Helen Fielding - Bridget Jones - The Edge of Reason

Goody, goody. Is arrival of Christmas tree. You see! Really on top of Christmas. Mark is coming round tomorrow and will find Christmas Casbah!

8 p.m. As tree men staggered upstairs, grunting and gasping, feared may have underestimated largeness of tree, especially when terrifyingly filled entire doorway then burst through, branches flapping like invasion of Macduff in woods of Dunsinane. A spray of soil and two youths followed going, "It's a fucking big 'un, where do you wan' it?"

"By the fire," I said. Unfortunately, however, tree would no way fit, some branches poking into flames, others forced up vertically by sofa and rest burgeoning into middle of room while top of tree bent at odd angle against ceiling.

"Can you try it over there?" I said. "What's that smell by the way?"

Claiming it was some Finnish invention to stop the needles dropping, rather than the obvious fact that the tree had gone off, the boys struggled to place tree between bedroom and bathroom doors at which branches sprang out totally blocking both.

"Try the middle of the room?" I said with tremendous dignity.

The boys sniggered at each other and manhandled tree monster into the centre of the room. At this point I couldn't see either of them any more. "That's fine, thank you," I said in a high, strangled voice, and they departed giggling all the way down the stairs.

8.05 p.m. Hmm.

8.10 p.m. Well, is no problem. Will simply detach from issue of tree and write cards.

8.20 p.m. Mmm. Love the lovely wine. Question is, does it matter if you don't send Christmas cards? Sure there are people from whom have never in my life received a Christmas card. Is this rude? Always seems faintly ridiculous to send e.g. Jude or Shazzer a Christmas card when see them every other day. But then how can one expect cards in return? Except that, of course, sending cards never yields fruit until following year, unless send cards in first week of December but would be unthinkable, Bored-Married-style behaviour. Hmm. Maybe should do list of pros and cons of sending cards.

8.25 p.m. Think will just have little look at Christmas Vogue first.

8.40 p.m. Attracted yet massively undermined by Vogue world of Christmas. Realize own fashion look and gift ideas grimly outdated and ought to be cycling, wearing slippy Dosa petticoat with eiderdown on top and puppy slung over shoulder, posing at parties with pre-pubescent model daughter and planning to buy friends pashmina hot-water bottle covers, fragrant stuff to put in laundry instead of usual stench from service wash, silver flashlights from Asprey - with Christmas tree lights meanwhile reflecting sparklingly off teeth.

Am not going to take any notice. Is v. unspiritual. Just imagine if Pompeii-style volcano erupted south of Slough, and everyone was preserved in stone on bicycles wearing puppies, eiderdowns and daughters, future generations would come and laugh at spiritual emptiness of it. Also reject mindless luxury gifts, which say more about showyoffiness of giver than thought for receiver.

9 p.m. Would quite like pashmina hot-water bottle for self though.

9.15 p.m. Christmas gift list:

Mum - pashmina hot-water bottle cover. Dad - pashmina hot-water bottle cover.

Oh God. Cannot ignore tree-pong any longer: is pungent and repulsively reminiscent of pine-scented shoe insole that has been worn for several months penetrating walls and solid hardwood door. Bloody tree. Only way to traverse room now would be to snuffle under tree in manner of wild boar. Think will read Christmas card from Gary again. Was great. Card was rolled up in shape of bullet and "Sorry!" on it. Inside it said:

Dear Bridget,

Sorry about the bullet. I do not know what come over me but things have not gone good for me with money and the fishing incident. Bridget, it was special between us. It really meant something. I was going to finish the infill when the money came through. When that solicitor's letter come it was that wanky I was gutted and lost a grip on myself.

Then there was a copy of Angler's Mail opened at page

10. Opposite a page headed "Carp World" with an article on "Pick of the Pellet Feeds" were six pictures of fishermen all holding big slimy grey fish, including one of Gary with a pretend stamp across saying "Disqualified" and a column underneath headed:

BOILING MAD

Three times East Hendon champion Gary Wilshaw has been suspended from East Hendon AA after a fish switching incident. Wilshaw, 37, of West Elm Drive, took first place with this 321b 12oz common carp allegedly on a size 4 hook to a 151b snake-bite hook link and 14mm boilie.

It later emerged, through a tip off, that the carp was a farmed fish from East Sheen, probably planted on the size 4 overnight.

A spokesman for East Hendon AA said, "This kind of practice brings the entire sport of reservoir coarse fishing into disrepute and cannot be tolerated by the East Hendon AA."

9.25 p.m. You see, felt powerless like Daniel. Poor Gary with his fish. Humiliated. He loves fish. Poor Daniel. Men at risk.

9.30 p.m. Mmm. Wines delicious. Is festive party on own. Think of all lovely people who have been in life this syear, even ones who did bad things. Feel nothing but love and forgiveness. Holding on to resentment juss eesaway at one.

9.45 p.m. Swil write carsnow. Will do liss.

11.20 p.m. Dunnit. Off to postssbox now.

11.30 p.m. Backinfla. Blurry tree. I know. Wllget scissors.

Midnight. Yurs. Berrer. Oof. Sleepynow. Oops. Tumbled

over.

9st 12, alcohol units 6, cigarettes 45, calories 5,732, chocolate tree decorations 132, cards sent - oh God, hell, beelzebub and all his sub-poltergeists.

8.30 a.m. Bit confused. Has just taken an hour and seven minutes to get dressed and am still not dressed, having realized there is splodge on front of skirt.

8.45 a.m. Have got skirt off now. Will put grey one on instead, but where the fuck is it? Oof. Head hurts. Right, am not going to drink again for ... Oh, maybe skirt is in living room.

9 a.m. In living room now, but everything is such a mess. Think will have some toast. Cigarettes are evil poison.

9.15 a.m. Gaah! Have just seen tree.

9.30 a.m. Gaah! Gaah! Have just found card that got missed. This is what says:

Happy Christmas to my dearest, dearest Ken. I have so appreciated all your kindness this year. You are a wonderful, wonderful person, so strong, and clear-sighted and good with figures. Although we have had our ups and downs, it is so important not to hold on to resentment if one is to grow. I feel very close to you now, both as a professional, and as a man. With real love,

Bridget

Who is Ken? Gaaah! Ken is accountant. Have only met him once and then we had row about sending my VAT in late. Oh my God. Must find list.

Gaaah! As well as Jude, Shazzer, Magda, Tom etc. list includes:

The Assistant to the British Consul, Bangkok The British Ambassador to Thailand

Rt Hon. Sir Hugo Boynton Admiral Darcy

DI Kirby

Colin Firth

Richard Finch

The Foreign Secretary

Jed

Michael at the Independent

Grant D. Pike

Tony Blair

Cards are at large in the world and do not know what have put in them.

No feedback from cards. Maybe the others were fine actually and Ken's was throwback freak.

9.30 a.m. Was just on way out when phone rang. "Bridget, it's Gary!"

"Oh hi!" I trilled hysterically. "Where are you?"

"In the nick, aren't I? Thanks for the card. That was sweet. Sweet. It really means the world."

"Oh, hahahaha," I laughed nervously.

"So are you going to come to see me today?"

"What?"

"You know ... the card."