All language subtitles for Bridget.Joness.Diary.English-WWW.MY-SUBS.CO

It all began
on New Year's 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.

There you are, dumpling.

My mum, a strange creature...

from a time when pickles on toothpicks
was still the height of sophistication.

Doilies, Pam? Hello, Bridget.

Third drawer from the top, Una,
under the minigherkins.

By the way, the Darcys are here.

They brought Mark with them.

Ah, here we go.
You remember Mark.

You used to play
in his paddling pool.

- He's a barrister. Very well-off.
- No, I don't remember.

He's divorced, apparently.

His wife was Japanese. Very cruel
race. Now, what are you going to put on?

This.
Oh, don't be silly, Bridget.

You'll never get a boyfriend if you look
like you've wandered out of Auschwitz.

Now, run upstairs. Laid out
something lovely on your bed.

Great. I was wearing a carpet.

Here she is.

My little Bridget.

Mmm. Hi, Uncle Geoffrey.

Hmm. Had a drink? No.

No? Come on, then.
Actually, not my uncle.

Someone who insists I call him
"Uncle" while he gropes my ass...

and asks me the question
dreaded by all singletons.

So, how's your love life?

Super. Thanks, Uncle G.

Still no fellow, then, eh?
All right, then.

You career girls can't put it off forever,
you know.

Ticktock, ticktock.

Hello, Dad. Hello, darling.

How's it going? Torture.

Mother's trying
to fix you up with some divorcé.

Human rights barrister.
Pretty nasty beast, apparently.

Ooh. Dingdong.

Maybe this time
Mum had got it right.

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

Good luck.

- Mark?
- Maybe this was...

the mysterious Mr. Right
I'd been waiting my whole life to meet.

You remember Bridget.

Maybe not.

She used to run around your lawn
with no clothes on, remember?

Uh, no, not as such.

Come and look at your gravy,
Pam. I think it's going to need sieving.

Of course it doesn't need sieving.
Just stir it, Una.

Uh... Yes, of course.
I'll be right there.

Sorry. Lumpy gravy calls.

- So.
- So.

Are you staying at your
parents' for New Year?

Yes. You? Hmm. Oh,
no, no, no, no.

I was in London
at a party last night,

so I'm afraid
I'm a bit hung over.

Wish I could by lying with my
head in a toilet like all normal people.

New Year's resolution:
Drink less.

Oh, and quit smoking.

Yeah. Oh...

And keep New Year's resolutions.

Oh. And, uh,

Stop talking total nonsense
to strangers.

In fact, stop talking full stop.

Yes, well, perhaps
it's time to eat.

Apparently she lives just
around the corner from you.

Mother, I do not need
a blind date.

Particularly not with some
verbally incontinent spinster...

who smokes like a chimney, drinks
like a fish and dresses like her mother.

Yummy. Turkey curry.

My favorite.

And that was it. Right there.

Right there.
That was the moment.

I suddenly realized 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 wild dogs.

Or I was about to turn into
Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction.

You have no messages.

And so I made a major decision.

I had to make sure that next
year I wouldn't end up shit-faced...

and listening to sad FM,
easy listening for the over-thirties.

I decided to take control
of my life and start a diary...

to tell the truth
about Bridget Jones.

The whole truth.

Resolution number one:
Obviously we'll lose 20pounds. Oh.

Number two: Always put last
night's pants in the laundry basket.

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 fantasize
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.

Or maybe I'm wrong.

Happy New Year, Mr. Fitzherbert.

Happy New Year, Brenda.
Mr. Fitzherbert. "Titspervert," more like.

Daniel's boss who stares freely at my
breasts with no idea who I am or what I do.

Morning. I need that Kafka's
Motorbike release by 11:00. Perpetua.

Ah. Slightly senior and therefore
thinks she's in charge of me.

Most of the time I just want
to staple things to her head.

Publicity.

All I asked...

I only asked if he wanted
to come on a minibreak to Paris.

Daily call from Jude.
Best friend.

Head of investment
at Brightlings Bank...

who spends most of her time
trapped in the ladies' toilet...

crying over
her fuckwit boyfriend.

I'm too needy. Am I codependent?

No, you're not. It's not you.

You're lovely.
It's vile Richard.

Ugh, he's just
a big knobhead with no knob.

Is some people's opinion
of Kafka,

but they couldn't be more wrong.

This book is a searing vision of
the wounds our century has inflicted...

on traditional masculinity.

It's positively Vonnegutesque.

Thank you for calling,
Professor Leavis.

Guest list for launch party. Ah.

F.R. Leavis?

Mm-hmm. Wow!

Wow. Wha... The F.R. Leavis who wrote
Mass Civilization and Minority Culture?

The F.R. Leavis
who died in 1978?

Amazing.

Emergency summit
with urban family...

for coherent discussion
of career crisis.

Fuck them. Fuck the lot of them.

Tell them they can stick fucking
Leavis up their fucking arses.

Good, good. That's very useful.

Shazza, journalist.
Likes to say fuck, or not.

Jude, what would you do if
one of your assistants made...

a harmless little
mistake like that?

- I'd fire you, Bridge.
- Excellent.

Is that Cleaver chap still as
cute as ever? Oh, God, yes.

Then I think a well-timed blowjob
is probably the best answer.

Oh, you love it.

Are you that chap that sang
that song? Yes. Yes, I am.

Tom, '80s 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 '90s.

Well,
great song. Thank you. Thank you so much.

Total poof, of course.
More vodka?

No!
Yes! Fill her up, goddamn it!

At least now I'm in my thirties,
I can hold my drink.

Oops! Mind the step.

She's fine. Drive on.

Apparently F.R. Leavis
is coming.

Afternoon, Bridget.

What do you mean
you're going on holiday?

What about Julia?

