Bridget Jones’s Valentines Day

Tuesday 14 February

9st, alcohol units 2 (romantic Valentine’s Day treat – 2 bottles Becks, on own, huh), cigarettes 12, calories 1545.

8 a.m. Oooh, goody. Valentine’s Day. Wonder if the post has come yet. Maybe there will be a card from Daniel. Or a secret admirer. Or some flowers or heart-shaped chocolates. Quite excited, actually.

Brief moment of wild joy when discovered bunch of roses in the hallway. Daniel! Rushed down and gleefully picked them up just as the downstairs-flat door opened and Vanessa came out.

‘Ooh, they look nice,’ she said enviously. ‘Who are they from?’

‘I don’t know!’ I said coyly, glancing down at the card. ‘Ah . . .’ I tailed off. ‘They’re for you.’

‘Never mind. Look, this is for you,’ said Vanessa, encouragingly. It was an Access bill.

Decided to have cappuccino and chocolate croissants on way to work to cheer self up. Do not care about figure. Is no point as no one loves or cares about me.

On the way in on the tube you could see who had had Valentine cards and who hadn’t. Everyone was looking round trying to catch each other’s eye and either smirking or looking away defensively.

Got into the office to find Perpetua had a bunch of flowers the size of a sheep on her desk.

‘Well, Bridget!’ she bellowed so that everyone could hear. ‘How many did you get?’

I slumped into my seat muttering, ‘Shud-urrrrrrrp,’ out of the side of my mouth like a humiliated teenager.

‘Come on! How many?’
I thought she was going to get hold of my earlobe and start twisting it or something.

‘The whole thing is ridiculous and meaningless. Complete commercial exploitation.’

‘I knew you didn’t get any,’ crowed Perpetua. It was only then that I noticed Daniel was listening to us across the room and laughing.

Oh God. Valentine’s Day tomorrow. Why? Why? Why is entire world geared to make people not involved in romance feel stupid when everyone knows romance does not work anyway. Look at royal family. Look at Mum and Dad.

Valentine’s Day purely commercial, cynical enterprise, anyway. Matter of supreme indifference to me.