Bridget Jones's Diary

I'm going to Jaeger - to escape being reminded of my lost youth by the fashion-buying generation

Saturday 28 September

8st 8 (humph) Alcohol units 5 (mmmm) Cigarettes 12 (but did not inhale); calories 3,844; no. of correct lottery numbers 6 (vg, although on 4 different tickets).

V happy about return-to-school autumnal-style feel of world. Could not be more pleased to see Blind Date again considering Cilla Black going from strength to strength: Black's ability to skewer young men in interview, without them actually realising they have been skewered, growing sharper and more refined with each new season's viewing. Surprised Newsnight do not take Black up, also perhaps Labour Party - making v economical use of programme budget with Black combing beach or Labour converts in manner of Glenda Jackson while Blind Date duo comb beach for people to shag with apart from each other.

Going shopping tomorrow with new thin figure for new "brown is black" autumn wardrobe. V excited and determined this year to be better at shopping ie not panic and find only thing able to buy is black jacket as only so many black jackets one girl needs especially as nothing else to go with them.

Sunday 29 September

8st 8; alcohol units 4 (excellent) cigarettes 12 (vg but cannot smoke while shopping)

10am Suddenly forced to accept truth of doctors saying diets don't work because your body just thinks it's being starved and the minute it so much as sees any food again it gorges like a savage or Fergie. After Bangkok starvation jail ordeal awake every morning to find fat in sick and bizarre new places. Would not be in least surprised to find pizza-dough-like strand of fat suspended between ear and shoulder or curving out at the side of one knee, rippling slightly in the wind like an elephant's ear.

2pm, Angus Steak House, Oxford Street Uncontrollable panic attack. Shops all seem to have just slightly different versions of each thing. Throws self into weird mind fug with mind unable to purchase until has encompassed and catalogued all, for example, available black nylon jackets. Feel simultaneous hideous addictive need to purchase all available black nylon jackets: French Connection one at pounds 129 or high-class Michael Kors (tiny square quilted one) at pounds 400. But then black nylon jackets in Hennes are only pounds 39.99, could for example buy 15 Hennes black nylon jackets for price of one Michael Kors one but then wardrobe would be more riddled with more black jackets than ever. Oh God. Maybe whole image is at fault. Maybe should start wearing brightly coloured pantomime outfits in manner of Paula Yates or Su Pollard, or have a capsule wardrobe and buy three classy pieces and wear them all the time (but what if spill or throw up on them?) Right. Calm, calm. This is what need to buy:

Torque. Or maybe Tong. or Tonk? Anyway gold choker thing to go round neck. Shoes. "Boot leg" black trousers (depending what "boot leg" should turn out to mean). Suit for work. (or similar).

7pm Nightmare in shoe shop. Just trying on black square-toed high square- heeled shoes in Office feeling v deja vu-esque for all those back-to-school times buying new shoes and fighting with bloody Mum about what they were allowed to be like. then suddenly had horrifying realisation: was not freaky sense of deja vu - they were exactly the same shoes I had in Six Lower from Freeman, Hardy & Willis. Identical. Rushed home in trauma and was just trying on purchases when mother burst in. "Heaven's darling," she said with a gay, tinkling laugh before heading for the phone. "What have you been up to? Have you been in the dressing-up box? Those are what you used to wear when you were at school, darling. You are a silly billy."

Suddenly feel like innocent dupe or stooge of fashion designers who cannot be arsed to think of new things; worse, am now so old that young fashion- buying generation no longer remember wearing things I wore as teenager. At last realise point at which ladies start going to Jaeger's for two- pieces - when do not want to be reminded of lost youth by high-street fashion any more. Have now reached said point. Am going to abandon Kookai, Agnes B, Whistles etc. in favour of Country Casuals.

Monday 30 September

9.30pm Bloody hell. Just met Shazzer and Jude for drink trying to get sympathy for jail plight but Shazzer was in mad auto-witter about Bob Geldof taking up cause of excluded fathers. "It's a bad thing for feminism - if he had just kept quiet men would never have noticed that they have gone so far with their vain, selfish, sexist commitment phobic antics, that women have had enough of them, and instead of boasting about being designed to spread their seed as widely as possible and moaning about women trying to trap them into fatherhood they will soon be lonely redundant sad acts having to beg even to be allowed to take someone else's children to the swings for 20 minutes."

I tried to get the conversation back on to myself by telling them I keep having nightmares about rats in the bed but Shaz just said "Oh for God's sake you've never slept with anything but total rats. Bastards. They don't deserve to be warned."

Escaped home to telly and v. much cheered up by slimy Neil Hamilton story. Was beginning to fear it was loss of brain cells with age which was making politics seem increasingly incomprehensible and boring but now realise was just that there has been no good sleaze for ages. It is so marvellous when the summer is over and one can get back to the real business of politics.