of her thigh. The phone goes. She walks towards
it.) Will also live own life without being bullied by
people into things I don't want to do.
 
She answers it. The music stops dead.
 
BRIDGET: Yes, don't worry, Mum, I'll be there.
 
She hangs up.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Very bad start.
 
She instantly takes the cigarette out of the ashtray.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. HALLWAY. NIGHT.
 
Bridget, wrapped up for winter, coming downstairs with a
big case. She passes a pleasant 60 year Indian man old,
just taking his garbage out - Mr Ramdas.
 
MR RAMDAS: Happy New Year, Bridget.
 
BRIDGET: Thanks Mr Ramdas - how's your wife?
 
MR RAMDAS: Still dead.
 
BRIDGET: Oh yes, that's right. Sorry. Still sorry. Still,
Happy New Year!
 
MR RAMDAS: Thank you, sweetheart.
 
EXT. ST. PANCRAS STATION. EUSTON ROAD. DAY.
 
Snow falls on the road towards St. Pancras Station. New
Year's Party revellers are making their way home. Bridget
comes into view, bit by bit, through flurries of snow,
carrying her overnight bag.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: All in all, will develop inner poise, and
sense of self as mature woman of substance, complete
without boyfriend... as best way to obtain boyfriend. And
not end up tragic bag lady.
 
Which is exactly what she looks like. She lights a
cigarette - but muddles it and it drops into the snow.
 
BRIDGET: Fuck.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: Doesn't matter; giving up anyway, of course.
 
INT. ENTRANCE TO ST. PANCRAS STATION. DAY.
 
She walks past a huge poster of a very slim, long-legged
model.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: Will also not be paranoid about being
overweight and will learn to love my thighs as being just
the sort of thighs many men enjoy lying between, especially
those alive in 18th century.
 
She stops to give money to a gaunt homeless couple, and
their dog. She walks on...
 
HOMELESS MAN: What a lovely, caring person.
 
HOMELESS WOMAN: Yes. Shame about the thighs.
 
HOMELESS MAN: Yeah, she could lose a stone or two.Thanks,
Chubbs!
 
INT. ST. PANCRAS STATION. MAIN CONCOURSE. DAY.
 
Bridget walks on through.
 
STATION ANNOUNCER V.O.: Western Rail wishes to inform all
passengers that there is actually nothing whatsoever the
matter with Bridget Jones thighs...
 
INT. ST. PANCRAS STATION. PLATFORM. DAY.
 
STATION ANNOUNCER V.O.: Passengers are reminded once again
that you do not need to look like a stick insect to be
attractive. Marilyn Monroe is a good example - and Madonna
in the early days - and, of course, that girl who plays the
flatmate in Ally McBeal and Benton's ex-girlfriend in E.R.
 
INT. TRAIN COMPARTMENT. DAY.
 
Cut to on the train. BRIDGET is writing in her DIARY in her
tight scrawl.
 
BRIDGET: V. important - will not fall for any more of the
following: commitment phobics, misogynists, megalomaniacs,
freeloaders or perverts. (She looks at male passengers
beside her and coming towards her. By the time she reaches
'pervert', the camera whizzes back to 'misogynist' man.)
Will also become more intelligent by reading excellent
books of prize-winning quality. (She takes out a copy of
'The Famished Road' by Ben Okri. Nods intelligently as she
starts to read - we glimpse a picture of the author on the
back as we do - and instantly her eyelids start to droop.)
Though must be careful not to lose touch with popular
culture.
 
She takes out 'Hello' and devours it. She speaks this line
out loud...
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): O Fergie, Fergie, Fergie: who told you
you looked good in that?
 
Turns another page - then obviously her concentration
drifts a bit...
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Also will not obsess HOPELESSLY about
Daniel Cleaver as is pathetic to have crush on boss in
manner of Miss Moneypenny...
 
The train enters a tunnel. The windows black out.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
Ping. Out of black, the lift doors open. Slo-mo on Daniel
Cleaver walking through office. He is about 35, stylish and
indeed gorgeous.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): ...although, pretty damn sure that he
looked at me in distinctly unprofessional manner at
Christmas party. Though might have been amazement at number
of flat notes in rendering of Nilsson classic.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. NIGHT.
 
Cut to Bridget screaming into a microphone at Christmas
party. Other office characters are there: Perpetua,
Daniel's timid secretary, plump Simon from Marketing,
Leslie from Design, Dave from Sales.
 
BRIDGET: 'Can't liiiiiiiiiiiive if living is without you -
can't liiiiiive...'
 
Cut to slow-mo Daniel Cleaver, in deep conversation with
Managing Director, Mr Fitzherbert, stopping, looking round
in an enigmatic manner.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Can't deny it, though - he's absolutely
flipping gorgeous...
 
Someone crosses him, creating momentary blackness which
turns back into the black of the train now suddenly
emerging from the tunnel...
 
INT. TRAIN COMPARTMENT. DAY.
 
Bridget stop writing and looks up.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): ...would say 'fucking gorgeous' - but
certain Mother will at some point read diary and therefore
the less four letter words the better - not to mentions of
blow-jobs and nobs up back bottom etc.
 
INT./EXT. BRIDGET'S PARENTS' HOUSE. FRONT DOOR. DAY.
 
Detached 50's house on the edge of pretty, thatched
village. Bridget's taxi pulls up. She slumps against the
front door as the bell rings the tune of a town hall clock.
Her mum opens it.
 
MOTHER: Oh! There you are, Tigger. For Heavens Sake, where
are you been?

INT. BRIDGET'S PARENTS' HOUSE. STAIRS. DAY.

 
MUSIC. BIM BOM by Joao Gilberto - cheesy Bosa Nova music.
 
As Mother drags Bridget upstairs, Una Alconbury, Mother's
best friend, pops her head around a door.

UNA ALCONBURY: (To mother) Doilies, Pam? Hello, Bridget.

 
MOTHER: Third drawer from the top, Una. Under the mini-
gherkins. (Triumphant, to Bridget) By the way, the Darcys
are here! They've brought Mark with them. He's just back
from the U.N., for Heavens Sake.
 
From Bridget's blank look...
 
MOTHER (CONT'D): You remember Mark. You used to play in his
paddling pool? He's a barrister. Very well off.
 
BRIDGET: No. I don't remember.
 
MOTHER: Beetroot cubes and stuffed olives are in the
garages fridge.
 
UNA ALCONBURY: Righto Pam.
 
BRIDGET: And I want you to stop right there - I maybe
single, but I will not, repeat not be reduced to being
match-made with the dreadful children of your awful
friends.
 
Mother just looks at her blankly - and continues.
 
MOTHER: He's just back from America. Divorced last
Christmas. Wife was Japanese. Very cruel race. Now, what
are you going to put on?
 
BRIDGET: (Indicates what she's wearing - nice modern
outfit) This.
 
MOTHER: Don't be silly, Bridget - you'll never get a
boyfriend if you look like you've wandered out of
Auschwitz. Go upstairs. I've laid out something lovely on
your bed.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S PARENTS' HOUSE. SITTING ROOM. DAY.
 
The guests are mainly Bridget's parents' friends, including
Penny Husbands-Bosworth. But there is a smattering of
guests of Bridget's age, with babies and toddlers.
 
Bridget enters self-consciously in a horrible, lurid
outfit, similar to her mother's. The whole scene as
slightly surreal nature: through Bridget's eyes we watch
this weird world in which she once lived. Three strange,
static relatives - Hamish, Bernard and Shirley, frozen like
characters out of 'Blue Velvet'.
 
BRIDGET: Hello Hamish... Shirley... Bernard.
 
Then Geoffrey Alconbury, 60, looms at her side, a Bruce
Forsythe shuffle in his step...
 
GEOFFREY ALCONBURY: Here she is. My li-tle Bridget!
 
Geoffrey gives her an enthusiastic clumsy kiss, hitching up
the waistband of his trousers.
 
BRIDGET: Hello, Uncle Geoffrey.
 
GEOFFREY ALCONBURY: Got a drink? No? Come on then, I could
do with a fill-up.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: Uncle Geoffrey... well not really my uncle.
Someone who insists I call him Uncle while he stares at my
breasts and ask why I'm not married yet.
 
He leads her to the drinks table through the chattering
guests. Una Alconbury has sidled up next to them.
 
GEOFFREY ALCONBURY: So... not married yet, eh, Bridget?
How's your love life?
 
DISSOLVE TO WHAT BRIDGET WANTS TO SAY:
 
BRIDGET: Mind your own business, you horrid, horrid, nosey,
shiny old man with an almost permanent erection. I don't
ask you how your marriage is.
 
GEOFFREY ALCONBURY: How's your love life?
 
DISSOLVE TO WHAT BRIDGET REALLY SAYS:
 
BRIDGET: Super, thanks Uncle G.
 
GEOFFREY ALCONBURY: Still no fellow, then, eh? I don't
know.
 
UNA ALCONBURY: You career girls. Can't put it off for ever
you know. Tick tock! Tick tock!
 
BRIDGET: Hello, Dad.
 
Bridget moves on to join her father, a shy man, who's
awkwardly filling drinks, and has been cornered by a 60
year old woman.
 
BRIDGET'S DAD: (Face lights up) Hello, Darling. (Bridget's
dad introduces the woman.) Ah, this is... do you know, I'm
terribly sorry, I've know you for forty years and I've
completely forgotten your name.
 
PENNY: It's Penny.
 
BRIDGET'S DAD: That's right, of course it is. Darling
Bridget - this is... sorry, it's gone again.
 
Penny gives him a terrible look and walks off. Bridget
smiles.
 
BRIDGET'S DAD: Your mother's trying to fix you up with some
divorcee. (Nods in his direction)
 
WHAT BRIDGET SEES: a solitary figure by the window, his
back to the room, his head turned in handsome profile, his
whole posture indicating haughty disengagement. This is
MARK DARCY. Bridget's reaction shows some interest - he's a
rather romantic looking figure.
 
BRIDGET'S DAD (CONT'D): Human rights barrister. Pretty
nasty beast apparently. Nearly bit Uncle Geoffrey's head
off when he asked for some advice on his mortgage.
 
Mother swoops in, thrusting a tray at Bridget, and sweeping
her off.
 
MOTHER: Come on. Why don't you see if Mark fancies a
gherkin?
 
Mark Darcy talks in low, urgent tones to his rather grand
looking, military-type well-born parents.
 
MOTHER (CONT'D): Mark! Here she is!
 
Mark turns slowly, revealing a brightly coloured set of
reindeer on the front of his sweater.
 
MOTHER (CONT'D): You remember Bridget? She used to run
round your lawn with no clothes on. Remember?
 
The Darcy Parents politely back off, leaving their son,
Mark, stranded. Mark takes his time looking at Bridget.
 
MARK: No. Not as such.
 
He says that in a very formal, rather forbidding sort of
way, very Mr Darcyish, in fact.
 
BRIDGET: Can I tempt you with a gherkin?
 
MARK: No, thanks.
 
MOTHER: Bridget works in publishing, don't you Bridget?
 
BRIDGET: I do... indeed.
 
An awkward silence. Una, sizing up the situation from afar,
moves in.
 
UNA ALCONBURY: (To Bridget's mother) Come and look at your
gravy, Pam! I think it's going to need sieving.
 
MOTHER: Of course it doesn't need sieving. Just stir it,
Una!
 
Una shoots Mother a meaningful look, 'Leave them alone'.
Mother looks at Bridget and Mark, then twigs.

MOTHER (CONT'D): Of course! I'll be right there! Sorry,

lumpy gravy calls.
 
Mark clenches his jaw muscles in embarrassment at Mother's
vulgarity, as he and Bridget are left alone. Long pause,
conscious of parental stares.

BRIDGET & MARK SIMULTANEOUSLY: So...

 
MARK: Publishing. Have you read any good books... lately?
 
BRIDGET: Um... The Famished Road, by Ben Okri.
 
MARK: Ah, yes, I read that when it first came out.
 
BRIDGET: All the way through?
 
MARK: Mmm. Don't you think it's a rather poor conceit?
 
Bridget stares at him.
 
BRIDGET: Erm... Well, not too poor. Actually I'm only on
page 3. Dozed off - but I'm sure the story's really going
to kick in on page 4.
 
Is there a tiny glint of amusement in Mark's eye?
 
BRIDGET: You been staying with your parents over New Year?
 
MARK: Yes. You too?
 
BRIDGET: No. Sorry. I was at a party in London last night,
so I fear I'm a bit hungover. Wish I could be lying with my
head in a toilet like all normal people.
 
She does a little laugh. Inscrutable reaction from Mark.
 
BRIDGET: New Year's Resolution to drink less. And stop
smoking.
 
MARK: Ah.

Looking at her drink and fag.

BRIDGET: And keep New Year's Resolutions. And stop talking

total nonsense to strangers. In fact, stop talking full
stop. Keep my big mouth firmly shut until I've got
something incisive and intelligent to say... (Pause) Nice
jumper. Can't beat a reindeer, that's my theory.
 
MARK: Perhaps it's time to... eat then.
 
Mark walks off. Bridget notices all eyes staring at her,
then hurriedly averted. She walks to the Turkey Curry
Buffet.

BRIDGET: (Muttering to herself) Ah - so that's why Bridget

isn't married yet. She repulses men.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S PARENTS' HOUSE. SITTING ROOM. DAY.
 
Mark is by the buffet, eyeing a turkey drumstick warily.
His mother approaches him.
 
MARK'S MOTHER: There'd be no harm taking her number.
Apparently she lives just around the corner from you.
 
MARK: Mother, I do not need a blind date, particularly not
with some verbally incontinent spinster who smokes like a
chimney, drinks like a fish and dresses like her mother.
 
Mark looks around to see Bridget. He can't tell whether she
has heard or not. Bridget has heard. She smiles at him as
if she hasn't - and helps herself to a plate of food.
 
BRIDGET: Yummy. Turkey curry. My favourite. (Then into
V.O., still smiling broadly) Oh God. Oh God. Oh Jesus. Even
dumped divorcee wearing reindeer sweater thinks I'm
horrible. Am destined to die alone.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S PARENTS' HOUSE. TOP OF STAIRS. NIGHT.
 
Bridget sits at the top of the stairs in a pair of pajamas,
writing her diary.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: (In her diary) And be found three weeks
later, wearing a shower cap and half-heaten by Alsathians.
 
Her mum calls from downstairs.
 
MUM V.O.: Darling - come on down and join in the post-
mortem.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S PARENTS' SITTING. NIGHT.
 
Mum bustling in and out of the sitting room with a
dustbuster. Dad is engrossed in the cricket on the TV. Mum
looks a bit deflated.
 
MUM: Thought it went very well, didn't you?
 
Dad grunts.
 
MUM (CONT'D): I thought we might invite the Alconburys over
tomorrow to chew it over.
 
Dad grunts again.
 
MUM (CONT'D): I thought we could make them into a lasagne
and eat them. (More grunt.) Then I thought wecould invite
Penny Husbands-Bosworth and have a sadomasochistic orgy.
 
DAD: Yes. Very good evening. Lovely turkey curry.
 
Mum looks at him - deeply. Still shocked by his
indifference.
 
INT. PARENT'S HOUSE. STAIRS. NIGHT.
 
Back to Bridget surveying this desultory scene,
perplexed...
 
BRIDGET O.S.: V. complex - life grisly because of lack of
love, which, when found, also grisly.
 
EXT. LONDON BRIDGE. DAY.
 
Music: IT'S A FAMILY AFFAIR by Sly and the Family Stone.
Great big bridge shot - hundreds of people, and hundreds of
Bridgets, fag in hand, walking across the river to work.
Bridget looks at the world around her, at the others
Bridgets, at the old ladies in housecoats with shopping
trollies - at happy couples holding hands. What will become
of her?
 
EXT. BOND STREET. DAY.
 
Bridget walks to work. And, as Bridget does - she pulls
herself together again.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: Still - not to despair. Am thrusting, modern
independent woman, with good prospects, good job, good
brain, and famously nice nipples. Surely eternal happiness
must be round the corner.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
Bridget slinks into the office late. She is wearing a
rather cute short skirt. Perpetua, her Sloany superior, is
on the phone. On the desk is a framed photograph of
Perpetua's large, pink, fleshy, hooray boyfriend, beside
countless estate agents details of houses.
 
BRIDGET: Morning.
 
PERPETUA: Morning. I need that 'Kafka's Motorbike' release
by 11. (Back to the phone) Describe it to me, Gavin - big
dining room - good! - plum ruched curtains with a floral
frieze - very good indeed...
 
BRIDGET: Right.
 
Bridget logs on, types 'KAFKA'S MOTORBIKE' heading.
 
She can glimpse Daniel Cleaver, through the glass wall of
his windowed office. He suddenly looks up, looks straight
at her with no expression. She blushes, looks away, just as
Mr Fitzherbert, the Managing Director, passes her desk.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Happy New Year, Mr Fitzherbert.
 
MR FITZHERBERT: Happy New Year, Brenda.
 
He glances at her breasts fondly and then goes into
Daniel's office. Closes the door.
 
The phone rings.
 
BRIDGET: Hello. Publicity.
 
JUDE O.S.: (Sobbing into phone) ...all I asked. I only
asked... if he wanted to come on a mini-break to Paris.
 
INT. JUDE'S OFFICE. DAY.
 
Jude, investment banker, is in a cubicle, in floods of
tears, mascara streaking her cheeks.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: Calm down. Breathe deeply. That's right.
What's happened?
 
Bridget, turned away from Perpetua, talking low.
 
JUDE: He said I was getting too serious and too needy. Am I
co... co-dependent?
 
BRIDGET O.S.: No, you are not. It's not you. You're lovely.
It's Vile Richard. He's just a big nobhead with no nob...
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
Breaking off as she notices that Daniel is standing in
front of her desk, with a manuscript. He must have
overheard.
 
BRIDGET: (Covering up) ...is some people's opinion of
Kafka... but they couldn't be more wrong. This book is a
searing vision of the wounds our century has inflicted on
traditional masculinity: positively Vonnegutesque. But tell
you what, I'll send over a review copy on a bike. Not at
all. Thank you for calling Professor Leavis.
 
She disconnects.
 
DANIEL: Don't let me interrupt the Stakhanovite flow.
 
Bridget blushes.
 
INT. JUDE'S OFFICE. DAY.
 
Jude wipes her tears away and walks out into the main
office, full of men in suits.
 
JUDE: Right - that was Tokyo on the phone - if you
gentlemen have the balls for it - I think it's time to
kill.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
Daniel has started to walk away. Then stops.
 
DANIEL: F.R. Leavis.
 
BRIDGET: Mmmmm-hmm.
 
DANIEL: Wow.
 
He seems impressed. He's about to walk off again.
 
DANIEL (CONT'D): The F.R. Leavis who wrote MASS
CIVILISATION AND MINORITY CULTURE?
 
BRIDGET: (Unsure, but nods cheerily) Mmmmm-hmm.
 
DANIEL: The F.R. Leavis who died in 1978?
 
BRIDGET: (A rather high pitched squeak) Ahm...
 
He continues on his way. Bridget's face.
 
PERPETUA: (To phone) Stay right there - I'll be round in 10
minutes. Don't let anyone else set foot in it. (To Bridget)
Bridget, I've got to see a property. You'll have to do the
presentation to that Michael chap. Is that okay?
 
BRIDGET: Yes - good.
 
INT. PRESENTATION ROOM. DAY
 
A stylish meeting room. At one end stands a slightly flappy
Bridget with some folders and presentational aids. At the
other end of the table - Mr Fitzherbert, Daniel Cleaver,
Plump Simon from Marketing, and an author, Michael, with a
beard.
 
MR FITZHERBERT: Right - fire away, Brenda.
 
BRIDGET: Right. Well, recently we've been having quite a
lot of success with teaser campaigns to precede actual
publication - and we've decided really to go for that this
time.
 
MR FITZHERBERT: Excellent.
 
The writer is quite serious. Daniel is unreadable - and
cool.
 
BRIDGET: So - three weeks before publication - this will
begin to appear on posters and in a wide range of
magazines.
 
Unveil a slick graphic board, on it are just the words -
'It's Coming'. Very Gothic print - and blood seeping from
the stone wall it's printed on.
 
Cut to the 4 presentees - they seem to be concentrating
hard.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Then... a week later, we take it a step
further...
 
Unveil the next board: it reads - 'If you liked 'Highway of
Blood' and 'Slit-throat Alley', On March 3, You'll be Very
Happy And Very Scared.'
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): As you can see - still not revealing the
name of the book...
 
Cut to the listeners again - concentrating really hard.
Inscrutable - serious.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Then, at last, just two days before
publication day, we reveal the book itself:
 
Reveals the last board, a horrific bloody image and speaks
along with it:
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): From the pen of Michael Harper - a new
horror classic - The Red Door'...
 