We've got a problem with
the Teddy Knows Best campaign.

The only problem is the kitchen.

Frankly, there isn't room
to swing a cat.

Message Mr. Cleaver.
Am appalled by message.

Skirt is demonstrably
neither sick nor absent.

Appalled by management's
blatantly size-ist attitude to skirt.

Suggest management sick,
not skirt!

Right. Yeah.

No, I understand that.
I understand that perfectly.

Very bad start to the year.

Have been seduced by informality
of messaging medium...

into flirting
with office scoundrel.

Will persevere with resolution
to find a nice, sensible man.

Will put a stop to flirting first
thing tomorrow. Good plan.

If walking past office...

was attempt to demonstrate
presence of skirt,

can only say that it has
failed parlously... Cleave.

Shut up, please.
I am very busy and important.

P.S. How dare you sexually
harass me in this impertinent manner.

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.

Mustn't read too much
into it, though.

And it all began, of course,
with some very irresponsible E-mailing...

over Bridget's
nonexistent skirt.

Daniel,
the New York office for you.

Uh, yeah, tell 'em
I'll get back to 'em.

Daniel.

Jones... Evening,
Kenneth. Evening, Daniel.

If you've got a moment,
I'd like a word before you leave.

- Yes, certainly.
- Yeah.

I'll see you in a sec.
Excellent.

And, Brenda? Yes.

At the Kafka's Motorbike thing,
thought it might be fun...

if you introduce me
before I introduce him.

Add a lovely sense of occasion.

Certainly, sir.

Psst. Brenda.

What are you doing tonight?
Um, actually, I'm busy.

Oh, right. Well, that's a shame.

I just, uh... Well,
I thought it might be a charitable thing...

to take your skirt out for dinner
and try and fatten it up a bit.

Mmm. Maybe you could come too.

What about tomorrow? No.

Tomorrow's the launch.
Ah, yes, of course.

Possibly the worst book
ever published.

Well, in the end,
that's not the ad line we've gone for.

Uh, next night.
Let's see, shall we?

Night, Daniel.

Right. No pressure, Bridge,

but your whole future
happiness now depends...

on how you behave
on this one social occasion.

Right. What shall I do?

First, look gorgeous.

Oh, God!

Two: Then totally ignore Daniel
and suck up to famous authors.

Salman. Salman. Salman.

Circulate,

oozing intelligence.

Isn't it terrible
about Chechnya?

Isn't it terrible
about Chechnya? Chechny-a!

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...

- All over your face?
- Exactly.

Excuse me. I'm terribly sorry to
interrupt you when you're having dinner.

It's just that... Yes. Yes,
it was me.

Yes. Nine years ago.

No current plans
to record anything else.

Thank you so much.
Oh, it's just that...

Your ch... your chair
is on my wife's coat.

Your... Your chair.
Of course it is.

- I'm terribly sorry.
- Thank you so much.

Hmm. Major dilemma.

If I actually do,
by some terrible chance,

end up in flagrante, surely these would
be most attractive at crucial moment.

However, chances of reaching crucial
moment greatly increase by wearing these,

scary stomach-holding-in panties very
popular with grannies the world over.

Huh. Tricky. Very tricky.

Ladies and gentlemen,

welcome to the launch
of Kafka's Motorbike,

the greatest book of our time, and
here to introduce it is Mr. Titspervert.

Oh, Fitzherbert, Fitzherbert,
Fitzherbert.

Okay, circulate,
oozing intelligence.

Ignore Daniel and be fabulous
with everyone else.

I am the intellectual equal
of everyone else here. Ooh.

It's like a whole theory
of short fiction...

and of the novella, you know?

And, of course, the problem with
Martin's definition of the novella...

is that it really
only applies to him.

That doesn't sound
like Martin. Not.

I could be wrong.
What do you think?

Uh, do you know...

where the toilets are, huh?

Ah. Stay calm.
Can't get any worse.

- What are you doing here?
- I've been asking myself the same question.

I came with a colleague.
So how are you?

Well, apart from being
very disappointed...

not to see my favorite
reindeer jumper again, I'm well.

Anyone going to introduce me?

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 fat-ass old bag who
spends her time bossing me around.

Maybe not.

Anyone going to
introduce me? Ah.

Perpetua.

Uh, this is Mark Darcy.

Mark's a top barrister. Oh,
he comes from Grafton Underwood.

Perpetua is one
of my work colleagues.

Hi, Mark. I know you
by reputation, of course.

Ah, Natasha. This is Bridget
Jones. Bridget, this is Natasha.

Natasha is a top attorney
and specializes in family law.

Bridget works in publishing and
used to play naked in my paddling pool.

How odd.

- Perpetua, how's the house hunt going?
- Disaster.

Can't even go into it with you.

By the by, that man is gorgeous.

Ah, yes, Mark.

Just give me time. Give me time.

You've written
"a searing vision"...

Can you remember
the rest of this?

"Of the wounds our century has
inflicted on traditional masculinity.

Positively Vonnegutesque."

Listen, you don't know
where the loos are here, do you?

Y-yes. They're that way. Thanks.

One, two.

Ladies and gentlemen.

La...

L-Ladies and...

La... Oi!

Oi.

Sorry, the, uh,

mike's not w-working.

Ladies and gentlemen,

welcome to the launch
of Kafka's Motorbike,

the greatest book of our time.

Obviously, except for your books,
Mr. Rushdie,

which are also very good.

And Lord Archer.

Yours aren't bad either.

Anyway, uh, what I mean is, uh,

welcome, ladies and gentlemen.

Thank you for coming to the
launch of one of the top 30...

books of our time.

Anyway. At least.

And here to introduce it,

properly, is, uh,
the man we all call, uh,

Titspervert. Mister...

Titspervert! Mister...

