Bridget Jones's Diary

Bridget:
This is an occasion for genuinely tiny knickers.

Bridget:
Wait a minute... nice boys don't kiss like that.

Mark Darcy:
Oh, yes, they f***ing do.

Daniel Cleaver:
F*** me, I love Keats.

Bridget:
Thank you, 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 arse.

Interviewer:
What do you think about the El Nino phenomenon?

Bridget:
It's a blip. Latin music's on its way out.

Bridget:
Bridget Jones, wanton sex goddess, with a very bad man between her thighs... Dad... Hi.

Bridget:
Bridget Jones, wanton sex goddess, with a very bad man between her thighs... Mum... Hi.

Mark Darcy:
Mother, I do not need a blind date. Particularly not with some verbally incontinent spinster who drinks like a fish, smokes like a chimney and dresses like her mother.

Bridget:
Daniel, what you just did is actually illegal in several countries.

Daniel Cleaver:
That is one of the reasons that I'm so happy to be living in Britain today.

Natasha:
Bizarre what some men find attractive

Daniel Cleaver:
OK, tell me more about practicing French kissing with the art girls at school.

Bridget:
It wasn't French kissing.

Daniel Cleaver:
Don't care, make it up. That's an order, Jones.

Bridget:
I choose Vodka. And Chaka Khan.

Daniel Cleaver:
Come on Bridget, we belong together - you, me, your little skirt. If I can't make it with you then I can't make it with anyone.

Bridget:
That's not a good enough offer for me.

Tom:
Whose side are we on?

Shazzer:
Mark's of course. He never dumped Bridget for some naked American.

Bridget:
But he did shag Daniel's fiancée and left him broken-hearted.

Tom:
You're right, it's a tough one to call.

Bridget:
Here is the man we like to call Mr., uh,

Bridget:
Titspervert. Titspervert.

Bridget:
Fitzherbert. Because... that is his name.

Mark Darcy:
I realize that when I met you at the turkey curry buffet, I was unforgivably rude, and wearing a reindeer jumper.

Bridget:
It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces.

Bridget:
So what do you think of the situation in Chechnya?

Daniel Cleaver:
I couldn't give a f*** Jones.

Jude:
Just as you are? Not thinner? Not cleverer? Not with slightly bigger breasts or slightly smaller nose?

Bridget:
No.

Shazzer:
Well, f*** me.

Tom:
This is someone you hate right?

Bridget:
Yes, yes, I hate him.

Tom:
FIGHT. Come on then, it's a real live fight.

Tom:
Come the f*** on, Bridget.

Mr. Darcy:
I like a woman with an arse you can park a bike in and balance a pint of beer on.

Bridget:
Now, I'll go home and... de-bunny.

Mark Darcy:
Natasha, this is Bridget Jones. Bridget works in a publishing house and she used to play around naked in my paddling pool.

Mark Darcy:
I like you, very much.

Bridget:
Ah, apart from the smoking and the drinking, the vulgar mother and... ah, the verbal diarrhea.

Mark Darcy:
No, I like you very much. Just as you are.

Bridget:
My mum, a strange creature from the time when pickles on toothpicks were still the height of sophistication.

Bridget:
Perhaps this is the mysterious Mr. Right I have been waiting my whole life to meet.

Bridget:
Maybe not.

Mark Darcy:
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 really are an appallingly bad public speaker. And, um, you tend to let whatever's in your head come out of your mouth without much consideration of the consequences... But the thing is, um, what I'm trying to say, very inarticulately, is that, um, in fact, perhaps despite appearances, I like you, very much. Just as you are.

Bridget:
You once said you liked me just as I am and I just wanted to say likewise. I mean there are 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 seriously believe that you should rethink the length of your sideburns. But, you're a nice man and I like you. If you wanted to pop by some time that might be nice... more than nice.

Mark Darcy:
Right, crikey.

Bridget:
When you said, that you liked me, for just the way I am... *sighs* I just wanted to say, that I like you, too, just the way you are. I mean you manage to say all the wrong things and you wear all of your mother's gifts, tonight... is another classic

Bridget:
and-and you should really re-think the length of your side burns. But... I still, like you, just the way you are.

Tom:
Well done Bridge, 4 hours of careful cooking and a feast of blue soup, omelette and marmalade.

Bridget:
Have bottom size of Brazil

Richard Finch:
Neville, what the f*** is going on? She's supposed to be sliding down the fireman's pole, not climbing up it.

Shazzer:
Introduce 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?

Bridget:
Apparently, I used to run round naked in his paddling pool.

Daniel Cleaver:
I bet you did, you dirty b*tch.

Richard Finch:
Why do you wanna work on television?

Bridget:
I've got to leave my job because I shagged my boss.

Richard Finch:
Fair enough. Start on Monday.

Mark Darcy:
All right Cleaver, outside.

