Another fabulous day in the sun, finishing up Bridget Jones’s Diary, and getting my tan ready for summer. Unfortunately, the sun seemed intent on moving from one side of the sky to another, so now half my body is tanner than the rest. Meaning that, despite my detest for tan lines, there is a (note: singular) bikini line next to my left collarbone.
On to less pressing matters: like pretty much everyone I know, I’d watched the movie version of Bridget Jones’s Diary before reading Helen Fielding’s book. Luckily, this was ages ago, so I wasn’t stuck second-guessing the plot every five seconds (which, by the way, occured whilst reading His Dark Materials).
Have a bullet point list of Thoughts on the book:
- It inspired manifestations of LOL-ness at most inopportune moments i.e. when in public
- Brutally honest (particularly the bit about a woman’s relationship with food)
- Basically, some nice, easy reading…
- … Holy shit – what if I turn out to be a 30-something Singleton in a dead-end career?!
- Cue panic
- Appease panic with some marzipan coated in dark chocolate
The other day (by which I mean Halloween), I went over a friend’s to watch DVDs, and we ended up with Bridget Jones’s Diary, amongst other, decidedly non-scary, movies. Though, I suppose, it depends on your definition of scary; for me, that impromptu speech at the book launch party of Bridget’s was plenty frightening.
Obviously, I’d forgotten how funny Renée Zellweger was.
You, my dearest diary of them all, know how I suffer from secondary embarrassment, so it was unsurprising that I spent a significant portion of the movie hiding behind a pillow in sympathetic shame to Bridget’s antics. As a book-lover (which, ew, I sound like someone who wears aprons and unfashionable reading glasses by turns), I’m naturally apprehensive about movie adaptions, but it seems that the Chick Lit genre is far more tolerable in movie form. See Confessions of a Shopaholic and The Devil Wears Prada. Clearly, the camera is mightier than the pen.
Ok, so I’ve just come back from practising some Google-fu and have learnt that:
- Lilly Allen is involved in a musical adaption of Bridget Jones’s Diary. Will this make it’s way down to Australia, I wonder? Methinks not. Sigh.
- Helen Fielding named her kids Dash and Romy. Poor, poor kids. Or are they puppies? Perhaps reindeer? Speaking of which, Jamie Oliver named his kid Buddy Bear. Wtf. Though I suppose celebs can at least afford future psychological help for their little darlings.
- There is a third novel/movie in the works. Rather exciting, yes? Oh, and the book was first conceptualised in a column for some British newspaper (which is where the much anticipated third novel may be found).
I guess I should bring my first (and last) diary entry to a close. Actually, Bridget Jones never started her entries with the words ‘dear diary’, instead listing her weight, cigarette and alcohol intake for the day. Probably because she didn’t want to sound like a 13-year-old girl.
Oh, and since you were wondering, my darling diary, I didend up (sort of) celebrating Halloween – I watched Supernatural’s ‘The Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester’ during a handy suburb-wide blackout.
(Btw, has anyone noticed that all the recent books I’ve read either had the number 4 or 6 in their 100 Books’ list number? Bizarre.)
Love, The Friande