Cut back to the other 4...
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Which, I suspect you would think was a
better campaign if you actually were Michael Harper but the
look on your face make me realise that I've made a little
mistake and you are in fact Michael Naughton, author of
'Teddy Knows Best' which means that this is not a
particulary suitable campaign so if you just give me a
minute...
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. OFFICE CORRIDOR. DAY.
 
Bridget runs and skids frantically along the corridor.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. PRESENTATION ROOM. DAY.
 
Bridget is back in exactly the same position as before.
 
BRIDGET: We'd probably like to start, a couple of weeks
before publication, with something like this...
 
Unveil a slick graphic board on which are just the words -
'It's Coming'. Print like gingerbread cookies, held up by
balloons, with little teddies all over the brick wall that
forms its background. Maybe quick shot as we cut off her,
of next board 'If you liked 'Teds in Space' and 'Who's a
Naughty Ted', On March 14 You're Going to go Very...
Gooey.'
 
INT. RESTAURANT. NIGHT.
 
A club - as Bridget speaks, a waitress is serving them - 5
boxes of cigarettes - 3 bottles of wine...
 
BRIDGET V.O.: Jan 4 - emergency meeting with urban family.
Great joy of single life is replacement of frightful real
family with specially chosen group of friends for
rational,...
 
2 bottles of vodka and lots and lots of crisps and
guacamole.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: ...mature discussion of problems that we all
share. Like Prime Minister choosing Cabinet of Ministers -
after ten years of adult life have selected Tom... pop icon
who only wrote one song then retired because he found one
song was quite enough to get him laid for the whole of the
nineties. Total poof, of course.
 
He is watched - talking on his mobile that matches his
shirt.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: Jude - petite business dynamo - utter genius
at all things to do with banking. Utter bollocks at all
things to do with men.
 
Jude, smoking heavily.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: And Shazza - great novelist who like to say
'fuck' a lot and can't be arsed to write first novel -
therefore puts energies into giving incisive advice on all
matters personal.
 
SHARON: Fuck the lot of 'em. Resign tomorrow just to teach
them a fucking lesson - you don't fucking mess with Bridget
Jones.
 
BRIDGET: Good. What do you think Jude? What would you do if
one of your assistants made a harmless little mistake like
that?
 
JUDE: I'd fire you tomorrow.
 
BRIDGET: Excellent. And Tom - what's the homosexualist
viewpoint on this particular crisis?
 
TOM: Is that Cleaver chap as cute as ever?
 
BRIDGET: Absolutely.
 
TOM: Then I think, as usual, a well-timed blow job is
probably the answer.
 
A stranger suddenly comes up to the table, and addresses
Tom...
 
STRANGER: Aren't you that chap who sung...?
 
Tom gets this all the time.
 
TOM: Yes.
 
STRANGER: What are you up to now?
 
TOM: I spend my time buying phones that perfectly match my
clothes.
 
It's actually true - his orange mobile phone goes perfectly
with his peach-coloured shirt.
 
STRANGER: Oh right. Far out. Well, great song.
 
TOM: (Big smile) Thank you so much.
 
The Stranger leaves.
 
BRIDGET: More vodka anyone?
 
ALL: No, no, no - oh all right, fill her up, etc.
 
BRIDGET: Now what's this about Vile Richard?
 
JUDE: Well, yes - I've got a bit of a new situation vis a
vis a promised mini-break.
 
SHARON: Don't get me started, Jude - don't get me fucking
started.
 
JUDE: We sort of get beck together at Christmas - but then,
yesterday...
 
SHARON: Too late - I'm started - Judith, you know I support
every emotional decision you make 100%, but it's time you
realised that Richard is a cowardly fuckwit who for 11
years has engulfed you in a seething swamp of EMOTIONAL
FUCKWITTAGE... and should be fucking spayed then killed.
 
JUDE: Right. Right. Good. So do you think I should call
him?
 
TOM/SHARON: No!
 
BRIDGET: (Simultaneously) Yes. I mean no.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: As you can see - just like a family - but
with much more vodka.
 
At that moment a very young girl walks past in a
distinctive almost see-through blouse. All of the girls
turn to watch her as she goes. They turn back - and
together...
 
THE THREE GIRLS: Tart.
 
EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT.
 
A taxi drives along. We hear conversation inside.
 
TOM/JUDE/SHARON: (Drunk) Men are all fuckwits, fuckwits,
perverts and bastards - and fuckwits.
 
BRIDGET: Zackly. Exackly. I have no need of men or job -
because I have you, Tom. And you, Jude and Shazzer. And
you, Tom. Night all.
 
The taxi stop - the door opens - and Bridget falls out
spectacularly.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
The next morning. Bridget taking off her coat as she comes
in nervously. A bit hungover, today wearing another rather
delicious short skirt. Perpetua on phone.
 
PERPETUA: I'm very excited indeed Gavin: let's move on it -
the last thing we want is some towel-head buying it from
under our noses. (Looks up) Morning, Bridget. I hear it
went very well.
 
BRIDGET: Morning.
 
Bridget guiltily pretends to start working hard straight
away.
 
Suddenly. MESSAGE PENDING flashes on her computer screen.
She is perplexed. She presses EXE.
 
ON THE COMPUTER: Message Bridget Jones from Daniel
Cleaver...
 
She gulps - feels firing on its way. It continues...
 
ON THE COMPUTER: Re: yesterday's presentation...
 
Now she really is worried.
 
ON THE COMPUTER: You appeared to have forgotten your skirt.
Is skirt off sick? I thought was made perfectly clear in
your contract of employment, staff are expected to be fully
dressed at all times.
 
Bridget is startled. She looks up and across at Daniel. He
is not looking at her.
 
PERPETUA: (On the phone) The only problem I can see is the
kitchen, where frankly there isn't room to swing a cat -
and, as you well know, we have two cats.
 
BRIDGET: (As she types) Message Mr Cleaver. Am appalled by
message. Skirt was demonstrably neither sick nor absent.
Appalled by management's blatantly size-ist attitude to
skirt. Suggest management sick, not skirt.
 
She pressed SEND, looks shyly at Daniel as he reads the
message. He laughs, turns to look at her. A warm, sexy,
mischievous smile.
 
INT. COMMUNAL CHANGING ROOM. EVENING.
 
MUSIC. 'JUST MY IMAGINATION' by Temptations.
 
Bridget, Jude and Sharon are trying on clothes. Bridget,
wriggling into a skimpy skirt, is headless as it is caught
over her head.
 
BRIDGET: I'm not flirting with him. But obviously I had to
reply because he's my boss. There are certain types of
etiquettewithin a business structure that you transcend at
your peril. You don't want me fired, do you?
 
She finally frees her head from her skirt. Sharon and Jude
have left the changing room and she's been talking to a
total stranger... who tries to be helpful.
 
NICE WOMAN: No, no - not at all.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
Bridget is labouring with the art-work for another book -
'Kafka's Motorbike'. She is actually wearing the shirt we
glimpsed on the 'tart' girl in the first friends scene.
Light flashes: message pending.
 
BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: MSG Jones. Still worried about skirt.
And shirt today looking peaky too; wan, thin. May I please
have skirt's address and phone number so may send flowers?
 
Bridget reading...
 
DISSOLVE TO INT. WEDDING RECEPTION. DAY.
 
Flowers everywhere. Bridget as bride, Daniel making speech.
Guests include everyone we've seen, including the smiling
author of 'Teddy Knows Best' plus a celebrity or two, all
laughing at Daniel's joke.
 
DANIEL: And it all began with some very childish e-mailing
over Bridget's non-existent skirt.
 
Guests laugh. Bridget smiles modestly.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
The next day. Bridget walks past Daniel's office in short
skirt and different top. He seem deep in concentration. By
the time she gets back to her desk, there is MESSAGE
FLASHING.
 
BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: If walking past office was attempt to
demonstrate presence of skirt, can only say that it has
failed parlously. Cleave.
 
BRIDGET: (Typing on computer) MSG Cleaver. Shut up please.
I am very busy and important. P.S. How dare you sexually
harass me in this impertinent manner? Jones.
 
Daniel reading screen, laughing then typing.
 
MESSAGE PENDING on Bridget's screen.
 
ON THE COMPUTER: MSG Jones. Mortified to have caused
offence. Will avoid all non-PC overtones in future. Deeply
apologetic. P.S. Like your tits in that top.
 
Bridget reads and laughs - looks up - there, for the first
time - at her desk - in the flesh - is Daniel.
 
DANIEL: I wondered if the skirt would care for dinner on
Friday night?
 
BRIDGET: Um. Friday? Oh - uhm - I'd love to, but I think
I've got...
 
Bridget reaches for her diary, a 'not to sure' look on her
face.
 
DANIEL: Don't even TRY it, Jones.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. BATHROOM. NIGHT.
 
Triumphant pop music blaring. In the bathroom. Manic
activity. Bridget, through a haze of condensation,
massaging anti-cellulite massage oil, plucking eyebrows,
cleansing, moisturising.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: Being a woman is like being a farmer:
harvesting, weeding, crop-spaying. I sometimes wonder what
would happen if I just let myself revert to nature - within
days would I find myself sporting a full beard on each
shin...? Ow!
 
She utters short sharp cry as she waxes her bikini line out
of shot. The entryphone goes.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.
 
Bridget jumps out of bathroom...
 
BRIDGET: Is he out of his mind? He's forty minutes early.
 
She heads for the door. Looks at herself in the mirror.
With her dressing gown quite louche and her hair up, she
look rather divine.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): What the hell - it's a look.
 
She pick up the entryphone.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Hello. (Beat) Oh. Hello Dad.
 
She buzzes him in. Very unexpected, this.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.
 
Dad is sitting on the sofa with a mug of tea. Bridget is
listening to him. It's a big shock.
 
BRIDGET'S DAD: I don't know what's happening at all. Ever
since Christmas she's behaving oddly and then yesterday she
cames in at four a.m. When I asked her where she'd been,
she said it was none of my business. Suddenly thirty years
of marriage would appear to count for nothing.
 
BRIDGET: Dad. Maybe it's a sort of end of life crisis.
 
Dad stares at her aghast. Is he at the end of his life too?
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): I mean not end of life... you know - mid-
late life crisis type of thing.
 
DAD: And she said... she said...
 
BRIDGET: What?
 
DAD :...she said for all I knew clitoris was something in
Geoffrey's butterfly collection.
 
BRIDGET: Oh dear.
 
DAD: (Pause...) When someone loves you - it's like having a
blanket all round your heart - and then when it's taken
away...
 
The phone rings.
 
BRIDGET: (Into phone) Tom, this isn't a good time.
(Listens) Okay... okay... I know. I know. I'll go and look.
 
She disconnects, gives the phone to Dad, indicates Tom's
number in her phone book...
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Dad, call this number in two minutes.
Tom's left his mobile here, and I think I've thrown it away
with the newspapers.
 
She grabs a coat and exits.
 
EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT.
 
Bridget stands on a low wall by three communal dustbins.
Her overcoat covers her bath towel and not much else. She
has 2 curlers in the back of her hair. Suddenly, out of the
darkness, Mark Darcy appears, dressed in jogging clothes...
 
MARK: Hello.
 
BRIDGET: Oh, God.
 
MARK: (Taking her in) Everything okay?
 
BRIDGET: (Pulling her coat tightly) Yup. Super.
 
MARK: What are you doing?
 
BRIDGET: I'm waiting... for the dustbin... to ring.
 
MARK: Have you been waiting long?
 
BRIDGET: Not very long, no.
 
MARK: Do you think it will be ringing soon?
 
BRIDGET: Yes, I have high hopes of a phone call in the very
near future.
 
Pause. There's the ring of a phone. Mark is startled, as
Bridget reaches into one of the dustbins, struggles to
locate the phone. Mark reaches into the dustbin nearest
him, retrieves the phone, answers it...

MARK: Bridget Jones's phone - may I tell her who's calling?

Someone called Colin.
 
BRIDGET: Thank you. (Into phone) Thanks... No. You're still
a very attractive man - should know - I'm your daughter.(To
Mark) Thank you for your help.
 
MARK: You're welcome.
 
She heads back into her house, he continues on his way. She
turns and looks back at him - he seems to be laughing.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.  

Bridget enters, breathless, races into the bathroom.

BRIDGET: Bloody Mark Darcy. Can't stand joggers. Hope he

dies of a heart attack and they find he wasn't wearing
clean pants. Dad, I'm rushing, but I'm listening. Quite an
important date - possible future husband and father of
children arriving in 5 minutes and I still have no - repeat
no - brassiere on - but I'm still listening.
 
BRIDGET'S DAD: She says we need some time apart. You know
what that means. (He mimes a slit throat) Oh, somebody
rang. David?
 
BRIDGET: (Heading out of bathroom) David?
 
BRIDGET'S DAD: Darren...
 
BRIDGET: Not Daniel.
 
BRIDGET'S DAD: That's it.
 
BRIDGET: What did he say?
 
BRIDGET'S DAD: He said he had to work tonight. He'll try to
call you later. Anyway look I'd better get back. Mum'll
wonder where I've been. If she's home... herself.
 
Bridget's face.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.
 
Bridget, on the couch, waiting for the phone to ring. The
End titles music to Frasier is heard on the TV. 'Frasier
has left the building'.
 
Later. Bridget in same outfit. A bit more dishevelled.
 
She scrambles through her CD collection. Finds 3 CD called
'Only Women Bleed'. Puts it on and we hear the first 3
seconds of 2 famous, big girl numbers - like 'You Don't
Have to Say You Love Me' by Dusty Springfield, and 'The
Power of Love' by Jennifer Rush - and then it settles on
'All By Myself' - in spectacularly melodramatic version by
Celine Dion.
 
BRIDGET: (Snootily) Oh God.
 
But, as it happens - she gets hooked - it plays during this
next episode - sometimes mimed by very passionate Bridget.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.
 
BRIDGET'S DIARY LIES OPEN: Bridget is now playing both
drums and piano on the Celine track - shouting at the top
of her lungs.
 
BRIDGET: All by myself!!! I don't want to be -All by myself
anymore!
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY.
 
Bridget sitting in the same spot, next morning, staring
into space, eating muesli straight out of the packet.
 
The page in her diary reads 'SATURDAY' plus scrawl.
 
At the bottom right of screen, Bridget's familiar scrawl
writes up on screen. It's what she's thinking as she's
eating.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: Sat. January 30th. Am fat and hideous. Daniel
at this very moment penetrating Kate Moss's skinnier
younger sister.
 
Then into voice-over.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: Number of bowls of disgusting muesli - 4.
Number of times have picked up phone to check it's still
working - 144. Am now insane person.
 
Bridget looks towards the door.
 
DISSOLVE TO INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY.
 
The front door is slightly ajar. Something is seen to push
it open. It creaks eerily. A dog's nose sniffs - close up.
We follow the Dog's point-of-view as it steadicams round
Bridget's flat - the kitchen disaster area, and into the
sitting room, where it happens upon a slumped figure in a
lilac nylon housecoat, face down. It's Bridget thirty years
from now. Another Alsatian appears behind the first one.
 
The dogs look at Bridget in the present. Bridget stares at
the scene.
 
DISSOLVE TO INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. KITCHEN. DAY.
 
Bridget paces the room. She now eats Branston pickle from a
jar... Then makes decisive decision:
 
She crosses to the phone.
 
BRIDGET: (Reads aloud in cheery manner) Hi, it's Jones
here. I was just wondering how you are and if you wanted to
meet for the skirt-health summit, like you said.
 
She plucks up her courage, picks up the phone.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Hi, it's Jones here. I was just wondering
how you are and if you wanted to meet for the skirt-health
mummit... like you... Shit a tit... Summit. Obviously!
 
She put the phone down, then doubles up cringing.
 
To her surprise, the phone rings again. Bridget forces
herself not to pounce on it... She turns the music up.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): (As if there's other people with
her) ...yeah, get yourself a glass. Hello? (Face falls)
Shaz? Have you gone out of your mind? Get off the phone!
Get off the phone!
 
INT. SHARON'S FLAT. PHONE AREA. DAY.
 
Quick cut to very perplexed Sharon at her end of the phone.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY.
 
Bridget slams down the receiver. She goes to slope off
towards the bathroom and then the phone rings again.
Bridget forces herself not to pounce on it...
 
BRIDGET: Deep breath. Deep breath. (Picking up the phone,
cool) Hiya... (Face collapses) Mum?
 
INT. DEPARTMENT STORE. SHOP FLOOR. DAY.
 
MUSIC: 'UP, UP AND AWAY' by The Fifth Dimension.
 
Bridget walks through the cosmetics department on her way
to the coffee shop. She hears a familiar voice on the PA
system. She wanders over towards a crowd.
 
MUM ON PA SYSTEM: There we go, Madam. Super!
 
Mum done up to the nines is demonstrating a rubber boiled
egg peeler.
 
MUM: That's it, nice firm grip then and up and down, up and
down and off it comes in your hand! Ooh. Mind the
overspray.
 
BRIDGET: Christ alive.
 
INT. DEPARTMENT STORE. CAFÉ. DAY.
 
Bridget sits opposite her mother in a booth, still in a
state of shock.
 
MOTHER: I have spent thirty-five years cleaning his house,
washing his clothes, bringing up his children...
 
BRIDGET: I'm actually your child too.
 
MOTHER: Well right - and to be honest darling, having
children isn't all it's cracked up to be. Given my chance
again, I'm not sure I'd have any...
 
BRIDGET O.S.: Even own mother wishes had never been born.
 
MOTHER: But now it's the winter of my life and I haven't
actually got anything of my own. No career, no power, no
sex life, no... life at all. I feel like the grasshopper
who sang all summer. I'm like Germaine sodding Gear.
 
BRIDGET: Greer.
 
MOTHER: The Invisible Woman.
 
BRIDGET: Actually, she was the Female Eunuch.
 
MOTHER: Who was the Invisible Woman?
 
BRIDGET: I don't know. The wife of the Invisible Man.
 
After a bit.
 
MOTHER: Well, whatever - I'm not having it - and I've been
talent-spotted. Julian thinks I've got great potential.
 
BRIDGET: Who's Julian?
 
MOTHER: (As if she should know) From the Home Shopping
Channel. He comes into the store to get his colours done.
 
BRIDGET: Potential for what?
 
MOTHER: As a demonstrator on his cable show. His assistant.
Apparently, it's the highest rated show on the channel,
apart from the one where the fat people beat up their
relatives.
 
Looking at her watch, getting up.
 
MOTHER (CONT'D): Listen, I must whizz. How are you, anyway?
 
BRIDGET: Suicidal.
 
MOTHER: (Totally casually) Oh dear. Heard from Mark Darcy?
 
BRIDGET: (Through clenched teeth) Goodbye, Mum.
 
Mother kisses Bridget, and when she walks away it looks as
if she is walking on air. In men's underwear she steers
towards a deeply solariumed and sleek man, in his forties.
This is Julian. The music pipping out is ME AND MRS JONES
BY Billie Paul.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING.
 
MUSIC: TIRED OF BEING ALONE by Al Green.
 
Bridget comes in, makes straight for the answering machine,
doesn't even bother to take off her coat.
 
MAGDA ON ANSWERING MACHINE: Hello Bridge - you won't forget
tea on Sunday, will you - your godchildren are very
excited. Well, that's a lie actually - but I am.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: Oh God - Smug Marrieds. Obviously lovely best
friends with lovely if incontinent children - but last
thing one needs when feeling v. insecure.
 
INT. MAGDA'S HOUSE. KITCHEN. DAY.
 
Cut to Magda and Jeremy - sitting next door to each other -
something undeniably smug about them. Magda is a beautiful
mother of three, who used to run with Bridget's urban pack.
She's is holding her new baby. Jeremy, Magda's handsome
husband, has a dish towel over his shoulder, a child in his
arms and the Law Gazette by his side. Sound of a third
toddler somewhere...
 
JEREMY: So, Bridge - how's your love life?
 
BRIDGET: As I was just telling Magda - disastrous.
 
MAGDA: I think you should dump him now and wait for a nice
guy to come along. What do you think, Jezzer?
 
JEREMY: I agree entirely with my gorgeous wife.
 
BRIDGET: Well, that's all very well for you to say, Mags,
but...
 
MAGDA: (To potty child) No. In the POTTY. The potty. Well
put it in Daddy's hand then.
 
Jeremy resignedly holds out his hand with a patient smile -
we don't see it - but some disgusting exchange ensues. He
looks dangerously at Magda, then both smile at each other.
Bridget watches an ache in her heart about theirwarmth.
Jeremy exits with the turd.
 
MAGDA (CONT'D): What does he look likes?
 
BRIDGET O.S.: Fucking gorgeous.
 
MAGDA: In that case, seduce him, by pretending to be
completely disinterested. Transform into the Ice Queen.
Worked for me. I gave you hell, didn't I, darling?
 