Titspervert. Fitzherbert.

Uh, because...

that is his name.

Mr. Fitzherbert?

Thank you.

Thank you, Brenda.

Just switch this on.

So how autobiographical
is your work, Salman?

You know, it's an amazing thing.
Nobody's ever asked me that question.

Excuse me.

Jones, sod 'em all.

It was a b-brilliant...

postmodernist masterpiece
of oratorical fireworks, really.

You're looking very sexy, Jones.

I'm going to have to take you out to dinner
now whether you like it or not, okay?

Come on. Get your stuff.

How do you feel about this whole situation
in Chechnya? Isn't it a nightmare?

I couldn't give a fuck, Jones.
Now look.

How do you know,
um, Arsey Darcy?

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

I bet you did, you dirty bitch.

What about you?

Same. Yeah.

No, no, I was, um,
best man at his wedding.

Um, knew him from Cambridge.

He was a mate. And then what?

And then, uh... nothing.

You don't need to protect him.
He's no friend of mine.

Well, um, then,
many years later,

I made the somewhat
catastrophic mistake...

of introducing him
to my fiancée.

And, um...

I couldn't say in all honesty
I've ever quite forgiven him.

God, so... he's a nasty bastard,

as well as a dull bastard.

Yes. Yes, I think that's fair.

Anyway, fuck him. Listen,
don't let him ruin our evening.

Why don't you have
some more wine,

and tell me more about practicing
French-kissing with the other girls at school.

That's a very good story.
It wasn't French kissing.

Don't care. Make it up.
That's an order, Jones.

So, um, how about
a drink at my place?

Totally innocent,
no funny business, just full sex.

No, no, no. I should get a taxi.

But thank you
for the lovely dinner.

It's a pleasure, Jones.

Now, these are very
silly little boots, Jones.

And this is a very silly little dress,
and, um, these are, uh...

fuck me...
absolutely enormous panties.

Jesus. Fuck.

No, no. Don't apologize.
I like them.

Hello, Mummy!

I'm sorry.

I have to take another look.
They're too good to be true. No.

There's nothing to be embarrassed about.
I'm wearing something similar myself.

- Here, I'll show you.
- No...

That was fantastic.

Yeah? Daniel?

What happens at the office?

Oh. Well, I'm glad
you asked that.

You see,
it's a publishing house.

So that means that people
write things for us,

and then we print out all the pages
and fasten them together...

and make them into
what we call a "book," Jones.

No, do you think
people will notice?

Notice what? Us.

Working together,
sleeping together.

Hang on a minute, Jones.
Just slow down.

It started on Tuesday,
and now it's Thursday.

It's not exactly...

a long-term relationship yet,
is it?

You very... bad... man.

Bridget Jones,
wanton sex goddess...

with a very bad man
between her thighs.

Mum. Hi.

It's a truth
universally acknowledged...

that the moment one area
of your life starts going okay,

another part of it
falls spectacularly to pieces.

Ah, anyone else
want to have it oeuf?

Don't be shy, madam.

Uh, uh, French.

Have it oeuf
with the WiseCrack Egg Peeler.

Now, um, nice firm grip,

Put it in the hole.

Up, down, up, down,
and off it comes in your hand.

Oh, mind the overspray.

Sorry.

Darling, if I came in with my knickers
on my head, he wouldn't notice.

I've spent 35 years
cleaning his house,

washing his clothes,
bringing up his children.

I'm your child too.

To be honest, darling, having
children isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Given my chance again,
I'm not sure I'd have any.

Now it's the winter of my life, and I
haven't actually got anything of my own.

I've got no power,
no, no real career,

no, no sex life.

Got no life at all. I'm like the
grasshopper who sang all summer.

- Like Germaine sodding Geer.
- Greer.

Well, anyway, I'm not having it.

And I've been talent-spotted.

Julian thinks
I've got great potential.

Who's Julian? From the
Home Shopping Channel.

Comes into the store
to have his colors done.

Potential for what?
As a demonstrator,

on his cable show;
You know, his assistant.

Apparently,
it's the highest-rated show on the channel.

Well, apart from the one with the
fat people who beat up their relatives.

I must whiz. Have you
heard from Mark Darcy?

Good-bye, Mum.

Oh, Julian.

Sorry to keep you waiting.

And a few weeks later,
it got lots worse.

Hello! Look at this.

Hanging off
this heart-shaped pendant.

One of my own
personal recommendations...

is this absolutely stunning
matching necklace and earring set.

The earrings, measuring...

just over a centimeter...

in genuine diamante with
topaz and lapis lazuli...

in a lovely mock-gold finish.

The exact replica of those
worn at Wimbledon in 1993...

by Her Royal Highness,
the Duchess of Kent.

Well, has she actually
moved out, then?

Apparently she and this tangerine-tinted
buffoon are suddenly an item.

Half our friends have had them
round to bloody dinner.

She's even taking jaundiced Julian
to Una Alconbury's tarts and vicars party.

That's not the Pamela I knew.
That's cruel.

Still, um, could be
a golden opportunity.

If you spent the entire party
flirting with other women,

it would drive Mum
wild with jealousy. Will it?

That's how I got my man.

Have you got a boyfriend?
A real one?

I have, Father. I have.

And he's perfect.

Hurrah. Am no longer
tragic spinster...

but proper girlfriend
of bona fide sex god...

so committed
that he's taking me...

on a full-blown,
minibreak holiday weekend.

Promise me we don't have
to sit in little boats...

and read poncey poetry
to each other.

He's also agreed to protect me...

at Uncle Geoffrey's hideous
tarts and vicars fancy dress party.

This can't be just shagging.
A minibreak means true love.

Suddenly feel like screen goddess
in manner of Grace Kelly.

Though, perhaps, ever so slightly
less elegant under pressure.

