"In favour of what?" said Richard Finch.
I gave him a really quite enigmatic smile. "I think you might find you've answered your own question there," I said. "Male or female?"
"Both," said Richard sadistically, "one of each." "Straight or gay?" I exoceted back.
"I said Middle England," he snarled witheringly. "Now get on the bloody phone, and try to remember to put a skirt on in future, you're distracting my team."
Honestly, as if they would take any bloody notice as they are all obsessed with their careers and it is not that short, it had just ridden up.
Patchouli says it is in favour of the European or single currency, Which she thinks means either. Oh fuck, A fuck. Right. Ah, telephone. That'll be the Shadow Treasury press office.
12.25 p.m. oh, hello, darling." Grrr. Was my mother. "Listen, have you got a 'boob tube'?"
"Mum, I've told you not to ring me at work unless it's an emergency," I hissed.
"Oh I know, but you see the problem is we're going on Saturday and the shops are still full of their winter things," Suddenly, I had an idea. It took a while to get it through.
"Honestly, Bridget," she said after I explained. "We don't want lorries coming from Germany taking all our gold away in the night."
"But Mum, as you say, life is for living! You've got to try everything."
Silence. "It will help the currency of the African people." Not sure if this was strictly true but never mind.
"Well, that may well be, but I haven't got time for TV appearances when I'm trying to pack."
"Listen," I hissed, "do you want the boob tube or not"'
12.40 p.m. Hurrahs Have managed to get not one, not two but three Middle-England voters. Una wants to come up with Mum so they can go through my wardrobe and pop into Dickens and Jones, and Geoffrey wants to be on the television. Am top-flight researcher.
"So! Busy, are we?" Richard Finch was looking all postluncheon sweaty and swaggery. "Planning the Jones version of the really effective single currency plan, are we?"
"Well, not quite," I murmured with a cool self-deprecating smile. "But I have got you your Middle-England voters who are pro. Three of them, actually," I added casually while rifling through my "notes'.
"Oh, didn't anyone tell you?" he said, smirking evilly. "We've dropped it. We're doing bomb scares now. Can you get me a couple of Tory commuters from Middle England who can see the IRA's argument?"
8 p.m. Ugh. Spent three hours in wind-whipped Victoria trying to manipulate commuters" opinions in direction of IRA to point where began to fear immediate arrest and transfer to Maze Prison. Got back to office worrying what Mum and Una would find in my wardrobe, to guffawing conversation with Richard Finch along lines of 'You didn't really think you were going to find anyone, did you? Sucker!'
Have got to, got to find another job. Ooh goody, telephone.
Was Tom. Hurrah! He is back! "Bridget! You've lost so much weight!"
"Have I?" I said delighted, before remembering observation was being made down telephonic line.
Tom then went into great long enthuse about his trip to San Francisco.
"The boy on customs was completely divine. He said, "Anything to declare?" I said, "Only this outrageous tan!" Anyway, he gave me his number and I shagged him in a bathhouse!"
Felt familiar flash of envy at ease of gay sex, where people seem to shag each other immediately just because they both feel like it and nobody worries about having three dates first or how long to leave it before phoning afterwards.
After forty-five minutes outlining increasingly outrageous escapades he went, "Anyway, you know how I hate talking about me. How are you? How's that Mark guy, with his firm little buttocks?"
Told him Mark was in New York but decided to leave Rabbitboy till later for fear of over-arousing him. Chose instead to bore on about work.
"I've got to find another job, it's really undermining my sense of personal dignity and self-esteem. I need something that will allow me to make serious use of my talents and abilities."
"Hmmm. I see what you mean. Have you thought about going on the game?"
"Oh very funny."
"Why don't you do some journalism on the side? Do some interviews in your spare time?"
Was really brilliant idea. Tom said he was going to talk to his friend Adam on the Independent about giving me an interview or a review to do or something!
Am going to be top-flight journalist and gradually build up more and more work and extra money so can give up job and merely sit on sofa with laptop on knee. Hurrah!
Wednesday 5 February
Just called Dad to see how he was and if he would like to do something nice on Valentine's Day.
"Oh you are good, m'dear. But your mother said I need to expand my consciousness."
"So?"
"I'm going up to Scarborough to play golf with Geoffrey." Goody. Glad he's feeling OK.
Thursday 13 February
9st 3, alcohol units 4, cigarettes 19, gym visits 0, early Valentines 0, mentions of Valentine's Day by boyfriend 0, point of Valentine's Day if boyfriend does not even mention it 0.
V. fed up. Is Valentine's Day tomorrow and Mark has not even mentioned it. Do not understand why he has to stay in New York all weekend anyway. Surely the legal offices are closed. Goals achieved in Mark's absence: No. of gym visits 0.
Evenings spent with Jude and Shazzer 6 (and another one tomorrow night, looks like). Minutes spent with Dad 0. Minutes spent talking to Dad about his feelings 0. Minutes spent talking to Dad about golf with Geoffrey bellowing in the background 287. Journalistic articles written 0. Pounds lost 0. Pounds gained 2.
Have sent Mark Valentine anyway. Chocolate heart. Sent it to hotel before he went saying "not to open till Feb 14th". Think he will know it is from me.
Friday 14 February
9st 4, gym visits 0, Valentines 0, flowers, trinkets, Valentine's gifts 0, point of Valentine's Day 0, difference between Valentines Day and any other day 0, point of living: uncertain, possibility of overreaction to disaster of Non-Valentine's Day: slight
8 a.m. Really beyond caring about things like Valentine's Day. Is just so not important in general scheme of things.
8.20 a.m. Will just go downstairs and see if post has come.
8.22 a.m. Post has not come.
8.27 a.m. Post has still not come.
8.30 a.m. Post has come! Hurrahs
8.35 a.m. Was bank statement. Nothing from Mark, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. Nothing.
8.40 a.m. Cannot believe am spending Valentine's Day alone again. Worst was two years ago when went to Gambia with Jude and Shaz and had to go one day early because of flights. When went down to dinner was all hearts in trees. Every single table contained couple holding hands and had to sit there on own reading Learning to Love Yourself.
Feel v. sad. He can't have not known. He just doesn't care. It must mean I am a Just For Now Girl because, as it says in Mars and Venus on a Date, I think if a man is seriously interested in you he always buys you presents like lingerie and jewels and not books or vacuums. Maybe is his way of saying it is all over and is going to tell me when he gets back.
8.43 a.m. Maybe Jude and Shaz were right and should have just got out when warning signs came. You see with Daniel last year if first time he stood me up on our first date with a pathetic excuse I had got out and detached, instead of going into Denial, would never have ended up finding a naked woman on a sun lounger on his roof terrace. Actually come to think of it, Daniel is anagram of Denial!
Is a pattern. Keep on finding naked people in boyfriends" houses. Am repeating patterns.