JEREMY: (Returning) Certainly did.
 
That lovely optimism of Bridget when a new plan comes
along.
 
BRIDGET: Yes. Okay. Yes. Good. It's definitely worth a try.
 
The opening bars od 'ICE ICE BABY', Vanilla Ice using
Queen/Bowie's 'UNDER PRESSURE' begin to play.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
CLOSE UP: Bridget walks in. She darts a quick look at
Daniel's office - he's not in yet.
 
PERPETUA: (Icily) Let's just get this clear, Gavin. We have
spent over a thousand pounds on a survey, and now you tell
me you have sold the house to someone else. It is that
correct? (Listens) Right - excuse me for being a little
personal - but may your children burn in hell, you shifty,
smarmy, lying bastard...
 
She slams down the phone. Looks across at Bridget in
disbelief.
 
PERPETUA (CONT'D): We've been gazumped.
 
The door bursts open. Daniel enters, looking not in the
least furtive or guilty, breezes through...
 
DANIEL: Morning, everyone.
 
He leans and whispers as he passes Bridget's desk.
 
DANIEL (CONT'D): Message pending, Jones.
 
She turns her head away, disdainfully.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: Message pending: 6
 
ON DANIEL. Looking across at her, willing her to access her
e-mail.
 
ON BRIDGET. Calmly marking up a manuscript, completely
ignoring him.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: Message pending: 14
 
Daniel suddenly gets up, walks out of his office, crosses
to Bridget. He speaks in low, urgent tones.
 
DANIEL: Look, sorry Bridget. I suddenly got called out of
town. Left your skirt's number at home...
 
Bridget's phone rings. She answers and deliberately turns
away from him.
 
BRIDGET: (Sweet) Excuse me. Publicity.
 
INT. MAGDA'S HOUSE. KITCHEN. DAY.
 
Magda, child in arms, on phone to Bridget.
 
MAGDA : Aloof... Unavaible... Ice Queen... Aloof...
Unavaible... Ice Queen...
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
BRIDGET: Thank you so much for your enquiry. (Hangs up and
turns to Daniel) You were saying...
 
But the phone goes again.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Sorry. Publicity.
 
INT. FIRST RESTAURANT. DAY.
 
Tom is drinking coffee, talking into another mobile that
goes with another shirt.
 
TOM: Excellent plan... stony, merciless - Ice Queen.
 
A stranger sidles up to him.
 
STRANGER 2: Are you that guy who sang 'Painted Lady'?
 
TOM: Yes I am. Are you that guy who bought it?
 
STRANGER 2: Well, yes - I am!
 
TOM: Thank you so much.(Into mobile) Ice, ice baby.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
Bridget puts the phone down and tries to hide a smile. She
looks down.
 
BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: (Flashing repeatedly) Message pending:
24.
 
ON DANIEL: looking across at Bridget hungrily.
 
ON BRIDGET: she ignores him, carries on typing.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. ELEVATOR. DAY.
 
It's the end of the day. Bridget gets into the lift,
followed by plump Simon from marketing. Daniel slips in,
then, as the doors begin to close, a breathless PERPETUA
calls out...
 
PERPETUA: (To Daniel; holding phone) The New York Office
for you.
 
A barely perceptible flicker behind Daniel's eyes.
 
DANIEL: I'll get back to them.
 
Doors close. Tense silence. 2 people in a lift wishing the
third would bugger off.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. ELEVATOR. DAY.
 
The door opens on Daniel and Bridget and Simon: Simon gets
out. Just as the doors close again - Mr Fitzherbert enters.
 
DANIEL: Good evening, Kenneth.
 
And Daniel calmly put his hand, out of view, on Bridget's
bottom. She looks at him.
 
MR FITZHERBERT: Evening, Daniel. If you've got a moment,
I'd like a word before you leave tonight.
 
DANIEL: Certainly.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. LOBBY/ELEVATOR. DAY.
 
The lift lands and opens. Fitzherbert heads out first.
 
DANIEL: I'll be with you in a second.
 
MR FITZHERBERT: Excellent. (To Bridget) And Brenda...
 
BRIDGET: Yes
 
MR FITZHERBERT: At the 'Kafka's Motorbike' thing - thought
it might be fun if you introduced me before I introduce him
- add a lovely sense of occasion.
 
BRIDGET: Certainly, sir.
 
He heads off.
 
DANIEL: All right, Jones, you devil. Busy later?
 
BRIDGET: In fact I am.
 
DANIEL: Oh. Shame - I just thought it might be a charitable
thing to take your skirt out for dinner, fatten it up a
bit. And maybe you could come, too. What about tomorrow?
 
BRIDGET: Sorry, no - it's the launch.
 
She motions to a standee in the lobby for this Kafka book.
We've glimpsed it in the office before.
 
DANIEL: Ah, yes, of course - possibly the worst book ever
published.
 
BRIDGET: In the end, that's not the ad line we've gone for.
 
DANIEL: How about the next day then?
 
BRIDGET: Let's see, shall we? Goodnight, Daniel.
 
Then, as she walks away seductively, leaving Daniel
dangling...
 
BRIDGET O.S.: Feb 2 - am sex goddess - perfect in every
way.
 
INT. MOROCCAN RESTAURANT. NIGHT.
 
Modern Moroccan, glowing candles, low tables, sumptuous
cushions for chairs. The gang's all there...
 
JUDE: Right. Your whole furure happiness now depends on how
you behave on this one social occasion.
 
BRIDGET: Right. What should I do?
 
JUDE: It's all in here. (She has a book) Getting someone to
fall in love with you in science, pure science. First -
look gorgeous.
 
EXT. TUBE STATION. EVENING.
 
START OF MONTAGE: 'THAT THING' by Lauryn Hill.
 
Bridget emerges from the Underground and heads towards the
party. She looks, well, gorgeous... Neon signs flash
glamourously around her.
 
Now intercut between: 1. Bridget walking through London on
party night. 2. Bridget at home leading up to the party in
days previous. 3. Friends advice.
 
INT. MOROCCAN RESTAURANT. NIGHT.
 
JUDE: Two: then totally ignore Daniel and be fabulous with
everyone else.
 
TOM: Think Tina Brown - think TOTAL Queen of Society.
 
SHARON: Introduces people with thoughtful details such as,
'Sheila, this is Daniel. Daniel, this is Sheila. Sheila
enjoys horse-riding and comes from New Zealand. Daniel
enjoys publishing and comes...'
 
BRIDGET: ...all over your face?
 
TOM: Exactly. Then 3 - circulate. Oozing intelligence...
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING.
 
She is reading the book as she hoovers in bra and pants.
 
BRIDGET: 'Lovely to see you, Salmaaan - what do you think
about Chechyna', 'Hello, Melvyn - isn't it terrible about
Chechyna.'
 
INT. MOROCCAN RESTAURANT. NIGHT.
 
BRIDGET: Have you all read this book then?
 
They all nod in unison.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): And it works?
 
JUDE: Of course it doesen't fucking work or we wouldn't be
sitting here today - would we? We'd be changing nappies and
snogging husbands. But it's worth a stab.
 
TOM: So on to Number 4 - most important...
 
SHARON: Fucking important.
 
TOM: ...after the party, after you've unwillingly yielded
to dinner at the most expensive restaurant in London, after
you've driven him fucking wild with desire by rubbing your
knees against his nob for two and a half hours, then...
 
ALL THREE: Don't sleep with him.
 
BRIDGET: Obviously.
 
An elderly man suddenly comes up to the table and addresses
Tom...
 
ELDERLY MAN: Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you like this
in the middle of your dinner but...
 
Tom interrupts - he gets this all time.
 
TOM: Yes. Painted Lady. It was me. Nine years ago. No
current plans to record anything else. Sorry.
 
ELDERLY MAN: ... your chairleg is on my wife's coat.
 
TOM: Of course it is - of course it is.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. BATHROOM. DAY.
 
Close on her, head and sholuders...
 
BRIDGET V.O.: Major dilemma - if actually do, by some
terrible chance, end up in flagrante, surely these (she
holds up tiny pair of knickers) would be most attractive at
crucial moment. However, chance of actually reaching
crucial moment greatly increased by wearing these (camera
moves backwards to see her pulling up sensible stomach-
constricting big tight pants) scary stomach-holding-in-
pants, very popular with grannies the world over. Tricky.
Very tricky.
 
EXT. LONDON STREET. EVENING.
 
Close up on Bridget's nice tight tummy. Walking proud.
Suddenly Bridget sees, coming towards her - Jeremy - arm-
in-arm with a very young woman. They catch each other's
eye.
 
BRIDGET: Hello, Jeremy.
 
JEREMY: Oh, hi, Bridget.
 
And they both keep walking, past each other. Bridget,
perplexed. Walks on - determined not to lose her inner
poise.
 
INT. LITERARY PARTY. NIGHT.
 
Everyone's here - real, famous writers galore - for the
launch of 'KAFKA'S MOTORBIKE'. The room is dominated by the
display: vintage Kawasaki motorbike, photo of Kafka. The
author, looking as miserable as Kafka himself, stands next
to a pile of his books, ignored.
 
Bridget, overawed, hovers on the outskirts of a small group
which actually includes Salman Rushdie.
 
SALMAN RUSHDIE: The problem with Martin's definition of the
novella is that it only applies to him...
 
SIMON FROM MARKETING: That doesn't sound like Martin. Not.
 
Salman smiles at Bridget, trying to include her.
 
SALMAN RUSHDIE: I could be wrong. What do you think?
 
He's staring at Bridget. The group all turn to look at her.
Bridget's mind goes blank. But her tone is that of someone
who is actually answering the question...
 
BRIDGET: Ahm... Do you know where the toilets are?
 
INT. LITERARY PARTY. CORRIDOR. NIGHT.
 
Bridget hits herself hard on the forehead.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: Very bad start.
 
She looks up to see Melvyn Bragg glaring at her.  
 
INT. LITERARY PARTY. NIGHT.
 
Bridget exits from the toilets. She sees Daniel Cleaver,
across the room, talking to Melvyn Bragg and other
celebrities. Cleaver's eyes meet Bridget. He smiles.
Bridget turns coolly the other way, only to find herself
face to face with Mr Fitzherbert, surrounded by several
guests.

MR FITZHERBERT: Ah, Brenda. We were just discussing 'The

Famished Road'.
 
BRIDGET: Really...? Apart from the first three pages, don't
you think it's a rather poor conceit.
 
MR FITZHERBERT: No, as a matter of fact, I think it's a
masterpiece. But I'm sure the author would be interested to
hear your views.
 
Mr Fitzherbert turns to reveal the guest beside him is none
other than Ben Okri.

BRIDGET: Right. Ben. Ahm. Sorry. I've been very sick

recently. In the head, E.C.T. Bzzzz. Not nice.
 
A drinks tray passes, and Bridget seizes the opportunity to
spin 180 degrees, only to find herself face to face with
Mark Darcy, who, from the look on his face, obviously just
overheard Bridget's clanger. She's genuinely surprised to
see him there in designer suit, looking handsome.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): What are you doing here?
 
MARK: I've been asking myself the same question. I came
with a colleague.
 
Mark Darcy stands rigid, clearly hating every minute.

MARK (CONT'D): So how are you?

 
BRIDGET: (Sharp, but not confrontational) Well, very
disappointed not to see my favourite reindeer jumper again,
but otherwise well. And you?
 
At that moment, the crowds part and Perpetua arrives, still
stuffing her face with canapes...
 
PERPETUA: Anyone going to introduce me?
 
Bridget finally has an opportunity to put Jude's book,
'Making Parties Work for You', into practice.

BRIDGET: (As in book) Perpetua, this is Mark Darcy. Mark

this is Perpetua...  

DISSOLVE TO WHAT BRIDGET WANTS TO SAY:

 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): ...Mark is a prematurely middle-aged
prick with a cruel-raced ex-wife. Perpetua is the old fart
arse bag who spends her time bossing me around.
 
DISSOLVE TO WHAT BRIDGET REALLY SAYS:
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Mark is a top barrister... who comes from
Grafton Underwood. (To Mark) Perpetua is one of my work
colleagues, and... she's just been gazumped.
 
PERPETUA: (Obsequiously) Oh, Mark. I know you by
reputation, of course.
 
Bridget looks at him in a new light. She thought he was a
nerd. She didn't know he was famous.
 
At this point, Natasha Glenville arrives. She is sleek and
beautiful and not kind. Mark's very intelligent fellow
lawyer.

MARK: (Playing the game, straight-faced) Ah, Natasha - you

know Perpetua - this is Bridget Jones - Bridget, this is
Natasha. Natasha is a top attorney and specialises in
family law. Bridget works in publishing and keeps her
mobile phone in the dustbin.
 
NATASHA: How odd. Perpetua - how's the house-hunt?
 
Perpetua and Natasha, who has just dismissed Bridget as a
zero immediately fall into conversation - two posh peas in
a pod.
 
PERPETUA: Fucking disaster. But far more important - that
man is gorgeous!
 
NATASHA: Ah yes - Mark. (Conspiratorially - looking at him)
Just give me time, babe. Give me time.
 
Bridget grabs a drink from a passing tray, then looks up at
Mark, who has, after all, just made a joke - but Mark
Darcy, meanwhile, suddenly falls silent when he sees Daniel
Cleaver checking out the room. He sees Mark, staring at
him. Disconcerted, he quickly looks away.
 
Bridget has seen this. She's slightly at a loss now.

BRIDGET: Yes, well, I better move on - I could do with

something to pep me up for my speech, and I think I saw
Salmaaan handing out cocaine.
 
MARK: You're making a speech?
 
BRIDGET: Only a tiny one - 'Kafka's Motorbike - greatest
book of all time' etc. Blink and you'll miss it.
 
Bridget turns to walk in Daniel's direction, only to find
he has disappeared, and there's no-one to talk to. Behind
her, Mark watches, perhaps regretting his remark.
 
INT. LITERARY PARTY. NIGHT.
 
Cut on - Bridget on to little stage in the venue. Mr
Fitzherbert and the author next to her. Mr Fitzherbert
nudges her to go. There is a microphone mid-stage. She
walks up to and stands at it.
 
BRIDGET: Ladies and gentlemen... ladies and gentlemen...
ladies and gentlemen... (the mike isn't working. The crowd
talks at full volume. She panics a bit and screams) OI!
(Total silence - the whole audience stares at her) Sorry -
the microphone's not working. Ladies and gentlemen - thank
you for coming to the launch of 'Kafka's Motorbike' - the
greatest book of our time. (She looks out - sees a slightly
perplexed Salman) Obviously except for your books, Mr.
Rushdie - which are very good too. (She keeps looking round
- now she's in trouble) As are yours, obviously, Mr Barnes
and Mr Amis and Mr Bragg and Nick Hornby and, of course -
Mr Okri - particularly the Famished Road - excellent...
conceit... but anyway, ahm - what I mean is -welcome to the
launch of one of the, you know, top 30, anyway best books
of our time... and anyway... here to introduce it properly
is... ah the man we all call... ah Mr Fitzherbert. Thank
you.
 
She stands back. Mr Fitzherbert walks over.
 
MR FITZHERBERT: Thank you, Brenda. Just switch this on...
(He switches on the mike, easily) Right...
 
INT. LITERARY PARTY. NIGHT.
 
Cut to Bridget later - standing in a corner on her own -
totally frozen in horror. Mark, who is talking to Natasha
and Ben Okri, sees her...
 
MARK: (To Natasha) Excuse me...
 
As he move away, Salman approaches him, full of friendship,
and slaps him on the back.
 
SALMAN: Mark!
 
MARK: Ah, yes - Salman - do you know where the toilet is?
 
Salman a bit thrown - everyone asking him about the toilets
today - he points, and Mark heads on towards Bridget, then
stops in his tracks as he sees Daniel creep up behind her,
put his hands on her waist.
 
DANIEL: Jones. Sod 'em all. It was a brilliant post-
modernist masterpiece of oratorical fireworks.
 
Mark Darcy, in the background, stops stranded, watching
Bridget and Daniel.
 
DANIEL (CONT'D): You're very sexy, Jones - I'm going to
have to take you out to dinner now, whether you like it or
not.
 
He gives her one of his wonderful girl-melting looks,
promising all sort of delights.
 
INT. LITERARY PARTY. CORRIDOR. NIGHT.
 
As Bridget and Daniel exit together, they bump into Darcy.
 
BRIDGET: Ah, Mark, have you met Daniel? Daniel's a top
publishing executive, and enjoys computer messaging. Mark's
a...
 
MARK: Good night, Bridget.
 
Bridget, gobsmacked, watches as he walks away.
 
BRIDGET: That was Mark Darcy. He is SO rude!
 
DANIEL: Yes, I know who he is.
 
He turns back to look at him - at exactly the instant Mark
does the same thing. There's something going on here.
 
INT. PONT DE LA TOUR. NIGHT.
 
The two of them dining intimately.
 
BRIDGET: So where do you stand on the whole situation in
Chechyna?
 
DANIEL: Oh who gives a fuch, Jones? Now, how do you know
Arsey Darcy?
 
BRIDGET: Apparently, I used to play naked in his paddling
pool.
 
DANIEL: I bet you did, you dirty bitch.
 
BRIDGET: What about you?
 
DANIEL: We were at Cambridge together. He was a strange
chap, always on his own. Dreadful shoes. Horrid sideburns.
I liked him though. We became friends... (He tails off)
 
BRIDGET: Ten what...?
 
DANIEL: Nothing.
 
BRIDGET: No, really. You don't need to protect him - he's
no friend of mine. In fact I suspect I dislike him
intensely.
 
DANIEL: Well, then years later I made the rather crucial
mistake of introducing him to my fiancée.
 
INT. A HOME SOMEWHERE. DAY.
 
A mysterious, silent scene - the camera represents the
viewpoint of a man walking up some stairs. It reaches a
door - it opens - and then a sense of confusion - clearly
there are two people, naked on the floor of the room - legs
- a naked breast...
 
INT. PONT DE LA TOUR. NIGHT.
 
DANIEL: And I'm not sure I could say, in all honesty, I've
ever really forgiven him.
 
BRIDGET: (Suddenly she understands everything) Oh... so
he's a nasty bastard, as well as a dull bastard.
 
DANIEL: I'm afraid so. But don't let him ruin our evening.
Have another glass of wine and tell me more about
practicing French-kissing with the other girls at school.
 
BRIDGET: It wasn't French kissing.
 
DANIEL: Who cares - make it up.
 
EXT. PONT DE LA TOUR. NIGHT.
 
Lights twinkle on the Thames and Tower Bridge. Bridget and
Daniel emerge from the restaurant. A tangible atmosphere.
 
DANIEL: So, how about a drink at my place. Totally
innocent. No funny business. Just full sex.
 
BRIDGET: (Smiling and then primly) No - actually I think
I'd better get a taxi. But thank you so much for the lovely
dinner.
 
He lightly brushes the hair from her forehead. Bridget
hails a taxi that's passing... Then Daniel kisses her.
Sexual tension everywhere.
 
DANIEL: Good night then.
 
BRIDGET: (Slight choke) Yes. Good night.
 
EXT. LONDON STREET/INT. TAXI. NIGHT.
 
Bridget is recovering from the kiss, half-regretting that
she left...
 
BRIDGET O.S.: My knickers are made of iron - cast iron.
Mmmm...
 
She turns her head to see if she can surreptitiously look
back at Daniel...
 
The taxi stops at a set of lights. Suddenly the door behind
her opens and Daniel jumps in.
 
DANIEL: Weren't looking back, were you Jones?
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.
 
Daniel and Bridget snogging. He begins to undress her.
 
DANIEL: Silly shoes, Jones. Very silly skirt - Christ alive
- absolutely enormous pants.
 
BRIDGET: (Very fast) Oh Jesus fuck fuck fuck...
 
She sprints out.
 
EXT. SHAFTESBURY AVENUE. DAY.
 
The next morning. Bridget walking up Shaftesbury Avenue. On
the neon screens in front of the theatre, we read:
 
NEON SCREENS: Monday something the somethingth. Nine stone
two. Plus 4 x 10 c.c. Cigarettes - 22... all post-coital.
 
Close up on Bridget, triumphant.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. BEDROOM. NIGHT.
 
The next evening. Daniel and Bridget have just had sex
again. Daniel flops down beside Bridget.
 
DANIEL: That was fantastic - and I must must remember...
(Touches her cheek tenderly) to put the car in the Citroen
garage.
 
Bridget go to look outraged, when she realises Daniel is
laughing. She laughs too. A pause.
 
BRIDGET: Daniel?
 
DANIEL: Mmmmm?
 
BRIDGET: What happens in the office?
 
DANIEL: Well you see, it's a publishing house, so that
means that people write things for us and we print out all
the pages and fasten them together and make them into a
book.
 
Bridget giggles.
 
BRIDGET: No. Do you think people will notice?
 
DANIEL: Notice what?
 