Daniel Cleaver:
(Half laughing)I'm sorry? Outside? Should I bring my dueling pistols or my sword?

Bridget:
I owe you an apology about Daniel. He said you ran off with his fiancée and left him brokenhearted.

Mark Darcy:
No, it was the other way around. My wife. My heart.

Daniel Cleaver:
Now these are very silly little boots, Jones. And this is a very silly little dress. And, um, these are, f*** me, absolutely enormous panties.

Bridget:
Jesus. F***.

Daniel Cleaver:
No, no. Don't apologize. I like them. Hello, Mummy.

Daniel Cleaver:
I'm sorry, I have to have another look. They're too good to be true.

Bridget:
No...

Daniel Cleaver:
They're nothing to be embarrassed about. I'm wearing something similar myself.

Bridget:
Did I really run round your lawn naked?

Mark Darcy:
Oh, yes. You were four and I was eight.

Bridget:
Well, that's a pretty big age difference. It's quite pervy really.

Mark Darcy:
Yes, I like to think so.

Bridget:
I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. Well, I meant it, but I was so stupid... After all, it's only a diary. Everyone knows diaries are just... full of crap.

Mark Darcy:
Yes, I know that. I was just buying you a new one.

Shazzer:
Look, are you coming to f***ing Paris or not?

Bridget:
Um, not.

Shazzer:
No f***ing room, anyway.

Pam Jones:
Up close, he was almost purple.

Bridget:
Resolution #1: uggg - will obviously lose 20 lbs. #2: always put last night's panties in the laundry basket. Equally important: will find nice sensible boyfriend and stop forming romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workoholics, sexaholics, commitment-phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional f***wits, or perverts. Will especially stop fantasizing about a particular person who embodies all these things.

Natasha:
So how autobiographical is your work, Salman?

Salman Rushdie:
You know its an amazing thing, nobody has ever asked me that question.

Mark Darcy:
I should have done this years ago.

Daniel Cleaver:
Done what?

Mark Darcy:
This.

Daniel Cleaver:
Ow. F*** me, that really hurt. What the f*** do you think you're doing?

Mark Darcy:
This.

Bridget:
Are you staying at your parents', then?

Mark Darcy:
Yes. You?

Bridget:
Ah, no. Just came from a New Year party, and I'm a bit hung over.

Bridget:
Wish I could be at home with my head in a toilet like all normal people...

Bridget:
...ah! New Year's Resolution: drink less... and quit smoking... and quit talking nonsense to total strangers... hehe... ahh...

Mark Darcy:
Yes. Well. Perhaps it's time to eat.

Daniel Cleaver:
I've been going crazy. I can't stop thinking about you, and thinking about what an idiot I've been. Christ, is that blue soup?

Daniel Cleaver:
/ There once was a woman from Ealing, / Who had a particular feeling. / She lay on her back, / And opened her crack, / And pissed all over the ceiling.

Bridget:
The only thing worse than smug married couple, lots of smug married couples.

Bridget:
How's it look?

Mark:
Uh, great. It's, um, blue.

Bridget:
Blue?

Mark:
No, but, blue is good. If you ask me there isn't enough blue food.

Bridget:
What are we going to do about this dinner, then?

Mark:
We have blue soup to start, orange pudding to end, and, well, for a main course you have, uh, congealed green gunge.

Shazzer:
Exactly. I mean there's been all these bloody hints and stuff, but has he ever actually stuck his f***ing tongue down your f***ing throat?

Bridget:
No. Not once!

Bridget:
I'm sorry, I'm not quite fi... [interrupted by seeing Mark]

Mark:
Good afternoon.

Bridget:
Hi! You like me just the way I am...

Mark:
Sorry?

Bridget:
Nothing.

Bridget:
[as Una Alconberry] No Pam. And besides I'm busy, gravy needs sieveing.

Mark:
[as Pamela Jones] Surely not, just stir it, Una.

Mother:
Come on. Why don't we see if Mark fancies a gherkin.

Bridget:
Maybe this was the mysterious Mr. Right I'd been waiting my whole life to meet. (Sees his reindeer jumper) Maybe not.

Mother:
Mark! You remember Bridget. She used to run around your lawn with no clothes on, remember?

Daniel:
(as computer messages) If walking past my office was attempt to demonstrate presence of skirt, can only say that it has failed parlously-- Cleave.

Bridget:
Shut up, please. I am very busy and important. P.S. How dare you sexually harass me in this impertinent manner?

Daniel:
Message Jones. Mortified to have caused offense. Will avoid all non-P.C. overtones in future. Deeply apologetic. P.S. Like your tits in that top.

Perpetua:
Anyone going to introduce me?

Bridget:
Ah, introduce people with thoughtful details. Perpetua, this is Mark Darcy. Mark's a prematurely middle-aged prick with a cruel-raced ex-wife. Perpetua's a fart-arse old bag who spends her time bossing me around... Maybe not.

