Tuesday 22 April

9st 2, alcohol units 2, cigarettes 22, calls from bossy Michael at Independent to "see how we're getting along: about 30, no. of times listened to tape of interview 17, words of interview written 0.

9 a.m. Back in flat in London after heaven-sent trip. Right, am going to write up interview. You see is amazing way that concentrating on work and career completely takes mind off romantic sadness. Was just so fantastic. Taxi dropped me off in Roman square and thought was going to faint: just fantastic - golden sunshine and huge massive square full of high up ruins and in the middle of it all Mr ... Ooh, telephone.

It was Michael from the Independent. "So did you do it, then?"

"Yes," I said hoity-toitily.

"And you remembered to take your tape recorder, not your Sony Walkman?"

Honestly. Do not know what Tom has told him about me but something in his tone suggests may not have been particularly respectful.

"Well, you've got till 4 o'clock. So get on with it." Lala. That is ages. Will just relive day for a bit. Mmm. He looked exactly like Mr Darcy: all smouldery and lean. And he even took me round a church with a hole in and some Adrian's tomb or other and a statue of Moses and was incredibly masterful preventing me from being knocked over by cars and kept talking Italian. Mmm.

Noon. Morning has not gone particularly well, though obviously needed some time to absorb what happened, and discuss impressions with peers so probably has been highly productive.

2 p.m. Telephone again. You see this is what it is like when you are major profile writer: phones ringing incessantly.

Was bloody bossy Michael again: "How are we coming along?"

Bloody nerve. Is not even my deadline till 4 p.m., which obviously means the end of the day. Actually really pleased with tape. Did really good thing of starting him off with easy questions before going into Tom's meaty questions, which I had written down night before despite being a little on squiffy side. Think he was really quite impressed with my line of questioning, actually.

2.30 p.m. Will just have quick cup of coffee and fag.

3 p.m. Better just listen to tape again.

Ding dong! Will just ring Shaz and play her this last bit.

Aargh, aargh. Is 3.30 and have not started. Anyway, no need to panic. They are not going to be back from lunch for ages and then will be drunk as, as ... as journalists. Wait till they see my scoops.

How to start? Obviously interview must include my impressions of Mr Darcy as well as skillfully weaving in stuff about new film Fever Pitch, theatre, film etc. They will probably give me a regular interview spot every week: the Bridget Jones Profile. Jones meets Darcy. Jones meets Blair. Jones meets Marcos except dead.

4 p.m. How can I be expected to create if bloody Michael keeps ringing up all the time saying what I must and must not put in? Grrr. If that is him again ... They have no respect for journalists in that office. None whatsoever.

5.15 p.m. Har har. I. Am. Do. Ing. It." I said. That has shut him up.

6 p.m. Anyway is OK. All top journalists have deadline crises.

7 p.m. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck.

Wednesday 23 April

9st 3 (really seem to be stuck in some kind of fat-groove), congratulatory calls from friends, relatives and colleagues about Colin Firth interview 0, congratulatory calls from Independent staff about Colin Firth interview 0, congratulatory calls from Colin Firth about Colin Firth interview 0 (odd, surely?).

8 a.m. Article is coming out today. Was a bit rushed but probably not that bad. Might be quite good actually. Wish paper would hurry up and come.

8. 10 a.m. Paper has still not come.

8.20 a.m. Hurrahs Paper is here.

Have just seen interview. Independent have completely ignored what wrote. Realize was bit on late side but this is intolerable. Here is what was published:

Due to insuperable technical difficulties it has been necessary to print Bridget Jones's interview with Colin Firth as a direct transcript of the recording.

BJ: Right. I'm going to start the interview now.

CF: (Slightly hysterical sounding) Good, good.

Very long pause)

BJ: What is your favourite colour?

CF: I'm sorry?

BJ: What is your favourite colour?

CF: Blue.

{Long pause)

BJ: What is your favourite pudding?

CF: Er. Creme brulee.

BJ: You know the oncoming film Fever Pitch by Nick Hornby?

CF: I do know it, yes.

BJ: (Pause. Rustling paper) Do ... Oh. (More rustling paper) Do you think the book of Fever Pitch has spored a confessional gender?

CF: Excuse me?

BJ: Has. Spored. A. Confessional. Gender.

CF: Spored a confessional gender?

BJ: Yes.

CF: Well. Certainly Nick Hornby's style has been very much imitated and I think it's a very appealing, er, gender whether or not he actually, um ... spored it.

BJ: You know in the BBC Pride and Prejudice?

CF: I do know it, yes.

BJ: When you had to dive into the lake?

CF: Yes.

BJ: When they had to do another take, did you have to take the wet shirt off and then put a dry on, on?

CF: Yes, I, I probably did have to, yes. Scusi. Ha vinto. E troppo forte. Si, grazie.

BJ: (Breathing unsteadily) How many takes diving into the lake did you have to do?

CF: (Coughs) Well. The underwater shots were a tank in Ealing Studios.

BJ: Oh no.

CF: I'm afraid so. The, um, moment of being airborne - extremely brief - was a stuntman.

BJ: But it looked like Mr. Darcy.

CF: That was because he had stuck on sideburns and a Mr Darcy outfit on top of a wet suit, which actually made him look like Elvis as you last saw him. He could only do it once for insurance reasons and then he had to be checked for abrasions for about six weeks afterwards. All the other wet-shirt shots were me.

BJ: And did the shirt have to keep being re-wet?

CF: Yes. They'd spray it down. They'd spray it down and then ...

BJ: What with? I'm sorry? What with?

CF: A squirter thing. Look can we ... ?

BJ: Yes, but what I mean is did you ever have to take the shirt off and ... and put another one on?

CF: Yes.

BJ: To be wet again?

CF: Yes.

BJ: (Pause) You know the oncoming film Fever Pitch?

CF: Yes.

BJ: What do you see as the main differences and similarities between the character Paul from Fever Pitch and ... ?

CF: And?

BJ: (Sheepishly) Mr. Darcy.

CF: No one's ever asked me that.

BJ: Haven't they?

CF: No. I think the main differences are ...

BJ: Do you mean it's a really obvious question?

CF: No. I mean no one's ever asked me that.

BJ: Don't people ask you that all the time?

CF: No, no. I can assure you.

BJ: So it's a ...

CF: It's a totally brand new, new-born question, yes.

BJ: Oh goody.

CF: Shall we get on now?

BJ: Yes.

CF: Mr. Darcy's not an Arsenal supporter.

BJ: No.

CF: He's not a schoolteacher.

BJ: No.

CF: He lived nearly two hundred years ago.

BJ: Yes.

CF: Paul in Fever Pitch loves being in a football crowd.

BJ: Yes,

CF: Whereas Mr Darcy can't even tolerate a country dance. Now. Can we talk about something that isn't to do with Mr Darcy?

BJ: Yes,

(Pause. Rustling papers)

BJ: Are you still going out with your girlfriend?

CF: Yes.

BJ: Oh. (Long pause)

CF: Is everything all right?

BJ: (Almost inaudible) Do you think small British movies are the way forward?

CF: I can't hear.

BJ: (Miserably) Do you think small British movies are the way forward?

CF: The way forward to ... (Encouragingly) ... to what?

BJ: (Very long thoughtful pause) The future.