BRIDGET: Us - working together, sleeping together...
 
DANIEL: Wait a second Jones, slow down. Remember - we're
not exactly in a long-term relationship yet. It started on
Tuesday, now it's Wednesday.
 
BRIDGET: I know that - I know. It's just... All right.
Forget work complication. But be honest with me. This is a
very, very important question. What do you think of mini-
breaks?
 
DANIEL: Hideous weekends in over-decorated country house
hotels full of Corby trouser presses and ugly maids?
 
BRIDGET: Yes.
 
DANIEL: I absolutely love them.
 
BRIDGET: Hurray.
 
DANIEL: And let me ask you a very important question.
 
BRIDGET: Right.
 
DANIEL: You were talking about the office - and I am
concerned about our relationship in the context of work. It
could put pressure on it. Would it be all right if - and
absolutely say 'no' if it worries you - would it be all
right if, let's say, once a week, I asked you not to wear
any pants to work?
 
BRIDGET: Bad man. Bad man.
 
She rolls over on to him and they start wrestle. The phone
goes. Bridget answers...
 
BRIDGET: Bridget Jones - wanton goddess of sex... with a
big, bad man between her thighs. Dad. Hi.
 
EXT. RAILWAY. DAY.
 
A hight speed train roars past.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S PARENTS' HOUSE. KITCHEN. EVENING.
 
Dad is going to pieces in some style, sitting unshaven in
his vest at the kitchen table with a bottle of whisky. The
television is on in the background. Bridget has just
arrived with a weekend bag and sat down. She still has her
coat on.
 
DAD: Take a look at this.
 
Dad picks up the remote control and flicks through the
channels.
 
INT. SHOPPING CHANNEL. SET. DAY.
 
On TV: a Home Shopping Channel presentation. Mother is
assisting the brightly solariumed individual we glimpsed
earlier - Julian. He has a deep, mellifluous voice, and his
immaculately manicured hands hold a minute ruler to a
hideous set of earrings.
 
JULIAN: ...just over a centimeter, and genuine diamante
with topaz and lapislazuli, in a lovely mock gold finish.
The exact replica of those worn at Wimbledon in 1993 by the
Duchess of Kent...
 
MOTHER: And althorough they're very ornate, as befits a
member of the Royal Household, they're also perfect for day
wear...
 
JULIAN: (Nodding meaningfully) Absolutely, Pamela.
 
Bridget is shell-shocked.
 
BRIDGET: Well... wait a minute - has Mum actually moved
out?
 
DAD: (He nods) And apparently her and the tangerine tinted
buffoon are suddenly an item. Half our friends have had
them round to bloody dinner.
 
Bridget looks a bit guilty. She didn't convey her
suspicions about her mother to her dad.
 
DAD (CONT'D): Why, when people abandon their partners, do
they think it's better to pretend there's no one else
involved? Do they actually believe it's less hurtful to
imagine they spontaneously decided they couldn't stand the
sight of you anymore?
 
BRIDGET: Perhaps she's worried that you might, you know,
attack him or something.
 
DAD: Yes, I suppose that's an option - I could slaughter
the pair of them with my Black and Decker bandsaw in a
sickening suburban bloodbath. She's even bringing Jaundiced
Julian the jewellery thief to Una Alconbury's Tarts and
Vicars party. That's no the Pam I knew. That's cruel.
 
BRIDGET: Still - looking on the bright said - it could be a
golden opportunity. If you spend the ENTIRE party flirting
with other women, it'll drive Mum wild with jealousy.
 
DAD: Will it? Think she'll suddenly see sense and dump the
dirtbag?
 
The phone rings twice, then goes onto answer-phone. Dad
goes to answer it...
 
MOTHER: (On answer-phone) Hello, Daddy, it's me-eee! Just
making sure you're coping! Don't forget - there's a lot of
chicken fricassee in the freezer.
 
BRIDGET: DON'T PICK IT UP! ...Do you want her back?
 
Dad nods.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Rule No 1! NEVER call, and NEVER return
calls. Aloof... unavailable. You are the Ice Queen.
 
Dad's not sure about any of this, especially the 'Queen'
bit.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Well - King. That's how I got my man.
 
DAD: You've got a boyfriend? A real one?
 
Big smile and a nod.
 
BRIDGET: I have Father. I have. And he is perfect.
 
EXT. DANIEL'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY.
 
A beautiful London day.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: Whole damn month of April gone in a blur of
sex. Having boyfriend is absolute heaven. Of course, there
are one or two little lifestyle changes...
 
INT. DANIEL'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY.
 
Close on an image of a good-looking HAPPY COUPLE punting
down the river, looking straight out of a Ralph Lauren ad.
 
BRIDGET: (Reading) Havershott House. The romantic
surroundings which inspired John Keats to write 'The Eve of
St Agnes'.
 
Pull back to reveal Bridget is looking at a mini-break
brochure in her flat.
 
BRIDGET: How does that sound to you?
 
DANIEL: Perfection. How can anything be so perfect? It
restores your faith in God.
 
Curtains drawn against the sunlight. Empty beer cans,
overflowing ashtrays everywhere. Daniel sits on the sofa
watching cricket, with his hand down Bridget's top,
nibbling nuts.
 
On the screen, an English bowler bowls a perfect leg break.
 
TV COMMENTATOR: And they said Tufnell had lost his spin.
How wrong they were.
 
DANIEL: (Turns to Bridget) How wrong they were.
 
Bridget's face.
 
EXT. HAMPSTEAD LADIES POND. DAY.
 
A pastoal scene: water, trees, women alone, or in groups on
the grass.
 
Almost all topless - except Bridget, Jude and Sharon sit at
the perimeter fence sunbathing in bra and shorts. A Nazi
pool attendant is shouting at people to turn off their
mobile phones.
 
JUDE: So? Go on, how's it going. Make us sick with your
sickly tales of love.
 
BRIDGET: It's really nice. Every weekend we just...
 
SHARON: What? Fucking what?
 
TOM O.S.: I bet he makes you stay in.
 
Tom is banished by pond regulations to the other side of
the fence.
 
TOM (CONT'D): I bet he makes you watch sport on the telly.
 
Jude and Sharon stare at Bridget. She nods very quickly. At
this moment, a girl comes and lies next to them with no top
on her bikini.
 
SHARON: Chuck him.
 
BRIDGET: Already?
 
SHARON: Yup, fucking chuck him. You've had him - move on.
 
BRIDGET: But I love him. Maybe. (Funny line)
 
JUDE: Tough titties.
 
TOM: I bet he eats crisps and puts his hand down your
blouse.
 
BRIDGET: He does not! ...eat crisps. He eats peanuts.
 
A stranger approaches him.
 
MAN: Are you...?
 
TOM: Sod off, please.
 
JUDE: Definitely chuck him.
 
BRIDGET: But if we're that strict, we'll never get
boyfriends at all.
 
SHARON: Story of my fucking life.
 
BRIDGET: Well, I think you're wrong. He's handsome and
clever and sexy and he doesn't mind that my tum's a bit
squidgy. Just you wait - next weekend we're going to do
something really good.
 
Sharon snorts. You can hear Tom's laughter. Widen again to
show that in a square now of 15 girls they are the only
ones still wearing bras.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Oh hell, let's do it.
 
And in one split second move, all our three remove their
bras and lie back down again. Cut.
 
EXT. LONDON STREET. DAY.
 
Sunshine, blue sky, couples walking arm in arm. A small
plane overhead trails the following...
 
BRIDGET'S DIARY: Saturday May 4. Weight - 8'9 - fat
absolutely falling off. Daniel thrilled - says he's
shagging me into shape. Fags 11. Glasses of wine - 6.
France - 15. England - 6.
 
INT. DANIEL'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY.
 
Curtains drawn, beer cans, ashtrays. Daniel sits on sofa
with Bridget. He's watching rugby, his hand down her shirt,
on her left breast.
 
DANIEL: Noooo! Tackle him, you great wet tart!
 
Bridget pouts, removes his hand from her front. Daniel
doesn't really notice.
 
DANIEL: Oh stop acting and get up, you French pillock.
 
BRIDGET: No. Actually this is not great.
 
DANIEL: (Not really listening) What? Why?
 
BRIDGET: It's another lovely sunny day and we've stuck in
watching television. (She grabs the remote control and
mutes the sound.) Please talk to me.
 
Daniel looks puzzled. He moves his mouth as though talking
to her and no sound comes out.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): I'm not joking. I've had enough.
 
DANIEL: What can I say. I'm a person of wide interests
which include among other things, a number of competitive
sports. I'm warning you, don't come between me and my
rugby.
 
BRIDGET: Or cricket - or darts. Or Dutch Second Division
female basketball...
 
DANIEL: Bette Van Huyten is a genius.
 
BRIDGET: I just thought we could go away for once, have a
mini-break or something.
 
DANIEL: Ah. Ah. Here we go. You wanted a relationship - we
have a relationship. You wanted us to spend Sundays
together - we spend Sundays together. But now it appears we
have to go frolicking over hilltops and shagging in creaky
four poster beds. I can't win, can I? No matter how hard I
try, I won't be able keep up with this desperate mystical
romantic agenda of yours, Bridget. (Bridget looking shell-
shocked at his outburst.) I think it's time for this.
 
Daniel maintaining the tension, dramatically reaches into
his pocket, and, like a referee about to show a red card,
produces an envelope from his pocket.
 
BRIDGET: What is it?
 
DANIEL: Open it and you'll find out.
 
Bridget looks first at Daniel, then the envelope, picks it
up and opens it. Inside she find a brochure and reservation
for next week-end at Havershott House.
 
She looks at him guiltily.
 
DANIEL (CONT'D): Just promise me we don't have to sit and
read that frightful nancy-boy Keats to each other.
 
He turns up the volume on the telly.
 
DANIEL (CONT'D): Foul! Filthy, dirty foul!
 
Bridget hugs him tight.
 
BRIDGET: Daniel, I love... (She almost tells him she loves
him, but stops herself) ...love mini-breaks. But next
Sunday is the Tarts and Vicars. I promised Dad I'd go to
support him.
 
Daniel slips his hand back down her front.
 
DANIEL: OK, it's not far - we'll go on to the Tarts and
Vicars. (She hugs him and loves him.) 'Tarts and Vicars' -
Christ, they're a warped generation.
 
EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. DAY.
 
MUSIC: 'L.O.V.E.' by Al Green.
 
Bridget skips out of her flat to where Daniel is waiting by
his flash convertible, holding the door for her. Radiant,
she greets Daniel with a kiss, gets in the car.
 
EXT. SUSPENSION BRIDGE. DAY.
 
An aerial of the car on a suspension bridge swoops into
Bridget's face. Bridget's hair streaming in the wind. The
perfect scarf and dark glasses bridge shot. She tips her
head back to feel the wind, at which point, the glasses fly
off her face. And the scarf too.
 
EXT. HOTEL DRIVEWAY. DAY.
 
Bridget and Daniel head from the car towards the hotel
entrance. On the hotel terrace: a wedding party is in
progress. Pictures going on with everyone posing - lots of
bridesmaids in hideous orange dresses.
 
INT. HOTEL RECEPTION. DAY.
 
Bridget and Daniel go to the reception desk. Bridget has
Edward Scissorhands hair.
 
DANIEL: (To the receptionist) Daniel Cleaver and Bridget
Jones. Seems very quiet here. Are we the only guests?
 
RECEPTIONIST: We have a wedding this weekend. I believe
there are just four of you not involved.
 
Bridget hears a voice she recognizes.
 
NATASHA: I'll do the tea, you ask about the boats.
 
She turns. It's Mark Darcy and Natasha, returning from a
walk outside. Natasha stays by the door to organize tea
with a waiter.
 
BRIDGET: Oh Jesus.
 
She is, amongst other things, aware of her hair.
 
MARK: Well, well. I take it you're also heading for the
Alconbury's rockery?
 
BRIDGET: Yes, that's right.
 
MARK: I brought Natasha - get a bit of work done - thought
I might make it a not entirely wasted weekend.
 
DANIEL: How interesting. What a gripping life you lead. (To
Bridget) I'll see you upstairs in a minute.
 
Mark and Bridget left looking at each other.
 
EXT. HOTEL LAKE. DAY.
 
On the lake, in a rowing boat, Mark and Natasha. They look
straight out of a Ralph Laurent catalogue, sensibly clad.
 
NATASHA: I think the weakness of their case lies in the
deposition they made on August 30th.
 
MARK TRIES TO LISTEN - WHAT HE SEES: On the other side of
the lake, Bridget and Daniel are in two boats racing. Much
laughter and 'Here I come' from Daniel. Daniel catches her.
 
DANIEL: I'm boarding you, Bridge. I can't see an
alternative.
 
He steps off his boat as it draws level and as he does so,
it tips and he falls in. Bridget laughs in delight.
 
Back in Mark's boat.
 
NATASHA: So childish.
 
MARK: Yes.
 
INT. HOTEL. SUITE. EVENING.
 
Chintz, four-poster. Daniel and Bridget in hotel bathrobes
watching snooker with curtains drawn. His hand is down her
front...
 
DANIEL: No! Noooo! You great wet pussy!
 
He reaches for his cigarettes, pocket is empty.
 
BRIDGET: Do me a favour, Bridge. Go and get me a packet of
cigarettes.
 
BRIDGET: Get them yourself.
 
He grins, gets off the bed, pulls on his clothes.
 
DANIEL: Oh, but you're a tough, modern woman.
 
INT. HOTEL. CORRIDOR. EVENING.
 
As he walks along the corridor, three bridesmaids in
bridesmaids dresses sprint past him, chased by a man in
dressing gown.
 
CHASING MAN: You're mine, all mine.
 
ONE BRIDESMAID: But I'm your sister.
 
CHASING MAN: Even better.
 
She keeps on running.
 
EXT. HOTEL. STEPS. EVENING.
 
Daniel comes out, opening the pack of cigarettes, lighting
up, inhaling deep... A few wedding guests walk by him. He
flicks open his mobile phone.
 
Mark Darcy is coming up the steps.

MARK: Call you can't make from the room?

 
DANIEL: Oh, just go fuck yourself, Darcy.
 
MARK: Such a command of the language - the literary world
is very lucky to have you at its helm.
 
Silence. These two really don't like each other. Mark walks
away. As he does, a 14 year old bridesmaid comes up behind
Daniel.
 
YOUNG BRIDESMAID: Excuse me.
 
DANIEL: Yes?
 
YOUNG BRIDESMAID: You don't by any chance have any cocaine
on you, do you?
 
DANIEL: No, sorry.
 
YOUNG BRIDESMAID: That's okay.
She turns to join an 11 year old usher who emerges from
behind a pillar.
 
YOUNG BRIDESMAID (CONT'D): Nah...
 
INT. HOTEL. SUITE. NIGHT.
 
Pitch darkness.
 
BRIDGET: Daniel.
 
DANIEL: Yes, Bridget.
 
BRIDGET: That thing you just did is actually illegal in
many countries.
 
DANIEL: I'm sorry about that. Couldn't help myself.
 
BRIDGET: In many parts of the world, I could ring down to
the front desk and ask them to call the police and arrest
you.
 
DANIEL: That's the major reason I'm so glad to be living in
Britain today.
 
BRIDGET: I agree. I can never understand why the Prime
Minister doesn't mention it more in speeches. 'Come to
Britain, visit Buckingham Palace, see the Changing of the
Guard and do unspeakable things in bed to each other
without having your hands cut off.'
 
DANIEL: You should write to him about it.
 
BRIDGET: I intend to... (Pause) Daniel - do you love me?
 
DANIEL: Shut up or I'll do it again.
 
BRIDGET: Do you love me?
 
DANIEL: You asked for it.
 
EXT. HOTEL. DRIVEWAY. NIGHT.
 
Cut outside the hotel again. Sound of laughter. Maybe the
married couple still dancing out in the moonlight.
 
EXT. HOTEL. SUITE. DAY.
 
Next morning. Bridget slowly wakes from a blissful sleep.
Languidly stretches out to touch Daniel, but finds an empty
space in the bed beside her, where he ought to be. She sits
up with a start, fearing the worst...
 
WHAT SHE SEES: Daniel is sitting in a chair opposite the
bed. He is dressed and he's been waiting for her to wake
up.
 
DANIEL: I have to go back to town. A meeting's come up.
 
BRIDGET: On a Sunday?
 
DANIEL: The meeting's first thing tomorrow but I need to
work on some figures.
 
BRIDGET: (Devasted) Now they'll all think I've made you up.
(She pleads) We could just pop in to the party, leave
early...
 
Bridget stares at him.
 
DANIEL: I really am sorry. I just can't go - I have to head
back.
 
Little pause.
 
BRIDGET: If you've changed your mind, why don't you just
come right out and say it...
 
He stares at her.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): BecauseI don't see what could be so
important.
 
DANIEL: Of course you don't! (He gets to his feet.) Because
you don't have the faintest bloody idea of just how much
trouble the company is in. (She stares at him.) The company
has been losing money in the UK. This meeting isn't a case
of 'blah, blah, have you heard the one about Salman and the
snake' - it's bottom line stuff. The Americans have flown
in, that's how serious it is. We could all be shut down
tomorrow.
 
She can't speak.
 
BRIDGET: (Her mumble) I'm sorry...
 
DANIEL: No - shit - I'm sorry. Sorry I shouted. I'm sorry.
 
Daniel sight, crosses to her, puts his arm around her.
 
BRIDGET: Is this because of Mark Darcy?
 
DANIEL: (Maybe it is) Nah - he's just adds to - no - look.
I'll arrange for a car to collect you from the party, take
you back to town. If you have to travel alone - travel in
style.
 
She allows him to comfort her.
 
DANIEL (CONT'D): And let's at least meke sure you win the
costume competition.
 
EXT. ALCONBURY'S HOUSE. DRIVEWAY. DAY.
 
Daniel drives up in the convertible, kisses Bridget
goodbye. She steps out. She is now perfect in the bunny
outfit.
 
DANIEL: It's seriously no wonder bunnies have so many
children.
 
He watches as she walks up the driveway. She can feel his
eyes on her, gives him a cute wiggle of her tail.
 
EXT. ALCONBURY'S HOUSE. GARDEN. DAY.
 
Julie London's 'FLY ME TO THE MOON' is playing on the hi-
fi. A buffet is laid out on the lawn. We recognise many of
the guests from the Turkey Curry Buffet. There is one of
the three Blue Velvet relatives, Hamish, who always seem to
stand in exactly the same position.
 
Bridget, the rabbit, makes an entrance. It is immediately
apparent that she is the only guest wearing fancy-dress.
People gawp at her, and for a brief moment, a kind of hush
descendes.
 
UNA ALCONBURY: Bridget!
 
BRIDGET: Where are the rest of the Tarts? And Vicars.
 
UNA ALCONBURY: Oh, dear. Didn't Geoffrey call you? Geoffrey
didn't you telephone Colin and Bridget?
 
GEOFFREY ALCONBURY: (Looming up drunk) How's my little
Bridget? (Squeezing her tail) Parp, parp.
 
UNA ALCONBURY: (Coldly) Geoffrey!
 
GEOFFREY ALCONBURY: Well, I got one of those ruddy
answerphone thinghummies. So, where's this chap of yours,
then?
 
BRIDGET: He had to work.
 
GEOFFREY ALCONBURY: Ha! A likely tale. Off they run -
weeeeh!
 
Bridget looks around and sees Mark Darcy and Natasha, both
looking immaculate, standing with Mark's Mum and Dad. They
inspect Bridget.
 
BRIDGET: Oh God.
 
Geoffrey Alconbury continues to fuss embarrassingly over
Bridget in her bunny costume.
 
NATASHA: Bizarre, what some men find attractive.
 
MARK: Yes. (Long beat) Yes.
 
Slapping Geoffrey Alconbury's hand away from Bridget's
tail, Bridget's Mother - looking like Judith Chalmers and
wearing so much Home Shopping Channel jewellery she
glitters like a chandelier - bears down on Bridget, Julian
in tow.
 
MOTHER: Darling! What on earth are you wearing? You look
like a common prostitute.
 
BRIDGET: That was actually the point.
 
MOTHER: Say 'Hi' to Julian.
 
BRIDGET: Hi Julian.
 
JULIAN: My dear, you and your mother - could be sisters.
And what a lovely bracelet. What I call an all-rounder. The
sort of thing you can wear with anything, to any occasion.
And aren't those sapphires a lovely finishing touch?
 
BRIDGET: (To mum) Have you spoken to my Dad?
 
MOTHER: Yes - he's behaving very bizarrely. I think he was
actually trying to flirt with Penny Husbands-Bosworth. Poor
thing - she got very frightened. She's only just had her
ovaries done.
 
Bridget looking a little guilty here... Mum and Julian spot
someone and drift away. As they go...
 
JULIAN: I don't know what you ever saw in him.
 