Very quiet here, isn't it?
Are we the only guests, or...

We have a wedding this weekend.

I believe there are
just four of you not involved.

You do the boats,
I'll do the tea.

- Oh, Jesus.
- Hello there.

Hi. Well, well.

Take it you're also heading
for the Alconburys' rockery.

- Yes, that's right.
- I brought Natasha.

Get a bit of work done. Thought I might
make it a not entirely wasted weekend.

How interesting. What a
gripping life you do lead.

Yeah, well, I'll, um,
see you upstairs in a second.

Mmm, well, the weakness
of their case...

lies in the deposition
they made on August 30.

"Season of mist and...

mellow fruitlessness."

Oh, fuck 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, bollocks. Oh, shit.

I'm boarding you, Bridge. I can't
see an alternative. Don't you dare!

- I'm king of the world!
- No!

Fuck me!

Piss and bollocks.
All right, that's it.

You stupid arse!

Bollocks. All right.

- Ah! No!
- Ready?

So childish.

Yes.

Hey, Darce! Come on in!

Water's lovely.

Come on. You're working too hard,
mate.

Daniel. Yes, Bridget?

That thing you just did is
actually illegal in several countries.

Well, that is, of course, the major reason
I'm so thrilled to be living in Britain today.

Yes, I can't understand
why the prime minister...

doesn't mention it more
in his speeches.

Oh, you should write to
him about it. I intend to.

Daniel. Bridget.

- Do you love me?
- Shut up, or I'll do it again.

- Do you love me?
- Right. You asked for it.

And over you go.

I'm going to give you
something to bite on.

Here. Okay?
Pop this in your mouth, darling.

No.

You're begging for it.

Stop it!

I've got to go back to town.

A meeting's come up.

On a Sunday? No,
the meeting's first thing tomorrow.

I've got to work
on some figures.

We could just pop into the party
for a minute...

I'm sorry. I just can't
do it. And leave early.

I've got to head back.

Listen, Daniel, if you've changed
your mind, you could just say so.

Because, honestly, I don't see
what could be so important.

No, well,
you wouldn't, would you?

'Cause you don't have the faintest idea
of just how much trouble the company's in.

You swan in in your short skirt
and your sexy see-through blouse...

and fanny around
with press releases.

This is the Americans flying in 'cause
they're thinking of shutting us down,

for fuck's sake!

Sorry.

I'm sorry, Bridge.
I know I'm being a prat.

I'm going to arrange a lovely
car to come and pick you up...

take you back to London
after the party, okay?

If you have to travel alone,
travel in style.

And, um, I also think
it's very important...

that you win
this costume competition.

Good. Good start.

Now, then, Miss Jones,
where does this go?

Oh, well, here we go.

Trying hard to fight off a vision of
Mum and Auntie Una in fishnet tights.

Seems unnatural,
wrong even, for 60-year-olds...

to dress up as prostitutes and
priests on a Sunday afternoon.

Oh, holy Jesus.

- Bridget!
- Where are all the other tarts and vicars?

Oh,
dear. Didn't Geoffrey call you?

Geoffrey, didn't you telephone Colin
and Bridget? How's my little Bridget?

- Bop-bop.
- Oh-ho.

- Geoffrey!
- So, where's this chap of yours, then, eh?

- Ah, yes, well, he had to work, so...
- Ha! Likely tale.

Off they run. Whee!

Bizarre what some men
find attractive.

- Oh, God.
- Darling. Geoffrey!

What on earth are you wearing?

You look like
a common prostitute.

Yes, well, that was actually
the point. Say hi to Julian.

Hello, Julian.

My dear,
you and your mother could be sisters.

And what a lovely bracelet.

It's what I call
an "all-rounder."

Sort of thing one can wear
with anything to any occasion.

- Have you spoken to my dad?
- Yes.

He's behaving most bizarrely.

I think he was actually trying to flirt
with Penny Husbands-Bosworth, poor thing.

She was very frightened. She's
only just had her ovaries done.

I don't know what you ever
saw in him. Shh. Bad man.

Didn't tell you either.

Well, I didn't spend
as much as Bernard, thank God.

Oh... I'm sorry, Dad.

- The way she looked at me.
- Well, she loves you, really.

You love each other.
This is only a temporary glitch.

Is it? I don't know.

I don't know.

Ah, Bridget! There you are.

Don't worry.
You're not the only one.

This is Penny. Geoffrey didn't
get in touch with her either.

I'm sorry? I was saying
Geoffrey didn't contact you either...

to tell you the tarts and vicars
concept had gone out the window.

Oh, yes, he did. Oh, right.

Lovely dress. Very exotic.

What a shame you couldn't
bring your boyfriend, Bridget.

What's his name? David?
Darren? Daniel Cleaver.

Oh. Is he a friend
of yours, Mark?

- Absolutely not.
- I hope he's good enough for our little Bridget.

I think I can say with total confidence,
absolutely not.

Well, I'm sure he'd say the same about you,
given your past behavior.

- Sorry?
- I think you know what I mean.

Mark?

Hmm. Looks like Auntie Shirley
didn't get the message either.

Hi.

I just really,
really wanted to see a friendly face.

Oh, now,
listen. I tell you what. I have an idea.

Let me finish this while you go
home and have a long hot bath,

and I'll call round,
we'll have dinner later, okay?

Is there someone here?

Not that I'm aware of.

Unless that Bosnian family's
moved in again. Bastards.

I'm sorry. Sorry.

I'm going mad.

Listen, I am feeling
really bad, actually.

I should have been there. No,
I'm sorry.

No, I'm sorry. At least
I got a lot of work done.

Just give me
one more hour, okay?

Fine. That's fine.
I'll go home and de-bunny.

