5.50 p.m. Oh dear. Worried about arranging second mortgage now. Will not have any extra money and what if lose job? Maybe had better tell Gary do not want the infill extension and get the F-3,500 back. Lucky thing is, Gary was supposed to start yesterday but he just came and left all his tools then went away again. Seemed annoying at the time, but maybe, as it turns out, was message from God. Yes. Will call him when get home then go to gym.

6.30 p.m. Back home. Gaaah! Gaaah! Gaaah! Is bloody great hole in side of flat! Is left open to outside world in manner of gaping precipice and all the houses at the other side can see in. Is entire weekend stretching ahead with giant hole in wall, all bricks everywhere and nothing to do! Nothing! Nothing!

6.45 p.m. Ooh, telephone - maybe someone inviting me to an election party! Or Mark!

"Oh,hello, darling, guess what?" My mother. Obviously I had to get a cigarette.

"Oh, hello, darling, guess what?" she said again. Sometimes I wonder how long she would carry on like this, in manner of a parrot. It is one thing to say "Hello? Hello?" if there is silence on the other end, but'Oh, hello, darling, guess what? Oh, hello, darling, guess what?' is surely not normal.

"What?" I said, sulkily.

"Don't speak to me in that tone of voice."

"What?" I said again in a lovely appreciative daughter voice.

"Don't say 'What?' Bridget, say 'Pardon'."

I took a puff on my kind normal friend the Silk Cut Ultra,

"Bridget, are you smoking?"

"No, no," I said, Panicking, stubbing out tile cigarette and hiding the ashtray.

"Anyway, guess what? Una and I are holding a Kikuvu election party for Wellington behind the rockery!"

I breathed deeply through my nose and thought about Inner Poise.

"Don't you think that's super? Wellington's going to leap over a bonfire as a full warrior! Imagine! Right over! Dress is tribal. And we're all going to drink red wine and Pretend it's cow's blood! Cow's bloods That's why Wellington's got such strong thighs."

"Er, does Wellington know about this?"

"Not yet, darling, but he's bound to want to celebrate the election, Wellington's very keen on the free market and we don't want the Thin Red Wedge back under the bed. I mean we'll end up with what's-his-name and the miners back. You won't remember the power cuts when you were at school, but Una was giving the speech at the Ladies' Luncheon and she couldn't plug her tongs in."

7.15 p.m. Eventually managed to get Mum off the phone, at which it rang again immediately on ringback. Was Shaz. Told her how fed up I was feeling, and she was really sweet: "Come on, Bridge. We simply can't define ourselves in terms of being with another person! We should celebrate how fantastic it is being free! And there'll be the election soon and the whole mood of the nation is going to change!"

"Hurrah!" I said. "Singletons! Tony Blair! Hurrah!"

"Yes!" enthused Shazzer. "Many people in relationships have a terrible time at weekends, forced to slave for ungrateful children and being beaten by their own spouses."

"You're right! You're right!" I said. "We can go out whenever we like and have fun. Shall we go out tonight?" Humph. Sharon is going to a dinner party with Simon in manner of Smug Married.

7.40 p.m. Jude just rang in a spirit of highly-charged sexual over-confidence. "It's on again with Stacey!" she said. "I saw him last night and he was talking about his farnily!"

There was an expectant pause.

"Talking about his family!" she said again. "Which means he's thinking seriously about me. And we snogged. And I'm seeing him tonight and it's the fourth date so ... doobeedoobeedoo. Bridge? Are you still there?"

"Yes," I said in a small voice. "What's the matter?"

Mumbled something about the hole in the wall and Mark.

"The thing is, Bridge. You've got to Attain Closure on that one and move on," she said, seemingly not noticing that her last lot of advice had completely failed, which might just invalidate this.

"You've got to start working on Loving Yourself Come on, Bridge! It's fantastic. We can shag whoever we want."

"Singletons hurrah!" I said. So why am I depressed? Am going to call Tom again.

8 p.m. Out. Everyone is out enjoying themselves except me.

9 p.m. Just read a bit of You Can Heal Your Life and now see exactly where have been going wrong. As Sondra Ray, the great re-birther, said, or maybe it wasn't her. Any-way, this is it: 'Love is never outside ourselves, love is within us.'

Yes!

'What may be keeping love away? ... Unreasonable standards? Movie Star Images? Feelings Of unworthiness? A belief that you are unloveable?'

Huh. Is not belief is fact. Am going to open bottle of Chardonnay and watch Friends.

11 p.m. Road Less Travelled blurry good. Is cathexis or similar. 'Unitary division Of love include self love if love for another.' Sblurry good. Ooof. Tumbled over.

Saturday 26 April

9st 4, alcohol units 7 (hurrah!), cigarettes 27 (hurrah!), calories 4,248 (hurrah!), gym visits 0 (hurrah!).

7 a.m. Aargh. Who set that bloody thing off?

7.05 a.m. Today I will take responsibility for my own life and start loving myself. I am lovely. I am marvellous. Oh God. Where's the Silk Cut?

7.10 a.m. Right. Going to get up and go to gym.

7.15 a.m. Actually, though, it is probably quite dangerous to work out before you have properly woken up. Will jar joints. Will go tonight before Blind Date. is stupid to go in the daytime on Saturday when there is so much to do e.g. shopping. Must not mind that Jude and Shaz are both probably in bed shagging wildly, shag, shag, shag.

7.30 a.m. Shag.

7.45 a.m. Obviously it is too early for anyone to ring. Just because I am awake does not mean anyone else is. Must learn to have more empathy with others.

8 a.m. Jude just rang but practically impossible to tell as total sheep-voice sobbing, gulping experience.

"Jude, what's wrong?" I said, devastated.

"I'm having a breakdown," she sobbed. "Everything seems black, black. I can't see any way out I can't ... "

"It's all right. It's going to be all right," I said, staring

wildly out of the window to see if there was a psychiatrist passing. "Does it feel serious or is it just PMT?"

"It's very, very bad," she said in a zombie-like voice. "It's been building up in me for about eleven years." She broke down again. "The whole weekend stretching ahead alone, alone. I just don't want to carry on living."

"Good, that's good," I said reassuringly, wondering whether I should ring the police or the Samaritans.

Turned out Stacey had inexplicably just dropped her off after dinner last night and not mentioned seeing her again. So now she felt she'd failed at Thursday's snog.

"I'm SO depressed, The whole weekend stretching ahead- Alone alone, I could die and. . ."

"Do you want to come round tonight?"

"Oooh, yes please!! Shall we go to 192? 1 can wear my new Voyage cardi."

Next thing Tom rang.

"Why didn't you call me back last night?, I said.

"What?" he said in a strange, dull monotone.

"You didn,t call me back."

"Oh," he said wearily. "I didn't think it was fair to talk to anyone."

"Why?" I said, puzzled.

"Oh. Because I have lost my former personality and become a manic-depressive."

It turned out Tom has been working alone at home all week, obsessing about Jerome, Eventually helped Tom to realize that the phantom madness was quite funny, given that if be hadn't informed me he was clinically insane I wouldn't have noticed any difference.

I reminded Tom of when Sharon once didn't come out Of the house for three days because she thought her face was collapsing from sun damage like a movie ageing special effect and didn't want to face anyone or expose herself to UVP rays till she'd privately come to terms with it. Then when she came to Cafe Rouge she looked exactly like she did the week before. Managed, finally, to get off the subject of Tom and on to my career as a major celebrity interviewer which unfortunately seems to be over, for the time being at least.