MOTHER: Shush. Bad man!
 
EXT. ALCONBURY'S HOUSE. GARDEN. DAY.
 
Bridget walks towards Una Alconbury standing by the
barbecue, helping Mark Darcy to two plate-fulls. Bridget
freezes, turns 180 degrees, but Una has spotted her...
 
UNA ALCONBURY: Ah, Bridget, there you are! Don't worry -
you're not the only one. This is Penny. Geoffrey didn't get
in touch with her either.
 
It's the same 'Penny' whose name Bridget's Dad forgot at
the Turkey Curry Buffet.
 
PENNY: Sorry?
 
UNA ALCONBURY: I was just saying - Geoffrey didn't contact
you, either to tell you that the Tarts and Vicars concept
had got out of the window.
 
PENNY: Yes, he did.
 
UNA ALCONBURY: Oh, right. Lovely dress. Very exotic.
 
Penny, who was definitely worn something a little too
fruity for someone of her age, moves off unhappily.
 
UNA ALCONBURY: What a shame you couldn't bring your
boyfriend, Bridget. What's his name? David? Darren?
 
Hearing the name, Mark Darcy turns.
 
MARK: Daniel Cleaver.
 
UNA ALCONBURY: Oh, is he a friend of yours, Mark?
 
MARK: Absolutely not.
 
UNA ALCONBURY: I hope he's good enough for our little
Bridget.
 
She winks Bridget.
 
MARK: I think I can say, with total confidence, absolutely
not.
 
BRIDGET: (Flashes) And I'm sure he'd say the same about you
given your past behavior.
 
Mark looks incredulous, wounded.
 
MARK: Sorry?
 
BRIDGET: You know so well what I mean.
 
NATASHA: (Calling out) Mark!
 
Natasha sweeps across the lawn.
 
NATASHA (CONT'D): Your mother was just telling me about how
she met your father. Aren't they lovely.
 
Mark is taken away, leaving unfinished business with
Bridget. Bridget stands alone.
 
She notices a swirl of smoke coming from behind one of the
topiary hedges.
 
She looks behind and finds her Father, sitting on an
ornamental toad stool, dressed as a vicar. She approaches
him.
 
BRIDGET: They didn't tell you either.
 
He shakes his head.
 
DAD: Though I didn't spend as much as Bernard, thank God.
 
Sitting alone in a corner is Bernard, the terrible
relative, dressed in full regalia as the Archbishop of
Canterbury. Bridget notices that her father's been crying.
 
BRIDGET: Dad! I'm sorry.
 
DAD: The way she looked at me...
 
BRIDGET: But she loves you really. You love each other.
This is a temporary glitch.
 
DAD: Is it? I don't know. I'll tell you how I see it. You
meet someone and you feel some sort of combination of lust
and tenderness and call it love, and then you marry them
and find out what they're really like and what you're
really like and either you come to feel a mixture of
contempt and loathing and fear, or, if you're lucky,
something more like rueful camaraderie... and basically you
have two choises; to go through the whole caboodle again
with someone else - or you settle for the one you've got,
and hope to trudge together towards the grave with some
vestige of dignity. And that was what I was hoping for, you
see, before this. Bit ruddy optimistic it would seem.
 
BRIDGET: Let's go.

BERNARD: Mind if I join you?

 
BRIDGET: Please do.
 
BERNARD: (To a bush) Come on, Shirley. We're leaving.
 
Shirley, 55, comes out from behind the bush - the most
graphic prostitute of them all.
 
SHIRLEY: Evening.
 
EXT. DANIEL'S FLAT. STREET. DAY.
 
Bridget rings on the buzzer. For a long beat, there is no
answer. She rings again. Finally, Daniel looks out of the
window. Bridget waves. She sends the car away. He
disappears.
 
DANIEL: (On entryphone) I'm just on the phone to New York.
I'll meet you in the pub in five minutes.
 
BRIDGET: Okay.
 
She turns to walk away, then suddenly stops. Turns back.
She looks up at the window, he's looking out. At Daniel's
door, she presses the buzzer again.
 
DANIEL: (On entryphone) Bridget...
 
BRIDGET: Daniel, I've had such a horrible day, I'm still
dressed up like a big rabbit. I'd really like to see you.
 
Silence. Then...
 
DANIEL: Up you come.
 
The door is buzzed open.
 
INT. DANIEL'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY.
 
Daniel opens the door to Bridget. Papers, spread-sheets
spread out everywhere, evidence that Daniel has been hard
at work.
 
DANIEL: Sorry, I'm really in the thick of it.
 
BRIDGET: I know. I just wanted to see a friendly face.
 
DANIEL: Tell you what, why don't you let me finish this,
while you go home, have a long hot bath with lots of
shoothing oils in it and I'll call round later for
dinner...
 
Bridget's face brightens. It's a good idea. Then suddenly,
O.S. a SOUND, as if someone is moving around in the next
room.
 
BRIDGET: Is there somebody here?
 
DANIEL: Not... as far as I know. Unless a Bosnian family
have moved in, without telling me.
 
Bridget stares at him. Then, before he can stop her, she
strides through to the bedroom, flings open the closed
door. There's no one there. She sits down.
 
BRIDGET: (Rueful) Sorry. I'm going a bit mad. I'm getting
all confused about everything suddenly. My Mum is dating
Roger Moore - my Dad has turned from my Dad into my, I
don't know, son or something - suddenly it's time for me to
take care of my parents. And every time I sit down my tail
goes ever so slightly up my bottom.
 
DANIEL: Sorry, my little Bun. I hate it when things go up
your bottom. But as you can see - I have got a lot done. In
fact, I wouldn't mind another hour.
 
BRIDGET: Fine - fine. I'll go home and de-bunny. By the way
- you know last night when I said that I loved you - I
didn't mean it. I was being ironic.
 
DANIEL: Of course.
 
She kisses him tenderly. As she walks to the door, she
stops in her tracks.
 
WHAT SHE SEES: A woman's cardigan, expensive cashmere,
carefully draped around the arms of a chair.
 
DANIEL (CONT'D): (Holding open the door) Thank you, Madam.
 
Bridget turns, goes back into the flat, opens the bathroom
door. Daniel covers his face with his hands.
 
INT. DANIEL'S FLAT. BATHROOM. DAY.
 
IN THE BATHROOM: a tall, young blonde, stark naked, perched
on the edge of the bath. Wearing designer specs, perusing a
book of spread-sheets.
 
DANIEL: (Behind Bridget) This is Lara, from the New York
office. Lara, this is Bridget.
 
LARA: (Big phoney smile) Hey, there.
 
They just stare at each other.
 
LARA (CONT'D): I thought you said she was thin.
 
EXT. LONDON. STREETS. DAY.
 
A totally dazed Bridget, walking through the streets. Total
silence.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. HALLWAY. DAY.
 
She lets herself into the flat.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. BATHROOM. DAY.
 
Bridget sits in the bath crying.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY.
 
Bridget, on the couch, watching TV. 'Fatal attraction'.
 
GLENN CLOSE: I'm single and I'm 36.
 
A few minutes later.
 
Cut to the film again - Glenn rises from the bathtub with a
knife in her hand. Bridget clicks off the TV using the
remote.
 
Pause. She picks up the phone and dials, starts to talk.
Cut round the various answer machines - in 3 different
locations.
 
BRIDGET: Hello.
 
INT. TOM'S FLAT. PHONE. DAY.
 
Each flat characterised in miniature round the phone - the
ansaphone clicks on.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: It's Bridget. Jones. Jilted.
 
INT. JUDE'S FLAT. PHONE. DAY.
 
An answerphone again...
 
BRIDGET O.S.: As prophesied by wise friends...
 
INT. SHARON'S FLAT. PHONE. DAY.
 
Answerphone again.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: Daniel Cleaver turns out to be total (and
continue to cut between the three machines) and utter King
of Fuckwittage. Call me. Please.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY.
 
She is looking massively unwilling to go in to work. She
finishes a cigarette and stops by a newsstand to light
another one.
 
Buys a paper for consolation. She opens it up to a big news
feature - 'Aging Working Women - Empty Nests - Barren
Wombs.' Oh God.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
Perpetua, as usual, is on the phone.
 
PERPETUA: Good. Good. Good. Good. How much? (Pause) Not
good.
 
Bridget glances over at Daniel's office. The door is
closed, but through the glass you can see that a meeting is
in progress. Mr Fitzherbert and Lara are present. Lara is
leaning over Daniel's shoulder, pointing to figures on a
spreadsheet. Daniel is clearly loving it until he catches
Bridget's eyes.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
Bridget is typing listlessly. Suddenly Daniel is there.
 
DANIEL: Bridge, please - we really need to talk.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. DANIEL'S OFFICE. DAY.
 
As Bridget enters Daniel's office, Perpetua looks up
knowingly and perhaps worried for Bridget. She knows
something's awry with these two. Bridget pretends to be
totally oblivious to the situation. She has a clipboard on
her knee.
 
BRIDGET: There's been a good response to the Teddy Knows
Best teaser campaign. Had various local radio bids for
author interviews.
 
DANIEL: Look, Bridge, stop that. I feel so terrible. The
thing is - Lara and I - well, you know...
 
BRIDGET: No. You'll have to fill me in.
 
DANIEL: The truth is... we're the same, Bridge, you and I -
two people of a certain age looking for the moment to
commit and finding it really hard. And I think in the end
it's got to be something extraordinary, something which
makes us go that extra mile - and, well... I think Lara and
being American and something to do with confidence and
being so, well, young, you know...
 
BRIDGET: What are you saying, Daniel?
 
DANIEL: We've become very close.
 
BRIDGET: But you've only just met her. She flew in
yesterday.
 
Then in slowly dawns on her that this isn't the case.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Oh, Silly Bridget. You haven't only just
met her.
 
DANIEL: No, we got to know each other pretty well when I
was in the New York Office.
 
BRIDGET: Oh.
 
DANIEL: Fuck - there's no easy way to say this, but I
wanted you to be the first to know that we're engaged.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
Bridget back at her desk. Frozen. The phone goes. She picks
it up, like an automaton. As in a Rock Hudson/Doris Day
movie, the screen may be split for these phone
conversations.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. MARKETING OFFICE. DAY.
 
SIMON FROM MARKETING: Hello, Bridget - it's Simon from
Marketing.
 
BRIDGET: Hello, Simon.
 
SIMON FROM MARKETING: I've just heard that Danny boy's
engaged - no wonder he's looking so chipper - just wanted
to be the first to say 'Congratulations.' Well done, babe,
really hit the jackpot.
 
BRIDGET: Thank you.
 
She hangs up - the phone goes again.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. SALES OFFICE. DAY.
 
DAVE FROM SALES: Hello, Miss Jones - it's Dave from Sales.
Tom's just told me. (Mock Italian) Congratoolationees - who
would have thought you'd make it as the Great Cheesess -
good on you, sister.
 
BRIDGET: Thank you, Dave.
 
She hangs up. Phone goes again. Bridget answers.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. DESIGN OFFICE. DAY.

GREG FROM DESIGN: Bridget - it's Greg from Design.

 
BRIDGET: Before you go any further, Bernie, do you think it
might be helpful for me to point out that Daniel's not
marrying me - he's marrying some blonde bitch from Brooklyn
whose pubic hair is the colour of coal - so you better tell
everyone that the next person who rings me I will
personally castrate.
 
GREG FROM DESIGN: Oh right. Sorry. Gotta run.
 
BRIDGET: That's okay. Have a nice day.
 
The phone goes again. She picks it up and talks straight
away.

BRIDGET (CONT'D): Right - you son of a bitch. Get your

fucking facts straight - I'm not getting married - on the
contrary, I'm going off to a pet store to buy an alsatian
to eat me later this evening.
 
INT. MICHAEL'S FLAT. PHONE. DAY.
 
Half the screen is now filled with Michael 'Teddies Knows
Best'.
 
MICHAEL: (Hesitantly) Perhaps it's not a good moment. I was
just wondering what sort of response you're getting to the
Teddy Knows Best teaser campaing?
 
BRIDGET: Excellent. Just excellent.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING.
 
Bridget, sitting alone, half way through a bottle of vodka.
She rings the friends again, trying to joke through the
despair.
 
BRIDGET: Hello. Er... Me again... desperate new
development...
 
Once again, we cut round between the machines.
 
ANSWER MACHINES: Am now in total despair and suddenly see
advantage of suicide in manner of Marilyn Monroe. (Back to
Bridget's flat: we see the actions of the next 4 lines,
while her answering machine voice continues.) Will finish
this rather nice bottle of vodka. Then decide which pills
to take. Not to worry about me as vodka is raspberry
flavoured and therefore at moment of death will still be
getting recommended daily amount of vitamin C.
 
Bridget puts down the receiver and dissolves into tears.
 
EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. EVENING.
 
Cut to a mysterious hand putting a plug in a socket. Place
uncertain - but inside.
 
Bridget stares at the carpet. She goes to her photo box and
begins picking out photos of her with previous boyfriends.
 
Mysterious hand leads flex to plug in a second plug into a
plug fourway.
 
Bridget again. Looking at the photos. Tears plopping down
her cheeks. The photos all reveal a pattern. There is a
tendency in each one for her to be happier than the boys
are - she's hugging one. She's fooling around on a beach
with another - while the boyfriend in shades looks
reserved. She's a girl who loves her boyfriends. Can't help
being herself.
 
Walking feet drag unrolling red round flex-holding thing
along a night-time road.
 
Bridget again.
 
Extent of rolling flex thing ends. A plug is put into the
red flex thing. And then a smaller plug is placed into the
side of something black.
 
Back to Bridget. She suddenly hears the sound of a slightly
tacky 80s style synthesizer... it begins to play a tune she
doesn't recognize. Then the song itself starts -
beautifully sung, though it has to be said, not peraphs as
impossibly high as the original Eddie Holman version:
 
TOM: 'Hey there Lonely Girl, Lonely Girl, Let me make your
broken heart like new, Hey there Lonely Girl, Don't you
know this lonely boy loves you'
 
By this time Bridget has looked out into the street - and
there in the light cast by a street lamp is Tom. It is his
first public performance for a decade. He wears a sharp
black suit.
 
He then introduces his backing singers.
 
TOM (CONT'D): I apologize about this bit.
 
Out of darkness, Jude and Sharon appear and sing, not very
tunefully into the mike...
 
JUDE AND SHARON: Ever since he broke your heart, You seem
so lost, Each time you pass my way...
 
TOM: I think that's all we can take of that. (So he takes
over again) Oh how I long to take your hand, And say don't
cry, I'll kiss your tears away, your tears away.
 
By this time, a crowd is gathering and most of the windows
in the street have been thrown open and people are
watching.
 
Tom whacks his way through the high pitched chorus. And
comes to an end. Bridget is grinning with glee - suddenly
someone shouts.
 
TOM'S FAN: Play 'Painted Lady'
 
TOM: Never!
 
This cry is taken up by everyone - 'Painted Lady! Painted
Lady!' - and suddenly camp Tom can't resist the cry of the
his so-long-denied public.
 
TOM (CONT'D): Oh, all right then.
 
And kicks straight into the famous opening chords of
eighties classic 'Painted Lady', as memorable as those
opening bars of 'Tainted Love'.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.
 
It's now the end of a long drunken night. They've clearly
sorted out the world and are saying good-bye at her door.
 
BRIDGET: Thank you very much, Tom. That was very nice.
 
TOM: You're welcome. We're in this together, babes: poofs
and single women in their 30s - together forever.
 
SHARON: Absolutely. I know we're all psychotic and
completely dysfunctional - especially you Jude - but it's a
bit like a family, isn't it?
 
BRIDGET: Yup.
 
SHARON: Single and proud of it.
 
JUDE: Until some dark stranger in a big coat sweeps us off
our feet and gets us out of this bunch of sad losers.
 
SHARON: Obviously.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: Aug. 16. Weight - who cares. Fat as me.
Cigarettes - lots - hurrah! Vodka - teensy weensy bit.
Everzing sschuperb. Life coulden be better. Ooof.
 
She tips over.
 
Blackness. Snoring. Then more blackness. Then birds, then
sounds of normal life. Then a snippet of a song. Then...
 
BRIDGET O.S. (CONT'D): Fuck. Fuck.
 
More Blackness. Sound of the Easteders theme tune and lots
of other recognizeable TV theme tunes - American and
British. Then sound accelerates - like the end of Day in
the Life of Sergeant Pepper, with little fragments of
stuff.
 
After the longest black screen in the history of the
cinema...
 
BRIDGET O.S.: October 16. Found diary. Behind sofa. Must be
more careful in future.
 
Cut to see Bridget pulling the diary out from a crack in
the sofa. She then goes back to watching the television - a
trashy game show.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: Have meantime made important decision - in
total romantic vacuum, will throw myself into work in
manner of Elizabeth I and Hillary Clinton. Have decided to
work in television. Always preferred it to books anyway -
everyone knows E.R. is great and Ben Okry is a boring
arsehole. V. commited. V. optimistic.
 
INT. INTERVIEW BOARD # 1. DAY.
 
INTERVIEWER V.O.: Why do you want to be in television?
 
BRIDGET: I'm deeply committed to communicating to the
public the up-to-the-moment in-depth news and political
agenda.
 
INTERVIEWER V.O.: What do you think of Bill Gates?
 
BRIDGET: Who?
 
INT. GYMNASIUM. DAY.
 
MUSIC. IT'S A SHAME by Detroit Spinners.
 
Bridget and Sharon on exercise bicycles, side by side.
Bridget is cycling so slowly, the wheels are barely
turning.
 
BRIDGET: Shaz. Is it because I'm overweight that things
never work out?
 
SHARON: (Deadpan) Yes.
 
Pause - they both roar with laughter. The first sign of
recovery.
 
BRIDGET: No, but seriously...?
 
SHARON: Yes. It is.
 
INT. INTERVIEW BOARD # 2. DAY.
 
INTERVIEWER 2 V.O.: Why do you want to be in television?
 
BRIDGET: I'm passionately committed to communicating with
children. They are the future.
 
INTERVIEWER 2 V.O.: Do you have any children of your own?
 
BRIDGET: Christ, no - yucch. Oh Sorry.
 
INT. GYMNASIUM -DAY.: Cut on to 3 hours later. A very hot
Bridget is still on the cycle. It's night-time. She's
totally alone in the big room.
 
GYM PERSON: We're just about to close.
 
BRIDGET: Fine. Fine. I'm done.
 
She steps off the machine and collapses, her legs
completely defeated by 6 hours cycling.
 
INT. INTERVIEW BOARD # 3. DAY.
 
RICHARD FINCH V.O.: Why do you want to be in television?
 
BRIDGET: Can I be honest with you?
 
RICHARD FINCH V.O.: Go on then...
 
BRIDGET: Because I like watching telly and I thought it
might be fun and glamourous and because I've got to leave
my current job because I've shagged my boss.
 
Cut round for the first time to see the interwiever -
Richard Finch. Big, round diamond - a great bully with a
great sense of humor. Pause. A set behind him says 'Sit Up
Britain'.
 
RICHARD FINCH: Fair enough - start on Monday and we'll see
how we go...
 
Huge smile from Bridget - she's on her way. Finch stands
and walks away - then turns back - he has an important
point to explain...
 
RICHARD FINCH: ...and incidentally - at 'Sit Up, Britain'
no-one ever gets sacked for shagging the boss. That's a
matter of principle.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY.
 
Perpetua bustles through the office on her way to her own
ringing phone. Bridget is sitting at her desk typing away.
She's ignoring MESSAGE PENDING.
 
Daniel is on the phone, but looking out at Bridget.
 
PERPETUA: Yes. Yes. Yes. No! I don't believe it! Everyone -
stop what you're doing. Very important announcement!
(Dramatic announcement to entire office - they all look up)
We have bought Drayton Gardens. It is ours!
 
Everyone applauds. Daniel walks past.
 
DANIEL: My heart, it soars like an eagle. (Under breath to
Bridget) Keep up to date with your e-mail will you, Jones?
 
She checks the computer.
 
BRIDGET'S COMPUTER: Your silent hauteur is driving me
insane. We need to talk. Please come into my office.
Cleave.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. DANIEL'S OFFICE. DAY.
 
DANIEL: Bridge, I know it's been difficult for both of us
recently...
 
Bridget remains silent.
 
DANIEL (CONT'D): It's just that with Lara and I... I got
swept away - swept away by hope I suppose. But - well, the
grisly truth is... I'm suddenly not quite so sure...
 
BRIDGET: Pardon?
 
DANIEL: I just wondered - if we might just have - you know
- just dinner, perhaps. Incredibly expensive - to punish
me. Or, of course, Kentucky Fried Chicken - to punish me.
What do you think?
 
Pause. Bridget's face. Inscrutable.
 
DANIEL (CONT'D): Bridget. Can you ever forgive me?
 