Oh, and you know, last night...

when I said that I loved you?

Yeah? I didn't mean it.

I was being ironic. Oh,
good. Yeah, I know, I know.

All right.

Thank you, madam.

Bridge?

Bridget!

This is Lara
from the New York office.

Lara, this is Bridget.

Hey there.

I thought you said she was thin.

I was hoping that you would
want to be a part of it.

Listen, this is...
this is totally insane.

I'm 36. It may be
my last chance to have a child.

Alex...

The male penetrates the female
and leaves.

Coitus is brief and perfunctory.

For the female,
all there is to do now is wait and wait.

We've had
a very good response...

to the Teddy Knows Best
teaser campaign, and, uh,

had various local radio bids for
author interviews, which is good,

Stop that. I feel terrible. But it's,
uh...

The thing is with Lara and me...

Well, you know.
No, you'll have to fill me in.

Well, the truth is, the truth is
we're the same, Bridge, you and me.

You know, we're two people of a certain
age looking for the moment to commit...

and finding it really hard.

And I just think that in the end
it's got to be something...

extraordinary, something which
makes us go that extra mile, and I think...

Lara and... I don't know...

being American or something
to do with confidence,

and, um, being so...

well, young, you know.

Well, we've...
become very close.

You've only just met her.
She flew in yesterday.

Oh. Tsk.

Silly Bridget.

You haven't only just met her.
No.

No, I got to know her pretty well when
we were in the New York office together.

Oh, fuck.

There's no easy way
to say this, but, uh,

I wanted... I wanted you
to be the first to know that, uh,

we're engaged.

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 dogs,

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.

Fine. Fine.

Why do you want to be in television?

Well, I've realized that I've
become deeply committed...

to communicating to the public the
up-to-the-moment and in-depth news,

both political and ecological.

What do you think of the
El Nino phenomenon? Um,

it's a blip.

I think, basically,
Latin music is on its way out.

So why do you want to work
in television?

Because I'm passionately committed
to communicating with children.

- They are the future.
- Do you have any children of your own?

Oh, Christ, no. Yech!

Sorry.

So, why do you want to work
in television?

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

Fair enough. Start Monday.
We'll see how we go.

Oh, and, uh, incidentally,

at Sit Up, Britain, no one ever
gets sacked for shaggin' the boss.

That's a matter of principle.

Bridge, uh, come on, hey.

I know it's been awkward as arse,
but there's no need to leave.

No, actually, there is. I've
been offered a job in television.

- Television?
- Mm-hmm.

And they want me to start
straight away.

Um, so I've got to leave
in about, ooh, three minutes.

So, um...

Whoa, j-just hold it
right there, Miss Jones.

I'm sorry to inform you,
but I think you'll find that, by contract,

you are expected to give
at least six weeks' notice.

Ah, yes. Well, you know, I thought with the
company being in so much trouble and all,

you wouldn't miss the person who
"waltzes in in a see-through top...

and fannies about
with the press releases."

- Bridget.
- I want to hear this.

Because if she gives one inch, I'm
gonna fire her bony little bottom anyway...

for being totally spineless.

- What?
- Well, I just think you should know, that, um...

- There are a lot of prospects here for a talented p...
- Daniel...

- Just give me a minute, would you, Simon? Thanks.
- Righto, boss man.

Lots of prospects...

for a person who, uh,

you know, who,
perhaps for personal reasons,

has been slightly overlooked
professionally.

Thank you, Daniel.
That is very good to know.

But if staying here means
working within ten yards of you,

frankly, I'd rather have a job
wiping Saddam Hussein's ass.

Well,
bye, everyone.

Oh, just sod off.

Hello and welcome to Sit Up,
Britain, a current affairs show...

Okay, everybody, it is bonfire night,
and we are on fire.

We have live fire station feeds
from Newcastle,

Swansea, Sheffield and Lewisham,
just poised for tragedy.

Bridget Jones, where are you?

I'm here, Richard.

Put on some more makeup.
I want you on camera.

- Uh...
- I'm thinking miniskirt.

I'm thinking fireman's helmet.
I want you pointing a hose.

I want you sliding down the pole.
Then go straight to the interview.

Great. I'll do it.

No problem. Fine. Right.

So you drop into shot and then
interview Chief Fireman Bevan. Yep.

Yep, yep. Go, go. Go, go. Go!

Go? Oh, no.

We're going to firefighters
in Newcastle first.

Stop! Climb back up.
Climb back up!

On you in 30seconds. Okay.

What the fuck is going on? She's supposed to
be sliding down the pole, not climbing it.

- Go, go. Go, go. Go!
- Ooh! Okay!

Oh, Jesus Christ!

Okay. We're out of time.
Just wind her up.

Well, that seems to be about all we've
got time for down here in Lewisham.

Chief Officer Bevan,
thank you very much.

Excellent fire station.

Uh, and now...
back to the studio.

Excellent. Am national
laughingstock.

Have bottom the size of Brazil,

am daughter of broken home,
am rubbish at everything and...

Oh, God. Am having dinner
with Magda and Jeremy.

The only thing worse
than smug, married couple...

Lots of smug, married couples.

Right.
Everyone, this is Bridget.

Bridge, this is Hugo and Jane.

- Hi.
- You know Cosmo and Woney.

- Hi, Bridge.
- This is Alistair and Henrietta.

- Hello.
- Julia and Michael.

Joanne and Paul. Hello.

And Jeremy's partners from chambers,
Natasha Glenville and Mark Darcy.

- Hi there.
- Hello.

Not in your bunny
girl outfit today? No.

Uh, we bunnies only wear our
tails on very special occasions.

Right,
B. Sit yourself down. Right.

Hey, Bridge,
how's your love life?

Still going out - with
that publishing chappie?

Uh, n-no. No, actually.