Perpetua:
Anyone going to introduce me?

Bridget:
Ah, Perpetua. This is Mark Darcy. Mark's a top barrister. He comes from Grafton Underwood. Perpetua's one of my work colleagues.

Perpetua:
Oh, Mark, I know you by reputation of course.

Mark:
(Natasha arrives) Ah, Natasha. This is Bridget Jones. Bridget, this is Natasha. Natasha is a top attorney and specializes in family law. Bridget is in advertising and used to play naked in my paddling pool.

Richard:
So, why do you want to work in television?

Bridget:
I've got to leave my current job because I've shagged my boss.

Richard:
Fair enough. Start on Monday. We'll see how we go. And, incidentally, at 'Sit Up, Britain', no one ever gets sacked for shaggin' the boss. That's a matter of principle.

Mark:
I don't think you're an idiot at all. I mean, there are elements that are ridiculous about you. Your mother's pretty interesting. And you really are an appallingly bad public speaker. And, um, you tend to let whatever's in your head come out of your mouth without much consideration of the consequences. I realize that when I met you at the Turkey Curry Buffet I was unforgiveably rude... and wearing a reindeer jumper... that my mother had given me the day before. But the thing is, uhm, what I'm trying to say, very inarticulately, is that, uhm, in fact, perhaps despite appearances, I like you. Very much.

Bridget:
[Bitterly] Apart from the smoking and the drinking and the vulgar mother and the verbal diarrhea...

Mark:
No, I like you very much. Just as you are.

Mother:
The Darcy's Ruby Wedding of course. "What for?" Indeed! Mark will be there. Still divorced *taps nose*

Bridget:
He's also... still deranged. *taps nose*

Bridget:
It all began on New Years day, in my 32nd year of being single. Once again I found myself on my own and going to my mother's annual turkey curry buffet. Every year she tries to fix me up with some bushy-haired, middle-aged bore, and I feared this year would be no exception.

Bridget:
And that was it. Right there. Right there, that was the moment. I suddenly realised that unless something changed soon I was going to live a life where my major relationship was with a bottle of wine... and I'd finally die, fat and alone, and be found three weeks later half-eaten by alsatians. Or I was about to turn into Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction.

Bridget:
Daily call from Jude. Best friend. Head of investment at Brightlings Bank, who spends most of her time trapped in the ladies' room crying over fuckwit boyfriend.

Bridget:
Shazzer. Journalist. Likes to say "f***". A lot.

Bridget:
Tom, 80's pop icon who only wrote one hit record then retired because he found that one record was quite enough to get him laid for the whole of the 90's. Total poof, of course.

Bridget:
Major dilemma. If actually do, by some terrible chance, end up in flagrante surely these would be most attractive at crucial moment. (holds up thong) However, chances of reaching crucial moment greatly increased by wearing these; scary stomach-holding-in pants very popular with grannies the world over. Tricky. Very tricky.

Bridget:
At times like this, continuing with one's life seems impossible... and eating the entire contents of one's fridge seems inevitable. I have two choices: to give up and accept permanent state of spinsterhood and eventual eating by alsatians, or not. And this time I choose not. I will not be defeated by a bad man and an American stick insect! Instead, I choose vodka. And Chaka Khan.

Bridget:
(rummaging through her fridge) Where the f*** is the f***ing tuna?

Don't be silly, Bridget. You'll never get a boyfriend if you look like you've wandered out of Auschwitz. ~Mother

Now, these are very silly little boots, Jones. And this is a very silly little dress. And, um, these are- f*** me, absolutely enormous pants. ~Daniel

I can't believe you said what you said you said. ~Jude

Bridget:
Resolution number one: Obviously will lose twenty pounds. Number two: Equally important, will find nice, sensible boyfriend to go out with and not continue to form romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workaholics, commitment phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits or perverts. And especially will not fantasise about a particular person who embodies all these things... Unfortunately he just happens to be my boss, editor in chief Daniel Cleaver, and for various slightly unfair reasons relating to this year's Christmas party I suspect he does not fantasize about me.

Come the f*** on, Bridget! ~ Tom

Oh,f*** me, I love Keats. Have you heard this one? 'There was a young woman from Ealing, who had a peculiar feeling, she lay on her back, and opened her crack, and pissed all over the ceiling!'... Oh f*** me! Bollocks!

Tagline:
It's Monday morning, Bridget has woken up with a headache, a hangover and her boss.

Tagline:
Uninhibited. Uncensored. Unmarried.

Tagline:
For anyone who's ever been set up, stood up or felt up.

Tagline:
Aloof. Unavailable. Ice queen. – Aloof. Unavailable. Ice queen. – Aloof. Unavailable. Ice queen. – quite fancy a snog though...

Tagline:
All women keep score... Only the great ones put it in writing.