He gets up and closes the door behind her.
 
BRIDGET: Yes - Daniel I think I can. I'm sorry things are
complicated with lovely Lara - I'm pretty familiar with how
perplexing the ups and downs of love can be.
 
He's pleased.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): But I think I'll give dinner a miss,
because the reason I came in here was in fact not to rake
over our sordid past, but to hand in my notice.
 
She hands hin an envelope. Her notice.
 
DANIEL: Oh... come on, Bridge. I know it's been awkward as
arse - but there's no need to leave.

BRIDGET: I'm afraid there is. I've been offered a job in

television.
 
DANIEL: (Scornfully) Television?
 
BRIDGET: Yes - and they want me to start straightaway. In
fact, I'm leaving in about... 3 minutes.
 
DANIEL: Well, now hold it right there, Miss Jones. I hate
to inform you but I think by contract you're expected to
give at least six weeks notice.
 
BRIDGET: I know, but I thought with the company being in so
much trouble, you wouldn't really miss the person who just
fannies around with press releases in a see-through top.
 
Bridget get up to leave. Daniel is left speechless as she
opens the door, to find Perpetua has been listening.
 
DANIEL: Bridget...
 
Bridget spins round, a thunderous look.
 
BRIDGET: What?
 
Perpetua moves up next to Bridget.
 
PERPETUA: I want to hear this, because if she gives one
inch I'm going to fire her bony little bottom anyway for
being totally spineless.
 
BRIDGET: (To Daniel) What?
 
DANIEL: I just think you should know that there are lots of
prospects here for a talented person... (The marketing
department - led by Simon - all four guys who rang about
the engagement - have just turned up for a meeting.) Just
give me a minute Simon...
 
SIMON: Right-o, Boss Man.
 
DANIEL: Lots of prospects for a person who perhaps for
personal reasons has been slightly overlooked
professionally.
 
Bridget think for a while.
 
BRIDGET: Well, thanks, Daniel. That is very good to know.
But, if staying here means working within 10 yards of you,
frankly I'd rather have a job wiping Saddam Hussein's ass.
 
Cut to Daniel secretary - very happy: Simon and his guys
holding in their amusement - the music is beginning to
swell.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): (To Perpetua) Thanks for calling my
bottom bony, by the way.
 
PERPETUA: You're welcome, darling - mine's the size of the
house I just bought, so I should know.
 
Everyone else is now really loving this.
 
BRIDGET: Bye everyone. I'll miss all of you - well, quite a
lot of you.
 
Everyone turns to look at Daniel. Bridget marches out of
the office to triumphant music. Cut back to everyone
watching Daniel.
 
DANIEL: Oh just sod off.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. ELEVATOR. DAY.
 
On the second floor. Mr Fitzherbert is standing there
alone. The lift door opens. There is Bridget - he gets in
and stands there nervously.
 
BRIDGET: I think you should know, sir, that this is my last
afternoon. I'm leaving.
 
MR FITZHERBERT: Oh dear, Brenda - I'm very sorry to hear
that. I'll miss you.
 
Pause.
 
BRIDGET: It's Bridget actually. Bridget Jones... And let's
be honest with each other, Kenneth. It's not me you'll be
missing. It's these, isn't it?
 
She just opens her jacket. He blushes beetroot red.
 
EXT. FIRE STATION. STREET. DAY.
 
Chaos as an outside broadcast TV crew set up for a live
broadcast. Among the crowds of crew and production staff,
we pick out Bridget, standing beside a uniformed Chief
Fireman.
 
INT. TV COMPANY. PRODUCTION GALLERY. DAY.
 
Richard Finch sits in front of a bank of monitors, with the
live images from Lewisham fed onto one screen.
 
RICHARD: (Into microphone) OK, everybody, it is Bonfire
Night and we are on fire! We've got live fire station feeds
from Newcastle, Swansea, Sheffield, and Lewisham just
poised for tragedy.
 
On the screens: several presenters around the country,
holding microphones, doing sound-checks.
 
RICHARD (CONT'D): Bridget Jones. Where is she?
 
Bridget step forward.
 
BRIDGET: I'm here, Richard.
 
RICHARD: Right - put on more make-up. I want you on camera.
 
BRIDGET: Oh God. Ahm. Oh Jesus. Damn. Unfortunately I've
arranged to meet my Mum and Dad for lunch...
 
RICHARD: Tough - I've sent Cara to Liverpool, so you're all
I've got. I'm thinking mini-skirt. I'm thinking fireman's
helmet. I want you pointing a hose and I want you sliding
down a pole, then go straight into the interview.
 
BRIDGET: Fine - great - I'll do it.
 
INT. DEPARTMENT STORE. CAFÉ. DAY.
 
Bridget has just sat down with her Mum and Dad.
 
BRIDGET: I'm sorry - I've only got two minutes. What's up?
 
BRIDGET'S DAD: Pam, this isn't the right time.
 
BRIDGET'S MOTHER: Daddy's right. Let's just have a
sandwich. I think I spotted some nice egg and cress.
 
BRIDGET: What can wait? What is it? Dad tell me.
 
BRIDGET'S MOTHER: Well, the truth is, little Pooh, Daddy
and I have decided to file for a divorce.
 
Bridget shocked, looks at her Dad. The bottom has fallen
out of his world, but he's putting on a brave face.
 
BRIDGET'S MOTHER (CONT'D):The problem is... Daddy fell in
love with someone else.
 
BRIDGET'S DAD: Now hang on a minute, Pam...
 
BRIDGET'S MOTHER: When your father and I came together, he
loved a very different Mummy. I've changed and so as he. We
don't want the same things anymore.
 
Dad just shakes his head.
 
BRIDGET: So what's going to happen?
 
BRIDGET'S DAD: Your mother's decided to move in with her
ghastly ginger gigolo.
 
BRIDGET'S MOTHER: Daddy!
 
BRIDGET'S DAD: For God's sake, Pam. My name's Colin.
(Mother is rather taken aback by Dad's new anger.) And
don't try to pin this on me - I love you and always will -
you're leaving, and... that's the end of it. Don't try to
fool Bridget, or me... or yourself that's any other way.
 
Mother and Father just look at each other. It's a moment of
truth - 30 years of each other, and now this. Then Mum
recovers.
BRIDGET'S MOTHER: Well Colin - a fine time to show you've
got a bit of backbone for the first time in your life.
 
BRIDGET: (Remembering the time) Oh Christ!
 
EXT. FIRE STATION. POLE. DAY.
 
Bridget is poised at the top of the pole, ready to slide
down into shot, where the Chief Fireman waits for her. A
stage manager, holding his ear piece, is waiting over-
excitedly to cue her...
 
STAGE MANAGER: So, you drop into shot and then interview
Chief Fireman Bevan. Yup. Yup. Go, go, go, go, GO!
 
Bridget lets go of the pole and starts to slide down.
 
STAGE MANAGER (CONT'D): (Holding ear-piece) Oh, no! We're
going to firefighters in Newcastle first. Climb back up!
Stand by. On you in 30 seconds.
 
INT. TV COMPANY. PRODUCTION GALLERY. DAY.
 
RICHARD: And thank you Newcastle, and cut to Lewisham and
Go! Go, go, go, GO! Oh, for fuck's...
 
On the monitor, Bridget is climbing up the pole.
 
RICHARD (CONT'D): Neville, what the fuck is she doing!
She's meant to be sliding down the fucking pole, not
climbing up it.
 
STAGE MANAGER: Go, go, go, go, go.
 
RICHARD: Oh, Jesus Christ.
 
Bridget freezes, panicked, then slides back down the pole,
falls over and looks to camera.
 
BRIDGET: (Gabbling, horror-struck) Well, that seems to be
about all we have time for in Lewisham. So thank you Chief
Officer Bevan. Excellent fire station. Now, back to the
studio.
 
INT. TV COMPANY. PRODUCTION GALLERY. DAY.
 
Richard Finch, head in hands, rocking, but when he looks
up, he's laughing.
 
INT. DANIEL'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING.
 
Daniel smiles and turns off the TV.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING.
 
The same bit of footage on the telly. Bridget watches it -
rewinds it. Watches it again.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: Am national laughing stock. Have huge bottom.
Am daughter of broken home. Am useless at all things.
 
She opens her diary.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: Oh God - and am having dinner with Magda and
Jeremy. The only thing worse than a smug married couple -
lots of Smug Married Couples.
 
INT. MAGDA'S HOUSE. KITCHEN. EVENING.
 
Bridget with Magda. In the kitchen - pictures by the kids
are blue-tacked everywhere.
 
MAGDA: Right. Obviously you know Cosmo and Woney. And this
is Hugo and Jane. And Julia and Michael.
 
Three smug married couples, all in their pairs.
 
BRIDGET: Hi. Hello Cosmo.
 
COSMO: Hey, Bridge - how's your love life?
 
Bridget flinches and is about to reply when, fortunately,
the doorbell goes.
 
MAGDA: This had better be Jeremy.
 
Magda opens the door to reveal a man we've never seen
before, with a crowd coming up behind him.
 
ALISTAIR: Jeremy sent us on ahead.
 
MAGDA: (Disappointed) Right...
 
Back in the kitchen - Magda introduces Bridget.
 
MAGDA (CONT'D): These are Jeremy's partners from chambers -
this is Alistair Frayn, and Henrietta. Natasha Glenville.
And this is Mark Darcy.
 
Mark enters a little late. Bridget is clearly shocked to
see him. And he to see her.
 
BRIDGET: Hello there.
 
MARK: Hello.
 
NATASHA: Not in your bunny girl outfit today?
 
BRIDGET: No, we bunnies only wear our tails on very special
occasions.
 
MAGDA: Come on, everyone - we might as well eat. God knows
when Jeremy's going to arrive.
 
INT. MAGDA'S HOUSE. DINING ROOM. NIGHT.
 
Along the table. Magda, endless couples, boy/girl,
boy/girl, boy/girl - and Bridget.
 
COSMO: So, Bridge - still going out with that publishing
chappie?
 
BRIDGET: Er... no... no.
 
Bridget looks embarrassed. Mark Darcy, has overheard
this... and is straining to hear Bridget's reply.
 
COSMO: You really ought to hurry up and get sprogged up,
you know, old girl? Time's running out. Tick tock.
 
BRIDGET: Yes... is it one in four marriages that ends in
divorce now, or one in three?
 
MARK: One in three.
 
At which moment Jeremy comes in...
 
JEREMY: Sorry, I'm late, darling, everyone. Work, work,
work. (Bridget catches his eye.) Eat on, eat on.
 
COSMO: Seriously, though. Office is full of single girls
over thirty - fine physical specimens, but they just can't
seem tohold down a chap.
 
WONEY: (Thin veneer of concern while strocking her pregnant
stomach) Yes, why are there so many unmarried working women
these days, Bridget?
 
CUT TO WHAT BRIDGET WANTS TO SAY:
 
BRIDGET: Because I don't want to end up like you, you
boring Sloaney milch cow, and because if I had to cook old
Chubby Chop's dinner, then get in the same bed as him just
once, I'd tear off my own head and eat it.
 
WONEY: What do you think's the reason?
 
WHAT BRIDGET ACTUALLY SAYS:

BRIDGET: Ahm - I don't know - I suppose it doesn't help

that underneath our clothes, our entire bodies are covered
in green scales.
 
People laugh - but there's a gap which Mark Darcy strives
to fill.

MARK: Yes, for my part, I wonder if it actually doesn't

make sense to wait.
 
NATASHA: Quite right. No use just coupling willy-nilly.
It's seems to me that a good marriage is like a well-
planned merger. (She seems to glance a little towards Mark
during this.) Both parties bring something to the table,
both negotiate, both make little concessions - and what
emerges is more than the sum of the parts...
 
Mark Darcy continues.
 
MARK: Yes - no - you're right, Natasha - but I suppose what
I mean is... (Getting a bit near his emotions) We tend to
think we're failures... unless we rush headlong into
marriage. Perhaps if we, you know, waited - found out what
we really wanted... there might not be two lives in
ruins... so often. As we lawyers find.
 
This brings the conversation to a halt. Alistair, the other
partner, hastily taps his glass and proposes a toast.
 
ALISTAIR: Jeremy and Magda. Ten years. Well done.
Brilliant.
 
COSMO AND HUGO: Speech! Speech!
 
JEREMY: Thank you, Alistair, thanks everybody, thanks for
coming. Yes. Well. Ten years. I don't think any of us
realise what a major step it is when we do it - committing
your whole life to just one person.
 
He puts his hand on Magda's, looks at her, soulful.
 
MAGDA: Yes, it is scary, but you have to take that big
risk.
 
She gently slips her hand aside.
 
MAGDA (CONT'D): You have to offer yourself up to - to
whatever comes or, you know, what's the point of being in
the world? And there are times when you just think
Christ... this was all a terrible, terrible mistake...
 
You could hear a pin drop in the silence in the room.
 
MAGDA (CONT'D): Then a child comes into the room, and you
feel this great rush of love just as you're clearing up
some sick, or wiping a bottom, or something, and you think
- this extraordinarily beautiful creature, we made him
together, we did that... And you can forgive and forget all
the other things... which aren't quite right...
 
She sort of stops - and sort of covers his hand again.
Bridget knows she knows.
 
BRIDGET: (Raising her glass - gently) To Jeremy and Magda
(Concentrating on Magda) my beautiful friend. Thank God you
are married - because if you were still single, nobody
would ever give plain girls like me a second glance.
(Pause) Bitch...
 
Pause - then Magda laughs, as does everyone and the tension
is broken. Bridget knows how to be good friend.
 
INT. MAGDA'S HOUSE. HALLWAY. NIGHT.
 
Bridget is getting her coat. Darcy on his way down the
stairs approaches her.
 
MARK: I very much enjoyed your Lewisham Fire Report, by the
way.
 
BRIDGET: (Is he being sneery?) Oh... thanks.
 
MARK: Yes. Well... so, It didn't work out with Daniel
Cleaver?
 
BRIDGET: (Exasperated) No, it didn't.
 
MARK: I'm delighted to hear it.
 
BRIDGET: Look, are you and Cosmo in this together?
 
MARK: I'm sorry...
 
BRIDGET: I mean, you seem to go out of your way to make me
feel like a complete idiot every time I see you. And
actually, you don't need to bother. I already feel like an
idiot all the time anyway - with or without a fireman's
pole.
 
At that moment the doorbell goes.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): That'll be my taxi. Good night.
 
She goes to turn away. He touches her arm to stop her.
 
MARK: (Awkward/stumbling) Look, I'm sorry if I've been...
 
BRIDGET: What? What?
 
MARK: I don't think you're an idiot at all... I mean, there
are elements of the ridiculous about you... your mother's
pretty interesting... and you do have a tendency to let
what's in your head come out of your mouth without much
consideration of the consequences...
 
BRIDGET: Please don't forget drinking also. Like a fish.
And smoking. Like a chimney.
 
Mark winces, as he remembers...
 
MARK: I realize when I met you at the Turkey Curry Buffet I
was unforgivably rude and wearing a reindeer jumper that my
mother gave me the day before... but the thing is... what
I'm trying to say - very inarticulately - is that in fact,
perhaps against appearances and situations - I like you
very much.
 
Pause.
 
BRIDGET: (Still smarting - not teasing) Apart from the
smoking,the drinking, the vulgar mother and the verbal
diarrhoea.
 
MARK: No. I like you very much just as you are.
 
He stares at her. She stares back.
 
BRIDGET: What?
 
The doorbell rings again and Natasha suddenly pops in. The
spell is broken.
 
NATASHA: Mark. We're really making progress on the case in
here...
 
MARK: Right. Right... must go... because... Bye.
 
He turns away and heads back to the dinner party, leaving
Bridget standing.
 
BRIDGET: 'Just as I am?'
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING.
 
Lush music. Bridget, the girls and Tom are watching the
very end of UN HOMME ET UNE FEMME, where the hero walks
down the platform, looking for the heroine. The whole
dialogue might be voice over the French footage.
 
JUDE: You don't mean Mark Darcy, the human rights lawyer?
 
BRIDGET: Yes. Do you know him?
 
JUDE: Only by reputation, which paints him as a God in
trousers.
 
SHARON: I thought you said the chap at the Turkey Curry
Buffet was a real geek.
 
BRIDGET: He was. I mean, his parents are friends of my mum
for God's sake! But then he said he liked me... 'Just as I
am'.
 
The final seconds of UN HOMME ET UNE FEMME. He sees her.
She sees him. They kiss. It freezes. The whole background
goes white. Cut back out to the friends - all of whom are
staring at Bridget, who is staring at the screen, unaware
of the effect her last line has caused...
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): God, that's good.
 
TOM: He said he liked you 'Just as you are?'
 
Bridget nods. For once in her life, Sharon is lost for
words.
 
JUDE:Just as you are? Not thinner - not cleverer - not with
slightly bigger breasts and a slightly smaller nose?
 
Bridget just shakes her head.
 
SHARON: Well, fuck me.
 
Pause, taking in everyone. Her dark stranger may have
turned up.
 
TOM: But this is someone you hate, right?
 
BRIDGET: Oh yes - of course - that right. Hate him. Phew.
 
But now she's not so sure.
 
INT. TV COMPANY. PRODUCTION OFFICE. DAY.
 
At the office - Bridget is sitting trying to look busy.
 
BRIDGET'S DIARY O.S.: November 9th. Weight - 9st.
Cigarettes - 3. Birthday - 33.
 
Enter Richard Finch.
 
RICHARD: OK, Bridget. Try and get it right this time. The
verdict on the Aghani Heaney case is expected today. Get
yourself down to the High Court. I want a hard-headed
interview.
 
From Bridget's utterly blank expression...
 
RICHARD (CONT'D): You do know the Aghani Heaney case?
 
BRIDGET: Yes. Of course. Big... important... case...
featuring someone called Aghani Heaney.
 
RICHARD: Or two people called Kafir Aghani and Eleanor
Heaney.
 
BRIDGET: Of course. That's it.
 
RICHARD: She's a British Aid Worker. He's a Kurdish Freedom
Fighter. The Government want to extradite him home, where
he'll certainly be executed - she's married to him and they
fought to save him for 5. Today's the decision.
 
BRIDGET: Exciting.
 
RICHARD: Yes, it is - so what are you waiting for?
 
BRIDGET: Nothing. I'm off. Watch me.
 
EXT. HIGH COURT. STREET. DAY.
 
3pm. Outside the High Court. A huge CROWD of photographers
and news hounds. Among them, Bridget.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: Am suddenly hard-headed professional
journalist. No longer ask what my job can do for me -
remorselessly dedicated to what I can do with my job for
truth and justice.
 
She opens a pack of fags, and - horror - finds it empty.
Bridget looks towards the Court House door. No sign of
activity. Pause. Then...
 
BRIDGET: (To cameraman) I'm going to nip to the shop for 5
minutes.
 
CAMERAMAN: Right. You couldn't get me a Milky Way while
you're at it?
 
He rifles in his pocket for change.
 
SOUND MAN: Oh, love, if your going, I could murder a Twix.
 
BRIDGET: (Remembering) Twix. Milky Way, right.
 
OTHER CAMERAMAN: Pack of Polos, please. But not the mints,
the fruit ones. Or, if they don't have those, I'll have
Wine Gums, but not the ones in the packet, the ones from
the jar.
 
A gang is beginning to gather around Bridget.
 
INT. NEWSAGENTS. COUNTER. DAY.
 
In the shop, an exasperated shopkeeper fiddles with coins
as Bridget is reading from a huge list.
 
BRIDGET: No, I still need 8p change for the Milky Way, 6p
for the Orange Solero, and I owe you 14p for the Mars Bar
and pack of Wheat Crunchies...
 
MALE VOICE (DARCY): Packet of Marlborough Lights please.
 
Bridget bristles in irritation, then spins around.
 
BRIDGET: Excuse me, I haven't finished.
 
She tails off, make a weird noise. Standing in front of her
is Mark Darcy all dressed up in his barrister outfit.
 
MARK: Good-afternoon.
 
BRIDGET: Hello.
 
MARK: Hi.
 
She blurts without thinking...
 
BRIDGET: You like me just the way I am.
 
MARK: Sorry?
 
BRIDGET: Nothing. How are you? Having a crafty fag
yourself, eh?
 
Mark is about to explain, but at that moment the cameraman
appears in the shop's doorway followed by the sound man.
 
CAMERAMAN: Bridget! We've fucked up utterly. Eleanor
Heaney's come and gone.
 
BRIDGET: Oh, God. I'll be sacked. Did the others get
interviews?
 
MARK: Actually, nobody got interviews.
 
BRIDGET: How do you know?
 
MARK: Because I WAS defending her - and I told her not to
give any interviews. Look, she's out in my car...
 
Bridget looks out to see Eleanor Heaney put her head out of
the car window, and shout:
 
ELEANOR: Actually, make it Silk Cut, will you, Mark?
Bridget and Mark exchange a glance.
 