- Terribly good.
- Never dip your nib in the office ink.

- Right.
- You really ought to hurry up - and gets progged up, old girl.

Time's a-running out. Ticktock.

Yes, yes. Uh, tell me.

Is it one in four marriages that
ends in divorce now or one in three?

One in three.

Seriously, the office is full
of single girls in their30s.

Fine physical specimens, but they
just can't seem to hold down a chap.

Yes, why is it there are so many unmarried
women in their30s these days, Bridget?

Oh, I don't know.

I suppose it doesn't help that,
underneath our clothes,

our entire bodies
are covered in scales.

I very much enjoyed your
Lewisham fire report, by the way.

Thank you.

Yeah, well...

So, it didn't work out
with Daniel Cleaver?

No, it didn't.

I'm delighted to hear it.

Look, are you and Cosmo
in this together?

I mean, you seem
to go out of your way...

to try to make me feel like a
complete idiot every time I see you,

and you really needn't bother.

I already feel like an idiot
most of the time anyway,

with or without
a fireman's pole.

That'll be my taxi.

Good night.

Look, um, I'm sorry...

if I've been...

- What?
- 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 you tend to let whatever is 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...

that I was unforgivably rude
and wearing a reindeer jumper...

that my mother had given me
the day before.

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.

Ah, apart from the smoking
and the drinking...

and the vulgar mother...
and the verbal diarrhea.

No, I like you very much...
just as you are.

Mark, we really are making
progress on the case in here.

Jeremy's had
a most brilliant idea.

Right. Right.

I must go because...

Well... bye.

Uh, "just as you are"?

Not thinner? Not cleverer?

Not with slightly bigger breasts
and a slightly smaller nose?

Well... fuck me.

But this is someone you hate,
right?

Mmm. Mmm. Yes, yes. I hate him.

November9. Weight: 138pounds.

Cigarettes: 3. Birthday: 33.

Okay, Bridget. See if you
can get it right this time.

The verdict in the Aghani-Heaney
case is expected today.

Get yourself down to the high
court. I want a hardheaded interview.

You do know
the Aghani-Heaney case.

Yes, of course.

Big case...

featuring someone called
"Aghani-Heaney."

Or two people called
Kafir Aghani and Eleanor Heaney.

That's the one.

She's a British aid worker.
He's a Kurdish freedom fighter.

The government want to extradite him
home where he'll certainly be executed.

She's married to him, and they've
fought for five years to keep him here.

Today is the decision.
Oh, that's exciting.

Yes, it is.
So what are you waiting for?

Am suddenly hard headed journalist...

ruthlessly committed to
promoting justice and liberty.

Nothing can distract me from my
dedication to the pursuit of truth.

Well, almost nothing.

Right. I'll just pop to the
shop quickly for some ciggies.

14P for the Polos and
the packet of Wheat Crunchies.

A packet of Embassy, please.
I'm sorry. I'm not quite fi...

Good afternoon.

Hi. You like me
just the way I am.

- Sorry?
- Nothing.

Bridget, we fucked up utterly.

Eleanor Heaney and Kafir Aghani
have come and gone.

Oh, God. I'll be sacked.

Well, did the others
get interviews?

I don't know.
I was having a slash.

- Actually, nobody got interviews.
- So how do you know?

Because I was defending him,
and I told him not to give any interviews.

Look... I have a plan.

And action.

Mr. Darcy, you were defending
Mr. Aghani. You must be delighted.

Yes, well, Kafir Aghani
has spent his entire life...

defending the basic human rights of
his own people, and today's verdict...

has been the result of five years of
struggle by this woman, Eleanor Heaney,

to save the man she loves from...

an extradition order that would have
been tantamount to a death sentence.

Right.

And, Eleanor, over to you.

Did you fancy Kafir the first
time that you saw him?

This has been Bridget Jones
for Sit Up, Britain,

with, let's face it,
a bit of a crush now, actually.

Good afternoon.

Bridget Jones. Already a legend.

Oh, joy, I am broadcasting genius.

Celebrating by cooking birthday
feast for close friends.

Have sneaking suspicion am also something
of a genius in the kitchen as well.

Tie flavor-enhancing leek
and celery together with string.

Right. String.

String, string, string. Perfect.

Finely slice oranges
and grate zest.

Oh, no! Oh, motherfucker!

Where the fuck is the fucking tuna?

This is Bridget Jones
for Sit Up, Britain,

searching for tuna.

- Bridget Jones.
- Hello, darling.

- Hi, Mum.
- I just wanted a bit of a chat.

Ouch! Careful,
you ham-fisted cunt!

The thing is, darling,
between you and me,

I'm not entirely sure
that Julian isn't a bit of a shit.

Well, you know, Mum, I haven't
really got time right now.

Well, I, I can't deny the sex
is still very surprising.

You know, the other night,
quite unexpectedly,

I was just dozing off,
and I felt this huge...

Bye, Mum.

Oh, who could be calling now?

The door was open.

I came to congratulate the new face
of British current affairs.

But I see
I may have come at a bad time.

How's it look? Uh, great.

It's, um, blue.

Blue? No, but blue is good.

If you ask me,
there isn't enough blue food.

Oh, shit.
It must have been the string.

Oh, it's string soup.

Oh, God. They're gonna
be here any minute.

Well, don't worry. I'm sure they've come to
see you and not orange parfait in sugar cages.

Let's have a drink. Yes.

- Happy birthday.
- Thank you.

Did I really run
round your lawn naked?

Oh, yes.
You were four, and I was eight.

That's a pretty big
age difference.

It's quite pervy, really.

Yes, I like to think so.

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

We can have blue soup to start,

orange pudding to end,

and, well, for the main course you have,
um, congealed green gunge.

That is caper berry gravy,
actually. Oh, yes.