MARK: Look...
 
INT. INN OF COURT. LARGE CHAMBERS. DAY.
 
Eleanor Heaney and Kafir Aghani giving exclusive interview
to Bridget. They are in a huge empty court-room. He's a
beautiful looking Eastern man. Mark Darcy sits beside them.
 
BRIDGET: Mr Darcy - you were defending Miss Heaney, you
must be delighted.
 
MARK: Yes - it's a good day for justice. Eleanor is a hero,
not a criminal. Her only crime was to fight for 5 years, in
every way she possibly could, to save the man she loves. To
reject their case - now that would have been a crime.
 
Bridget is momentarily enraptured by the passion in Darcy's
voice, then shakes herself out of it, turns to the
camera...
 
BRIDGET: Right - well - Eleanor, over to you. Be honest,
did you fancy Kafir the first time that you saw him?
 
INT. TV COMPANY. PRODUCTION OFFICE -DAY.
 
A television screen - full frame. Bridget stands beside
Richard Finch in the crowded offices, watching the
interview on TV.
 
BRIDGET: Thank you Eleanor. Thank you Kafir.
 
KAFIR: Thank you, Miss Jones - a privilege.
 
Bridget nods, blushes and turns to camera.
 
BRIDGET: This has been Bridget Jones for 'Sit Up, Britain'
- with, let's face it, a bit of a crush actually now. Good
afternoon.
 
Richard Finch hits the TV. It clicks off.
 
RICHARD: Bridget Jones. Already a legend.
 
Bridget looking very pleased with herself.
 
EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. DAY.
 
MUSIC: 'THE WAY YOU DO THE THINGS YOU DO' by Temptations.
 
Bridget rushing to her flat. With four big colourful cook-
books under her arms and 4 bags of groceries.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: Historic and joyous birthday. Am broadcasting
genius. Celebrating by preparing feast of the century for
Shaz, Jude and Tom, in manner of 5 star cookery wunderkind,
with name like Marco or Raymond... (Her stride takes on a
skip.) 7.00 prepare Grand Marnier souffles. 7.10 marinade
caper berries for caper berry 'gravy' to go on tuna. 7.20
make frisee lardon frizzled caruso bollocks thingy. 7.30
remove all pants from radiators.
 
EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. KITCHEN. NIGHT.
 
Bridget prepares stock for dinner party.
 
BRIDGET: (Reading from recipe book) ...tie flavour-
enhancing leek and celery together with string. (Out loud)
String... string...
 
As she opens kitchen drawers, rummages in the chaos
therein. Finally locates a ball of festive blue string.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Perfect.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. KITCHEN. NIGHT.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): (Reading from recipe book) Finely slice
oranges and grate zest.
 
She sighs, pick up heap of thirty-six oranges.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. KITCHEN. NIGHT.
 
Everything seems to be going smoothly until... Bridget's
shriek as the food processor spins out of control, sending
mashed potato everywhere. She reaches for the Grand
Marnier, gulps straight from the bottle.
 
BRIDGET: Okay. Okay. Tuna. Tuna.
 
She opens the fridge, begins emptying its contents onto the
floor.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Where the fuck is the fucking tuna...?
(Mimicking interview) This is Bridget Jones for 'Sit Up,
Britain', searching for tuna. (Then, suddenly remembering)
Oh Crikey, Jesus. No. No. 'This is Bridget Jones
remembering where she left the tuna.'
 
The phone rings. Bridget snatches it.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Hello - Bridget in a genuine crisis -
only talk to me if you're in the middle of a suicide
attempt.
 
MUM V.O.: Hello darling - happy birthday. Just rung for a
little chat.
 
BRIDGET: Mum, I seriously can't talk. I know you're happy
it's my birthday.
 
INT. PHONE/SET. NIGHT.
 
Mum on phone. Intercut between them.
 
MUM: Actually - it wasn't that I rang about - you're a bit
old for all that birthday stuff now, aren't you.
 
Bridget's mortified face.
 
MUM (CONT'D): I just wanted a bit of a chat... (Bridget
can't believe her bad luck.) thing is, darling - between
you and me - I'm not entirely sure that Julian isn't
something of a shit and I thought since dating shits is
rather your area of expertise you might be able to offer
some advice.
 
BRIDGET: Dump him.
 
MUM: Oh, I can't possibly do that - we're booked into a
lovely hotel in St Kitts for Christmas.
 
BRIDGET: Then don't dump him and make the best of it.
 
MUM: Yes - that was rather my plan. And I can't deny, the
sex is still full of surprises - why the other night, quite
unexpectedly, I was just dozing off and I felt this huge
thing...
 
BRIDGET: Bye Mom.
 
She hangs up. And instantly the entryphone rings.
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): Oh God - what time do you call this.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. DOORWAY. NIGHT.
 
Bridget opens the door.
 
BRIDGET: Gah.
 
It's Mark Darcy. He is holding an excellent bottle of white
wine. For a long beat, neither of them says anything.
 
MARK: The door was open.
 
Mark is taking in her half-dressed, frazzled appearance,
and the fact that there are strands of mashed potato
hanging from her hair.
 
MARK: I came to congratulate the new face of British
current affairs.
 
He produces a copy of the Evening Standard - then tails off
as he notices a table laid with plates, candles, etc.
 
MARK (CONT'D): ...I see I've come at a bad time.
 
Pause as Bridget stares at him.
 
BRIDGET: It's my birthday, and I've left the sodding tuna
on the sodding bus.
 
MARK: I see.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. KITCHEN. NIGHT.
 
In the kitchen, Mark is helping to sort the carnage out. He
is stirring the soup.
 
BRIDGET: How does it look?
 
MARK: Great. Blue.
 
BRIDGET: Blue?
 
MARK: But blue is good. If you ask me, there isn't enough
blue food...
 
BRIDGET: Oh, shit. It must have been the string.
 
MARK: It's string soup?
 
Bridget surveys the carnage around here.
 
BRIDGET: Oh God. They'll be here soon.
 
MARK: Don't worry.I'm sure they're coming to see you,
not... (He glances at the recipe book) Orange Parfait in
Sugar Cages. Here, have a drink.
 
He find two glasses, pours the wine, and touches glasses
with her.
 
MARK (CONT'D): Happy Birthday.
 
BRIDGET: Thank you. (Slightly romantic pause) Did I really
run round your lawn naked?
 
MARK: Yes, you did. You were four - I was eight.
 
BRIDGET: That's a pretty big age difference. Quite pervy,
really.
 
MARK: Yes. I like to think so.
 
There is a pause. Odd little intimate moment.
 
BRIDGET: Oh God. What are we going to do about this bloody
dinner?
 
Mark looks around at the various unappetising dishes.
 
MARK: Well, you have blue soup to start. You have orange
pudding to end. And for the main course you have...
congealed green gunge.
 
BRIDGET: ...caper berry 'gravy' actually.
 
MARK: Do you have eggs?
 
She nods.
 
MARK (CONT'D): (Taking off his jacket) Right. Omelette it
is then. With caper berry 'gravy'.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. KITCHEN. NIGHT.
 
Cut to Bridget and Mark working together, breaking and
beating eggs.
 
MARK: You wouldn't, by any chance, have any beetroot cubes,
would you?
 
Bridget looks puzzled.
 
MARK (CONT'D): A mini-gherkin? Stuffed olive?
 
Bridget catches on and smiles.
 
BRIDGET: No and besides - I'm busy - the gravy needs
sieving.
 
MARK:Surely not - just stir it, Una.
 
They smile, familiar in each other's presence. The doorbell
goes.
 
Cut to all three friends are at the door with gifts
shouting 'Happy Birthday'. But when they see Mark, they're
a little taken aback.
 
TOM: Hello. Are you joining us?
 
Mark looks to Bridget.
 
BRIDGET: Ahm, yes - of course.
 
In a tiny moment one friend manages to pull a face meaning,
'what's going on?' - Bridget returns with an 'I don't
know'.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.
 
Mark, Sharon, Jude and Tom are seated around the table.
Everybody stares at the soup, which is blue - then look at
Bridget, who dares them to say a word.

MARK: (Spooning a mouthful) Excellent.

 
EVERYBODY: Mmmm. Delicious. Yum.
 
They are policing his attentions to Bridget. Like parents.
 
SHARON: So - Mark - why did your wife leave you?
 
Tiny pause - is he going to be sensitive about it?

MARK: She was Japanese. Exceptionally cruel race.

 
JUDE: And are you dating anyone at the moment?
 
BRIDGET: (Cutting her off) Come on - eat up! Two whole
lovely courses to go.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.
 
Cut to 40 minutes later - they're all eating the chewy
orange pudding.

TOM: Delicious.
 
SHARON: It reminds me of something - tastes like...
 
JUDE: Marmalade.
 
TOM: Well done, Bridget. 4 hours of careful cooking... and
a feast of blue soup, omelette and marmalade. That's worth
drinking to. (Raising a glass) To Bridget, who can't cook,
but who we love - just as she is...
 
EVERYBODY: To Bridget. (Cheekily) Just - as - she - is.
 
Close on Bridget. She is exchanging looks with Mark - he
looks back at her - suddenly there is a chance of
happiness... And then suddenly - at exactly that moment...
 
The ring of the bell. Everybody looks quizzically at
Bridget. She shrugs: I don't have a clue.
 
JUDE: I'll go.
 
When she reappears, she stands in the doorway.
 
BRIDGET: Who?
 
Jude steps aside to reveal Daniel, a little bit tiddly,
holding a bottle of Champagne. Mark gets to his feet.
 
DANIEL: I'm sorry, I can see I'm interrupting. Darcy! What
brings you here?
 
Daniel look at Darcy, then Bridget.
 
DANIEL (CONT'D): (Putting two and two together) Of course.
I should have guessed. And you must be Sharon. Not at all
what I expected. And Jude - I'm told I should fear you
because you are dangerously clever.
 
TOM: (No loyalty as he sees handsome Daniel) And I'm Tom.
So good to meet you at last.
 
DANIEL: I just came to... I thought you might be on your
own.
 
Bridget walks off into the kitchen. Daniel follows.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. KITCHEN. NIGHT.
 
Daniel and Bridget are in there alone.
 
DANIEL: I've been going crazy. I can't stop thinking about
you. And thinking what a fucking idiot I've been. Christ -
is that blue soup?
 
BRIDGET: Yes.
 
DANIEL: That Sunday in the country, it was all going so
fast. The hotel, that wedding, meeting your parents... I
just panicked. (He seems genuine.) You know me. I'm a
terrible disaster with a posh voice and a bad character.
You're the only one who can save me, Bridge. I need you.
Without you, twenty years from now I'll be in some seedy
bar with some seedy blonde.
 
BRIDGET: What about Lara?
 
DANIEL: Over. Totally fucking finito. Dumped me when she
realized that I hadn't got over you.
 
Bridget holds her head... unsure what to believe.
 
DANIEL (CONT'D): I know you're thinking it's just a sex
thing, but I promise you, every time I see that skimpy
little skirt on TV, I just shut my eyes and listen to all
the intelligent things you're saying. I was thrilled that
nice little Kurdish was set free. (Bridget smiles)
Bridge... I've missed you a lot.
 
BRIDGET: Oh, God...
 
He's leaning towards her to kiss her.
 
WHAT BRIDGET SEES: over Daniel's shoulder, Mark, standing
in the doorway.
 
MARK: (Strangled) I'm going now. Goodbye.
 
BRIDGET: No - please wait...
 
MARK: No, I don't think I will.
 
DANIEL: Don't leave on my behalf. I think we're both old
enough to put the past behind, don't you, Darce?
 
Darcy doesn't say anything. Daniel puts his arm around
Bridget.
 
DANIEL (CONT'D): At least stay for a birthday drink with me
and Bridge.
 
On Mark.
 
MARK: Goodbye Bridget.
 
He clatters down the stairway. He doesn't look back. He
walks straight out of the downstairs front door without
closing it.
 
Bridget runs to the window and sees Mark, striding away
down the street. She comes back - they stare at each other
- is this the moment all is resolved... Bridget thinks hard
- then...
 
BRIDGET: Why are you here?
 
There's a knock on the flat door. Bridget goes to it and
opens it: it is Mark.
 
MARK: (To Daniel) Cleaver. Outside.
 
DANIEL: Sorry? Outside? (Mark nods.) Should I bring my
dueling pistols? Or my sword?
 
Mark walks out - Daniel shrugs his shoulders.
 
EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT.
 
Mark is waiting. Daniel comes out.
 
MARK: I should have done this years ago.
 
DANIEL: Done what?
 
MARK: This.
 
He hits Daniel hard in the face - Daniel falls, totally
shocked.
 
DANIEL: Fuck me. That hurt!
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.
 
Bridget, Jude, Sharon and Tom are crowded around the open
window.
 
TOM: Oh my God. Fight! Fight!
 
EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT.
 
They all tear into the street as Daniel gets up.
 
DANIEL: What the fuck do you think you're doing?
 
MARK: This.
 
And he hits him again.
 
DANIEL: Christ - not again.
 
Tom races into the Greek restaurant a few doors down the
street. The girls all tear into the street as Daniel gets
up.
 
INT. GREEK RESTAURANT. NIGHT.
 
Tom bursts inside.
 
TOM: Quick everyone! Fight! Real fight!
 
EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT.
 
The waiters pour out into the street. Mr Ramdas also there.
Daniel struggles to his feet - hands in the air.
 
DANIEL: (Hands raised) Okay, okay - I give up - just give
me a second here, just let me get my breath back, okay...?
 
He sits down on the little wall outside Bridget's flat -
then surreptitiously takes one of the metal dustbin lids
and whacks Mark hard.
 
TOM & WAITER: Cheat! Cheat!
 
Mark, stunned, buckling at the knees, struggling to remain
upright. The fight goes on dramatically in the background.
 
TOM: Who's side are we on?
 
SHARON: Mark's obviously. He never dumped Bridget for some
naked American...
 
JUDE: ...and he said he liked her just the way she is.
 
BRIDGET: But he also knicked Daniel's fiancee - and left
him broken-hearted.
 
TOM: Good point. This is very hard to call.
 
INT. GREEK RESTAURANT. NIGHT.
 
The fight near the restaurant. Mark tackles Daniel - they
fall into the restaurant. Daniel falls on to a table - it
knocks over someone's salad.
 
DANIEL: Sorry.
 
They both get off the floor. Daniel leaps back forward, and
whoops Mark in the stomach. Mark falls back and knocks over
a whole table.
 
MARK: I really am sorry - very sorry. I'll pay.
 
DANIEL: Had enough, Darcy?
 
MARK: Not quite, if that's all right by you.
 
He punches him again. At which moment, two waiters emerge
holding a birthday cake, and move towards a table at the
other side of the restauant.
 
WAITERS: Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you...
(Everybody stops - even Mark and Daniel try to join in.)
Happy Birthday dear... schjuju... (As usual, no-one knows
the name of the birthday boy - a 14 year old boy in suit
and tie, there with his parents.) Happy Birthday to you!
 
Everyone applauds. And then Daniel turns head down and
charges Mark - and the two of them smash right through the
window and outside on to the street again.
 
EXT. GREEK RESTAURANT. STREET. NIGHT.
 
Then Mark lands Daniel a very violent punch. There is a
sickening thud as fist hits face.
 
Bridget reacts. As Daniel lies, unconscious, Bridget runs
across to him. She looks up at Mark, foxed by his
alarmingly violent behavior.

BRIDGET: (To Mark) What is your problem?

 
MARK : (Incredulous) My problem?
 
BRIDGET: Yes - you give the impression of being all noble
and moral and helpful in the kitchen, but you're just as
bad and as mad as the rest of them.

Mark stares down at the scene.

MARK: Forget it. I thought it might be my job to protect

you - but I was clearly mistaken.
 
BRIDGET: Protect me?
 
MARK: Yes - but very, very foolish mistake. Forgive me.
 
Close on Bridget watching as Mark walks. From behind the
her, the sound of mumbling...
 
DANIEL: ...I love you, Jones.
 
BRIDGET: What?
 
DANIEL: I love you. Let's go back upstairs. Come on. We
belong together. Me, you... and the poor little skirt.

Bridget takes this in. Once again, it's just the sex, isn't
it.
 
BRIDGET: Right. Right.
 
DANIEL: (Important, final statement) If I can't make it
with you, I can't make it with anyone.
 
She looks at him and considers.
 
BRIDGET: No. That's not a good enough offer for me. I'm not
willing to gamble my whole life on someone who isn't quite
sure. And loses fights. At least one of us is still looking
for something much more extraordinary than that.
 
And she walks away slowly.
 
BRIDGET'S DIARY O.S.: Down to zero boyfriends. Again.
Forever.
 
EXT. GRAFTON UNDERWOOD. HIGH STREEET. DAY.
 
'Ding, Dong Merrily on High', sung church singers in
Grafton Underwood High Street, with snow falling around
them...
 
It's a touching Xmas scene. Perfect Little England.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: December 25th. Weight - 9 st 4 plus 11 mince
pies. Alcohol - incalcuable. Cigarettes - fuck of a lot.
All irrelevant. Because am now going out with...
 
EXT. PARENT'S HOUSE. DOOR. DAY.
 
A small group of carol singers, one adult and 2 little
children are chirruping expectantly outside the Jones'
door.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: ...Dad.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S PARENT'S HOUSE. SITTING ROOM. DAY.
 
Inside Bridget and Dad, curtains drawn against the world,
sit in front of two televisions. They are surrounded by
Fray Bentos tins and TV Dinner cartons. A box of mince-pies
sits on Bridget's lap - she has had eleven - in her hand is
the final, twelfth one. An opened bottle of Bayleys at her
side, beside an empty bottle of red. The Val Doonican Show
is blasting out... in competition with the noise of the
carol singers.
 
DAD: Pass the ciggies.
 
Bridget passes Dad the fags and an overflowing ashtray.
 
Dad lights up his fag, flicks channels in a distracted
fashion... and lands at the HOME SHOPPING CHANNEL, where
Julian, is selling a matching bracelet, pendant, earring
set. Mother sits beside him.
 
INT. SHOPPING CHANNEL. SET. DAY.
 
JULIAN: This baroque carriage clock is a particular festive
favorite of mine, with its unique feature incorporating the
Hallelujah Chorus of Handel's Messiah, every hour on the
hour.
 
It plays the chorus.
 
JULIAN (CONT'D): Merry Christmas.
 
Julian toast Mother. She gives a slightly nervous, slightly
unhappy smile to camera. We sense that all is not well
there. Bridget and Dad look at each other. Dad clicks off
the TV.
 
DAD: I don't understand it - the man has actually turned
red now.
 
BRIDGET: Forget it. We're better off without her. Worse fed
- less clean - but better. Come on - a toast... to
singleton wherever they may be.
 
DAD: To singletons.
 
They toast - cut round Sharon/Jude/Tom, all of them
singletons with their families.
 
INT. JUDE'S PARENTS' HOUSE. DINING ROOM. DAY.
 
JUDE'S DAD: Well, congratulations to Judith - half a
million pounds is one hell of a bonus - more than I earned
in my whole career.
 
They turn to toast Jude. She bursts dramatically into
tears.

JUDE: He promised he'd come.

 
INT. SHARON'S PARENTS' HOUSE. DINING ROOM. DAY.
 
SHARON'S MUM: How's your love life, darling?
 
SHARON: Shut it!
 
INT. TOM'S PARENTS' HOUSE. DINING ROOM. DAY.
 
TOM'S DAD: Shame that Bridget couldn't be here. It must be
tough having Christmas without your girlfriend.
 
TOM: Yes. But I guess this year her Dad just... needs her
more.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S PARENT'S HOUSE. SITTING ROOM. NIGHT.
 
Bridget in her pyjamas. She takes off her Christmas hat and
kisses her Dad good night.
 
AT THAT MOMENT the key goes in the door.
 
Bridget and Dad turn to see Mother standing sheepishly in
the doorway. Dad turns, unable to believe his eyes. Mum
looks at him. Their eyes meet in an apologetic, nervous
first smile.
 
MOTHER: I am not coming back with my tail between my legs.
My tail is firmly in the air. If you're expecting a tail
between the legs, then I'll just trot on off again.
 
DAD: I'll take you however you choose to come.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S PARENT'S HOUSE. STAIRS. NIGHT.
 
LATER. Bridget is sitting at the top of the stairs in her
pyjamas like a child listening to Mum and Dad in the
sitting room...
 
MOTHER: The thing is, close up he was almost purple - and
you're such a lovely normal color. And he had a filthy
temper. And then I realised that I was making the same sort
of decision Bridget always makes - choosing the flashy
chaps, while the nice chaps never get a look in. And
although the jewellery is fabulous, and really very
reasonably priced, I thought I might ask the nice chap if
he'd... take me back. Obviously with some effort on his
part to pay a bit more attention to me. I do know what I'm
like sometimes, but it doesn't help that you and Bridget
have your lovely grown-up club of two and always saying
'what's silly old Mummy gone and done this time.' You know,
you used to be mad about me. You couldn't get enough of me.
What do you think?
 