Do you have eggs? Yes.

Right. Omelet it is, then.

Ah! With caper berry gravy.

You wouldn't by any chance have
any beetroot cubes, would you?

Minigherkin? Stuffed olive?

No, Pam. And besides, I'm busy.

The gravy needs sieving.

Surely not. Just stir it, Una.

- Hey!
- Happy birthday!

TV queen! We're so proud!

Hey, Bridge, you looked so
fucking thin! You looked fantastic!

Hello.

- Hello.
- Are you joining us?

Yeah, yeah. Of course.

Excellent. Mmm.

Delicious. Really special.

It's really...
It's really very good.

Really, it's very nice.

So...

hmm, Mark, why did
your wife leave you?

Mmm! Eat up. Eat up.
Two more lovely courses to go.

Mmm, delicious!

I have to say, this is
the most incredible shit.

This is the worst of the three.

It does actually remind me
of something. It tastes like...

- Marmalade.
- Well done, Bridge.

Four hours of cooking and a feast
of blue soup, omelet and marmalade.

- Thank you.
- I think that deserves a toast, don't you?

To Bridget, who cannot cook,

but who we love...
just ass he is.

To Bridget,

just as she is.

I'll go.

Who? Ah, sorry, sorry, sorry.

I'm obviously interrupting.

I... Darcy.

What brings you here?

Oh, right, yeah. I should have guessed,
shouldn't I?

Hi. I'm Tom. It's really
good to meet you at last.

Yeah. Listen,
I just came to, uh...

I thought you might be
on your own. Huh.

What an idiot.

Excuse me.

I've been going crazy.

I can't stop thinking
about you...

and thinking
what a fucking idiot I've been.

Christ, is that blue soup?

Yes.

You know, that Sunday
in the country...

Come on outside.

It was all just going so fast...

the hotel and that weekend,
meeting your parents.

I just panicked.

You know me. I'm...

I'm a terrible disaster with a
posh voice and a bad character.

You're the only one who can save me,
Bridge. I need you.

Without you, 20 years from now,
I'll be in some seedy bar...

with some seedy blonde.

And what about Lara?

Oh, over, over.
Totally fucking finito.

Dumped me.

Dumped me when she realized
I hadn't got over you.

I know you're thinking
it's just a sex thing,

but I promise you,
whenever see...

that skimpy little skirt on TV,

I just close my eyes and listen to
all the intelligent things you'll say.

I was thrilled that little
Kurdish bloke was set free.

Bridge,

I missed you a lot.

I'm going now. Bye.

Mark, stay. We...

- No, I don't think I will.
- Well, listen. Don't leave on my behalf now.

Come on. I think it's about time you and I
put this past behind us, don't you, Darce?

At least stay for a birthday
drink with me and Bridge, huh?

Good-bye, Bridget.

Mark.

Why are you here?

Bridge,

I just told you why I'm here.

Why was Mark wanker Darcy here?

Oh, bloody hell.
Wait a minute. He's back.

- All right, Cleaver. Outside.
- I'm sorry?

Outside? Uh, should I bring
my dueling pistols or my sword?

All right. Hang on.

I should have done this
years ago.

Done what? This.

Oh! Fuck! Fuck me, that hurt!

Oh! What the fuck
do you think you're doing?

This.

Oh, Christ, not again. Oh.

Fight!

What? Fight.

Where? Where? Well, quick!

It's a real fight!

A fight!

All right, all right, all right.
I give up. I give up.

Just give me a moment, all right. Just
let me get a moment's break here, okay?

Cheat! Cheat! Cheat!

Cheat! Cheat!

I'll shin you!

Whose side are we on?
Mark's, obviously.

He's never dumped Bridget
for some naked American.

And he said he liked her
just the way she is.

But he also nicked Daniel's
fiancée and left him brokenhearted.

Good point.
It's a very hard one to call.

No! No! No! No!

Oh, yes!

I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.

What are you doing?
Oh, God, I'm sorry.

I really am sorry. I will pay.

Enough, Darcy? Not quite,
if that's all right by you.

You broke my bloody jaw!

Jesus.

All right. All right. Enough.

Enough. Enough.

Wanker.

What is your problem?

My problem? Yes!

You give the impression
of being all moral and noble...

and normal
and helpful in the kitchen,

but you're just as bad
as the rest of them.

Well, I can see that I've been
laboring under a misapprehension.

Very, very foolish mistake.
Forgive me.

Let's go back upstairs.

Come on.

We belong together, Jones.

Me, you, poor little skirt.

Right.

If I can't make it with you,

I can't make it with anyone.

That's not
a good enough offer for me.

I'm not willing
to gamble my whole life...

on someone who's,
well, not quite sure.

It's like you said: I'm still
looking for something...

more extraordinary than that.

December25.

Weight: 140pounds...

plus 42 mince pies.

Alcohol units: Oh, thousands.

Bugger off!

Come on then, kids.

This Baroque carriage clock...

is a particular
festive favorite of mine,

incorporating the "Hallelujah
Chorus" from Handel's Messiah...

every hour, on the hour.

I can't understand it.
The man's actually turned red now.

Merry Christmas, Pamela.

Well, I'm going to Bedfordshire.

Night-night. Night-night.

The thing is,

close up, he was almost purple.

You were such a lovely
normal color.

He had a filthy temper.

And, well, the jewelry is fabulous
and really very reasonably priced.

I thought I might ask if...

if we could have another go.

I mean, obviously with some effort on your
part to pay a bit more attention to me.

I do realize
what I'm like sometimes.

It doesn't help that you and Bridget
have your lovely grown-up club of two...

and always say, "What's silly old
Mummy gone and done this time?"

You used to be mad about me.

You couldn't get enough of me.

What do you think?

I don't know, Pam.