DAD: (Deep uncertain) I don't know, Pam - I just don't know
now. It's been very hard.
 
MOTHER: Oh Colin.
 
Pause. He can no longer hide the fact he's just pretending.
Huge smile. The first time we've seen him happy in the
whole story.
 
DAD: I'm only joking you daft cow. Come on - give us a hug.
 
She does.
 
DAD (CONT'D): Pam. Pam. I just don't work without you.
 
There is a silence. Bridget cranes her neck round the
stairs. Mum and Dad are hugging each other. She's pleased -
but worried.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S PARENT'S HOUSE. TOP OF THE STAIRS. NIGHT.
 
Bridget writing the diary.
 
BRIDGET O.S.: 1 a.m. So that's it I suppose. Compromise all
round. That's the glory of, that's the story of love...
 
INT. BRIDGET'S PARENT'S HOUSE. KITCHEN. DAY.
 
The following morning. Bridget comes down the stairs in her
nightie, very much the worse for wear, to find Mother in a
large, wide-brimmed hat and Dad dressed in a suit and tie.
It's as if they're going to the Royal Garden Party.
 
MOTHER: Get back up those stairs, young lady and get
changed.
 
BRIDGET: (Still half-asleep) What for?
 
MOTHER: The Darcys' ruby wedding party. What for, indeed.
Mark will be there... He's (taps nose/knowing) still
divorced!
 
BRIDGET: Yes, I know. He's also (taps nose/knowing) still
deranged. I'm not going.
 
MOTHER: Poor Mark. This is always a bad time of year for
him. Japanese wife left him on Christmas Day. Cruel race.
 
BRIDGET: Yes, I'm not sure it was that way round in fact,
Mummy.
 
MOTHER: Ran off... with his best friend from Cambridge.
 
ON BRIDGET: she mentally starts to join the dots...
 
INT. A HOME. DAY.
 
The same scene as before - the camera coming up the stairs
- the legs - the naked people - but this time the camera
moves up whips around - and it shows Darcy - HE was the man
coming up the stairs -then cut to the girl, lipstick-
smeared, Japanese - then Daniel - he was the guilty one.
 
MOTHER (CONT'D): ...total scoundrel, apparently. Best man
at his wedding - and then Christmas Eve, Mark comes home
early from work and finds the pair of them in a most
unorthodox position, stark naked, at it like rabbits...
with the telly on, watching football...
 
INT. BRIDGET'S PARENT'S HOUSE. DAY.
 
Back on Bridget. Everything has now fitted into place.
 
EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. NIGHT.
 
FLASHBACK: Mark looking his most attractive - hot,
bloodied, noble.
 
MARK: Forget it. I thought it might be my job to protect
you - but I was clearly mistaken.
 
BRIDGET: Protect me?
 
MARK: Yes - but very, very foolish mistake. Forgive me.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S PARENT'S HOUSE. DAY.
 
BRIDGET: Mum. Dad. Give me five minutes.
 
She runs upstairs to get changed.
 
And comes straight down - looking devastating and modern.
 
MUM: And what do you think you're wearing, young lady?
 
BRIDGET: I think I'm wearing exactly what I want to wear,
old woman.
 
MUM: Daddy! Do something.
 
EXT. COUNTRY ROAD. PARENT'S CAR. DAY.
 
Bridget father is driving at a fatherly pace.
 
BRIDGET: Stop! Stop the car!
 
Father stops. Bridget gets out.
 
MOTHER: What is it now?
 
Bridget opens the door on her father's side.
 
BRIDGET: Get out.
 
FATHER: What?
 
BRIDGET: Too slow.
 
EXT. COUNTRY ROAD. PARENT'S CAR. DAY.
 
The Jones car just speeding along, Bridget at the wheel.
 
EXT. DARCY HOUSE. DRIVEWAY. DAY.
 
A manor house on the edge of town. Not big enough to be a
'Hall' nor naff enough to be called 'The Willows'. But
assured. Comfortable, with a large gate. The kind of place
you'd find a retired Major reading his 'Wisden', but not
the Prince of Wales, which is how everyone is behaving.
 
INT. DARCY HOUSE. DINING ROOM. DAY.
 
All the usual suspects are there: Geoffrey and Una
Alconbury. Penny Husband-Bosworth, all grimacing and
giggling awkwardly at one another, as uniformed caterers
waft trays of salmony thingies under their noses. Geoffrey
is already very far gone on the free Champagne.
 
Bridget's Mum and Dad enter holding hands, lighting the
room, quite indecently satisfied. Mum sees Una and
Geoffrey. Big grin.

MOTHER: (to Bridget) It's a big showy, isn't it?

 
BRIDGET: What?
 
MOTHER: Don't say 'what', Bridget. Say 'pardon'.
 
Bridget freezes. Mark approaches. He is beautifully dressed
apart from a hideous Pooh Bear bow-tie. His eyes meet
Bridget's.

BRIDGET: Thank you for inviting me.

 
MARK: (Stiffly) I didn't. It must have been my parents.
 
MARK AND BRIDGET SIMULTANEOUSLY: So...
 
Awkward pause - and then Natasha approaches.

NATASHA: Hello, Bridget. I didn't know you were coming.

Mark, your father wants to begin very soon.
 
MARK: Does he? Right...
 
NATASHA: Come on - be helpful, Mark. The caterers have
totally screwed up - does nothing work outside of London?
 
MARK: I better...
 
BRIDGET: Listen... I just wanted to say I owe you an
apology... about Daniel. He said you ran off with his
fiancee. Broke hisheart, he said.
 
MARK: Ah. No. Other way round. My... wife. My... heart.
 
BRIDGET: I'm sorry. And that's why you always behaved so
weirdly with him. And why you beat him to a pulp. Quite
rightly. Well done.
 
MARK: Well...
 
BRIDGET: Look - ahm - could we just pop in here for a
second...
 
They move into a slightly odd private place - under the
stairs or something - amongst coats. She talks very fast.
BRIDGET (CONT'D): There's something I have to say. You
once, unexpectedly, said that you liked me as I was -
something no bastard boyfriend has ever done - and I just
wanted to say that... well... likewise, you know - you wear
stupid things your Mum buys you - tonight's another classic
- you're haughty and you always say the wrong thing in
every situation and I think you should rethink the length
of your sideburns. But you're a nice man and I like you...
and, well, whatever - you know my address and if you drop
by soon, it would be nice. More than nice.
 
MARK: (Giving nothing away) Right. Crikey.
 
Long pause. Neither of them know what to say. Both just
about to speak when... Mark's father hits a glass with a
spoon. It's a toast.

MARK (CONT'D): Fuck. Excuse me.

 
BRIDGET: Of course.
 
He walks away.
 
MARK'S FATHER: Dear friends. 40 years of happy marriage
counts for quite a lot in this day and age and I've been
blessed for 40 years with a dear wife and companion,
Geraldine. A toast to her. My wonderful wife, Geraldine.
 
GUESTS: To Geraldine.
 
MARK'S FATHER: And we, in turn, have been blessed with our
son, Mark. He has always made us proud - and we couldn't be
prouder of him than on this particular day. Because I'm
thrilled to announce that he has just been invited to be a
senior partner in the firm of Abbott & Abbott in New York.
He leaves by Concorde on Tuesday and so - surprise surprise
- this is also a farewell party from him. (Mark looking shy
- Bridget very shaken.) He also, incidentally takes with
him his brilliant partner in law, Natasha - and don't think
they'll mind, since we're amongst friends, if I say that
some day this remarkable, clever girl is going to be
something else in law as well.
 
A real gasp from everyone - that turns into applause, and a
bit of shouting. Cut to very smug Natasha - and very
abashed Mark.

MARK'S FATHER (CONT'D): So I ask you now to charge your

glasses once again to... Mark and his Natasha!
 
Before anyone can take up the toast, a lone voice cuts
through.

BRIDGET: No! Nooooo!

 
INT. DARCY HOUSE. DINING ROOM. DAY.
 
FANTASY: WHAT BRIDGET WANTS TO SAY:
 
Mark, Natasha, the Darcys, Bridget's Mum and Dad, the
Alconburys go into their usual fantasy slo-mo.

BRIDGET: Stop! Stop! Mark. For God's sake, don't get

tricked into marrying some posh girl who's just been
waiting and pounced at the right moment. It's the classic
30-something compromise - marriage as merger. Please,
please. Get the fuck out of it now!
 
We then cut back to Bridget - she hasn't said any of this.

GUESTS: Mark and Natasha!

 
Through the cries of 'Mark and Natasha'/'Natasha and Mark',
we see Bridget, thinking about what she has just imagined -
what she'd like to say - she screws up her will for the
single most important time in her life, and, this time for
real, starts again:

BRIDGET: No! Nooooo!

 
This time of course everyone really reacts, in real time -
everyone turns to stare: Mark, Natasha, the Darcys,
Bridget's Mum and Dad, the Alconburys.

BRIDGET (CONT'D): It's just that it's the most terrible

pity - for England - to lose such a great legal brain - and
for... the people of England, people like you and me, to
lose... one of our top people. Our top person really. It's
a real... shame. Not to mention the fact that -
incidentally - Mark - I love you. Sorry. Needed to be said
though. Better dash - got another party must go to - lots
of single people - mainly poofs. So... byeee...
 
Deathly silence. Bridget turns and makes for the door - and
just trips on the carpet as she goes.

BRIDGET (CONT'D): Whoops.

 
Cut back to Mark and Father - and Natasha - totally
perplexed.
 
INT. TRAIN COMPARTMENT. DAY.
 
MONTAGE
 
Bridget on the train: head leant miserably against the
train window - in the style of Anouck Aimee in the final
scene of UN HOMME ET UNE FEMME. In fact, the haunting
strains of the UN HOMME ET UNE FEMME music can be heard.
 
EXT. ST PANCRAS STATION. PLATFORM. DAY.
 
At St Pancras Station: shot from behind, as in the original
film - a man walks along the platform looking for someone.
Bridget gets off the train - walks towards him - and past
him - he hugs a woman behind her and Bridget simply heads
on up to the platform - there is no hero waiting for her.
 
EXT. SKY. DAY.
 
A Concorde flies through the air - possibly even taxi-ing
in to New York airport.
 
INT./EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. HALLWAY. DAY.
 
She lets herself in. She picks up her diary - crosses out
the words 'Bridget Jones' Diary' and writes 'The Diary of
Bridget Jones - Spinster and Lunatic.'
 
INT. AMERICAN AIRPORT. ARRIVALS. DAY.
 
Mark and Natasha just emerging having picked up luggage and
done customs etc. She calmly slips her arm through his as
they head through. Waiting for them holding a sign saying
Mark and Natasha is a very smartly dressed young man -
clearly a keen junior lawyer from the firm.

BERNARD: Mark, Natasha. Welcome to New York. (He points to

his big specially chosen red tie) I am your red carpet. The
name's...
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY.
 
She looks out the window - it starts to snow.
 
BRIDGET: Typical.
 
INT. AMERICAN AIRPORT. CORRIDOR. DAY.
 
A long glass corridor - Bernard is now pushing their
luggage.

BERNARD: It is great to see you guys. Really superb. We

have been so impressed by your work Mark - and yours,
Natasha. Human rights is absolutely key stuff at Abbott &
Abbott. Although, you know - not that it matters to you
Brits I know - but I should tell you, this is also a VERY
profitable firm you are moving into - to say that all the
partners are more than millionaires would be an
understatement.
 
MARK: Damn.
 
He stops dead.

BERNARD: What - can I help?

 
MARK: Not really, no. Ahm - truth is, John - is it John?
 
BERNARD: No, Bernard. (Said in the American way - stress on
'ARD.')
 
MARK: Bernard (In the English way.)
 
BERNARD: BernARD.
 
MARK: Right - Ber-whatever. Truth is, I've gone and left
something... behind.
 
BERNARD: On the luggage carousel?
 
MARK: No, more...
 
NATASHA: Oh, not on the plane, Mark?
 
MARK: Well, no - more rather - further back - in... ah...
in... ah... London, in fact.
 
BERNARD: Oh don't worry about that - we can Fedex anything.
 
MARK: Well no - actually, this might be hard to Fedex -
very, well, no, quite... heavy. Look, you just head on and
I'll...
 
Looks up to check TV above saying 'Departures.'

MARK (CONT'D): I'll sort this out. Terrible timing I know -

but I'm an arse - and Natasha is really 'superb' - just
'superb'. And, to be honest, (to her) better off without
me.
 
BERNARD: I'm going to find this hard to explain to Mr
Abbott and Mr Abbott. Are you sure about this, Mark?
 
MARK: Yes. Quite sure. Bye.
 
He kisses Natasha quickly on the cheek, then turns and
simply sprints down the long glass corridor away from them.

MARK: Mark. Mark! Marky!!!!!

 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING.
 
She is writing in her diary. Her voice speaks calmly over
it.
 
BRIDGET V.O.: The time has at last come to face the truth.
Keep thinking of song by country and western girl with big
hair and too much mascara - 'I never will marry - I'll be
no man's wife - I expect to stay single - For the rest of
my life.'
 
The doorbell goes. Bridget freezes. It rings again. A
glimmer of hope goes through her eyes as she moves towards
the door.
 
She picks up the entryphone.
 
BRIDGET: Yes?
 
TOM, SHARON AND JUDE: Hi - it's us.
 
BRIDGET: (Disappointed, unsurprised) Oh great. Come on up.
 
Cut to them arriving.
 
TOM: Have we got the most fantastic surprise for you.
 
BRIDGET: New Kids on the Block have re-formed?  

TOM: Not that fantastic - but still pretty good. We're

taking you to Paris for the weekend. Forget about
everything - particularly, forget about Mark Darcy.
 
JUDE: I can't believe you said what you said you said.
 
BRIDGET: I know. There's goes my invite to next year's
Turkey Curry Buffet.
 
TOM: Well, sod them all - if he didn't just leap over the
family heirlooms and whip you up in his arms, then sod him.
 
JUDE: Yes - he's clearly the most dreadful cold fish.
 
SHARON: Exactly - there have been all these bloody hints
and stuff, but has he ever actually stuck his fucking
tongue down your fucking throat?
 
BRIDGET: No. Not once.
 
EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT.
 
Bridget is being very quiet in the corridor - while the
others flap around outside and begin to put things in the
car.
 
TOM: This is so romantic. Snow bound for Paris.
 
SHARON: Hurry up, Bridge, we're freezing our bollocks off
out here!
 
The friends are now all packed tight in the little car.
Bridget stands on the steps. With cold little fingers, she
searches in her bag for the keys, can't find them. She
pours the contents of her bag onto the pavement.

BRIDGET: O damn.
 
Tears begin to plop down her cheeks.
 
Suddenly, the camera changes focus and there, on the
opposite side of the street - like a stalker, or a ghost -
is Mark Darcy, standing beside his car, watching her. Still
dressed in exactly the clothes he wore at the airport.
 
TOM: (Out a wound-down window) Come the fuck on Bridget!
 
Sharon nudges him in the car - and points - all three of
them turn - and see Mark - he doesn't see them seeing him -
he continues to look just at Bridget. They stare at him
open-mouthed. Bridget finds the keys.

BRIDGET: Thank God.

 
She locks the door and turns. And there Mark is. They look
at each other. Then he walks slowly across the street.

MARK: Bridget.
 
BRIDGET: What are you doing here?
 
MARK: Looking for you.
 
BRIDGET: What?
 
MARK: Don't say 'what?' Bridget - say 'pardon.' I just
wanted to know if you were available for Bar Mitzvahs and
christenings as well as Ruby Weddings? Excellent speech.
 
BRIDGET: I'm so, so sorry. (Beat) I thought you were in
America.
 
MARK: Well, yes - I was - but then I remembered I'd
forgotten something back home.
 
BRIDGET: Which was?
 
MARK: Ahm - I'd forgotten to kiss you goodbye... Do you
mind?
 
BRIDGET: Not really, no.
 
He moves to kiss her...
 
BRIDGET (CONT'D): So you're not going to America?
 
MARK: No, not.
 
BRIDGET: You're staying here?
 
MARK: It would seem so.
 
He moves to kiss her again: but just doesn't make it,
because there is a tremendous tooting and hooting from the
now very fogged up car down the street. And lots of
shouting - 'Hooray', 'Hooray', 'That's my girl'.
 
MARK (CONT'D): Friends of yours?
 
BRIDGET: Never seen them before in my life.
 
He moves to kiss her again.

SHARON: Look - are you coming to Paris or not?

 
BRIDGET: Not.
 
MARK: Maybe we should go upstairs for a minute.
 
BRIDGET: Good idea.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.
 
Mark and Bridget are entering from the snow.

BRIDGET: Excuse - there's just a little something Imust...

I'll be with you in a minute. Keep yourself busy - read
something. Lots of very high quality magazines with very
useful romance and fashion tips.
 
She goes out of the room. Mark looks over all the copies of
Hello and Red and Cosmopolitan. Then his eyes light upon
her diary. She'd been warned! He reaches to pick it up.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. BATHROOM. NIGHT.
 
Bridget is changing from big pants to little knickers.

BRIDGET: Definitely an occasion for genuinely tiny pants.

She lifts up her skirt to remove the big pants she was
wearing.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.
 
Meanwhile Mark reads a bit of the diary... we see what he
reads - with increasing horror as he flicks the pages...

WHAT THE DIARY SAYS: 'Mark is a prematurely middle-aged

prick' - 'I hope he dies of a heart attack and they find he
wasn't wearing clean pants' - 'A real geek' - 'I dislike
him intensely.'
 
MARK: Right. Right.
 
He closes the diary quietly, and walks out the door.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. BATHROOM. NIGHT.
 
Bridget is half way through changing. Perhaps now has on
her top half only. She hears the heavy slam of the door.
She rushes out, and sure enough...
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT.
 
...No one's there. She looks out the window and sees Mark
walking away. It is still snowing. She opens the window and
shouts out.

BRIDGET: Mark! Mark!

 
He doesn't hear - or won't hear - as he strides down the
street. She looks at the diary. Reads the words 'utterly
hateful boring snob'.

BRIDGET (CONT'D): Oh shit. (And has to decide what to do.)

Oh double shit.
 
INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. HALLWAY. NIGHT.
 
She charges down the stairs.
 
EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT.
 
Bridget in bare feet and legs sprints out into the snow
past Mr Ramdas and a couple of Greek waiters.

BRIDGET: Wish me luck!

 
WAITERS AND RAMDAS: Good luck, crazy girl.
 
She reaches the main street - turns a corner.
 
EXT. HIGHT STREET. NIGHT.
 
It is snowing. Bridget turns on to the main high street.
She can't see Mark. Then up ahead she sees Mark turn the
corner. She runs after him.
 
EXT. STATIONARY SHOP. NIGHT.
 
Bridget staring wildly around her. Suddenly Mark emerges
from the shop, which has a constant flow of very
respectable middle-aged ladies. He looks at the under-
dressed shivering Bridget in the snow.

BRIDGET: Mark, Mark - I'm sorry - I didn't mean it - I

mean, I meant it - but I was stupid you see, so I didn't
mean what I meant... (Pause.) For Christ's sake - it's only
a diary - and it's common knowledge diaries are just full
of crap.

Pause.  

MARK: I know that. (He holds up a little leather book.) I

was just buying you a new one. Time to start again,
perhaps.
 
Total joy - she jumps up on him - arms right around his
neck, feet in the air - and hugs him.

MARK (CONT'D): (To on-lookers) Sorry. Heroin is a terrible

drug.
 
And then they kiss. It lasts a genuine amount of time. They
split apart - Bridget is a little breathless - and
confused.
 
BRIDGET: Wait a minute - nice boys don't kiss like that.
 
MARK: O yes, they do.
 
Both smile - both know the future is full of strange
delights.
 
TITLE MUSIC - THE EXPLOSIVE VERSION OF 'WHEN I MET MISS
JONES'.
 
EXT. PARENT'S HOUSE. GARDEN (1960'S). DAY.
 
Home Movie Footage shows Bridget Jones, 4 years old,
tormenting Mark Darcy, 8 years old. The setting is
Bridget's parents garden - swing, slide, paddling pool -
and Bridget is clearly crazy about Mark: hugging him,
trying to kiss him, mugging at the camera. Mark seems
mortified, constantly trying to get away. In the background
their parents, in outrageous 60's clothes.
 
At the paddling pool, Bridget takes off her clothes and
walks back to Mark. He looks uncomfortable - but then
smiles and kisses her. Baby Bridget radiantly happy - Mark
not unhappy. Freeze.
 
THE END.