I just don't know now.

It's been very hard.

Oh, Colin.

I'm joking, you daft cow.

Pam, I just don't work
without you.

Awful!

Lovely, lovely, lovely.

Get back up those stairs,
young lady. Get dressed. What for?

The Darcys' ruby wedding party.
"What for," indeed!

Mark will be there.
Still divorced.

He's also still deranged.
I'm not going.

Poor Mark. This is always
a bad time of year for him.

His Japanese wife left him
on Christmas Day. Cruel race.

Yes, but I'm not quite sure
he didn't deserve it, actually.

She ran off with his best friend
from Cambridge.

Total scoundrel, apparently.
Best man at his wedding.

Then Christmas Eve,
Mark comes home early from work,

finds the pair of them
in a most unorthodox position,

stark naked, at it like rabbits.

Just give me five minutes.

Stop! Stop the car!

What? Stop the car.

Dad, get out. Too slow!

Dad, get in! Hurry! I am
gettin' in! What's the hurry?

Not too fast.

Bit snowy, isn't it?

Thank you. Happy New Year to you.

Sorry. One moment.

Thank you for inviting me.

I didn't.
It must have been my parents.

- So.
- So.

Hello, Bridget.
Didn't know you were coming.

Mark, your father
wants to begin A.S.A.P.

Oh, does he? Right. Well, uh...

Oh, come on, Mark.
Be helpful, please.

Caterers have totally screwed up.
Does nothing work outside of London?

Hmm? Apparently not.

Well, I'd...

Listen, uh,

I owe you an apology...
about Daniel.

He said that you ran off with his fiancée
and left him brokenhearted, he said.

Ah. No, it was
the other way around.

It was, uh, my... wife.

My heart.

Sorry.

That's why you always acted
so strangely around him...

and beat him to a pulp,
quite rightly.

Well done.

Well, um... Can we just, um,

pop out there... for a moment?

It's quite delightful,
isn't it, my dear?

Okay.

I just have something
that I want to say.

Um, you once said that
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 sometime,
that might be nice.

More than nice.

Right.

Crikey.

Ladies and gentlemen, can I have
your attention for a moment, please?

Excuse me.

Of course.

My dear wife
and companion Geraldine.

A toast to her,
my wonderful wife Geraldine.

To Geraldine.

And we, in turn, have been
blessed with our son Mark.

He's always made us proud, and we couldn't be
prouder of him than on this particular day...

because I'm thrilled
to announce...

he has just been invited to be a senior partner
in the firm of Abbott & Abbott in New York.

He also, incidentally, takes with him
his brilliant partner in law, Natasha.

And I don't think they'll mind,
since we're amongst friends,

if I say that, someday,
this remarkably clever girl...

is going to be something else
in-law as well!

I begged him
not to say anything.

So I ask you now to charge
your glasses once again...

to Mark and his Natasha.

To Mark and his Natasha! No!

No!

It's just that...

it's such a terrible pity...

f-f-for England...

to lose
such a great legal brain...

Is she pissed? What?

F-F-For the people of England...

like me and you...

to lose one of our top people.

A... top person, really.

Well, I better dash.

I've got another party to go to.

Loads of single people.
Mainly... poofs.

Bye.

- Yes?
- Hi! It's us!

Oh. Great. Come on up.

Have we got the most fantastic
surprise for you. You're not going to sing.

Not that fantastic, sadly, no. We've decided
to take you to Paris for the weekend.

You can forget about everything,
particularly Mark Darcy.

I can't believe you said what
you said you said. I know!

There goes my invite
to the Darcys' next year.

If he didn't leap over and whip
you up in his arms, sod him.

Yes. He's clearly
the most dreadful cold fish.

Exactly. I mean, there's been
all these bloody hints and stuff,

but has he ever actually stuck his
fucking tongue down your fucking throat?

No. Not once.

- I think we should pack.
- Passport, Bridget, and pants.

Yep. Pants.

Hurry up, Bridge. We're
freezing our bollocks off out here.

Yeah. Just the keys.

I'm stuck! Oh! That's lovely.

Come the fuck on, Bridget.

Close the door.

I will close the door! Bridget?

Stop being so bossy!

What are you doing here?

I just wanted to know if you were available
for bar mitzvahs and christenings...

as well as ruby weddings.

Excellent speech. I thought
that you were in America.

Well, yes, I was, but, um,

I realized I'd forgotten
something back home.

W-Which was?

Well, I realized I'd forgotten to,
um, kiss you good-bye.

Do you mind?

Uh, not really, no.

So, you're not going
to America, then?

No. Not. No.

You're staying here?

So it would seem.

Friends of yours?

Uh, no, I've never seen them
before in my life.

Look, are you coming
to fucking Paris or not?

Tsk... not.

No fucking room anyway. No.

Maybe we should just
go upstairs for a minute.

Yes, very good idea.

There's no room for him either.

Of course she's not coming
to Paris.

Close it down. Turn this on.

Uh, give me just a minute.

Um, keep yourself busy.
Read something.

Lots of very high-quality
magazines...

with helpful fashion
and romance tips.

I'll be right with you.

Definitely an occasion
for genuinely tiny knickers.

Right.

Right.

Mark? Mark?

Mark! Mark!

Oh, shit!

Double shit.

Bollocks!

God.

Oh! Wish me luck!

Good luck, crazy girl!

Mark!

Mark!

Damn!

I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.

I didn't mean it.
I mean, I meant it.

But I was so stupid
that I didn't mean what I meant.

Oh, for Christ's sakes.

It's only a diary.

Everyone knows diaries
are just full of crap.

I know that. I was just
buying you a new one.

Time to make a new start,
perhaps.

Wait a minute.

Nice boys don't kiss like that.

Oh, yes, they fuckin' do.