"What are you doing in London?" I said suspiciously.

"London? I've been up at the AGM for the Rotarians. It doesn't belong to you, you know, London."

"Hi, I'm Bridget," I said pointedly to the boy.

"Oh yes. This is, er, Steven. He's wanting to put himself up for Treasurer, aren't you, Steven? Just giving him a spot of advice. Right. Better be off. Be good, And if you can't be good be careful" Ahahaha" And he shot out of the pub, followed by the boy, looking back at me resentfully.

Back at the flat Jude and Shazzer could not believe I had let such an opportunity for revenge go by.

"Think what you could have said," said Shaz, screwing her eyes up with disbelieving regret.

'Well! Glad to see you've got yourself a feller at last, Uncle GeoffrEEEEEY! We'll see how long this one lasts, won't we? Off they go - weeeeh!'"

Tom, though, had a really annoying expression of pompous concern on his face.

"It's tragic, tragic," he burst out. "So many men up and down the country living a lie! Imagine all the secret thoughts, shames and desires eating away within the walls of suburbia, between the sofa and the French window of Lies! He probably goes to Hampstead Heath. He's probably taking terrible, terrible risks. You should talk to him, Bridget."

"Look," said Shaz. "Shut up. You're drunk."

"I feel sort of justified," I said thoughtfully and carefully. Started to explain that have long suspected Smug Married world of Geoffrey and Una was not all it seemed and that therefore am not freak and that living together in normal heterosexual couple is not God-instructed only way.

"Bridge, shut up. You're drunk as well," said Shaz. "Hurrahs Let's bring it back to ourselves. There's nothing more annoying than being distracted from our own self-obsession by others," said Tom.

All got really plastered after that. Was completely fantastic evening. As Tom said, if Miss Havisham had had some jolly flatmates to take the piss out of her she would never have stayed so long in her wedding dress.

Monday 28 April

9st 2, alcohol units 0, cigarettes 0,

boyfriends 0, calls from Gary the Builder 0, Possibilities of new job 0 (Promising), gym visits 0, no. Of gym visits so far this year 1, cost of gym membership per year Ј370; cost of single gym visit Јl23 (v. bad economy).

Right. Am definitely going to start gym programme today so can go round saying smugly "Yes it hurt. yes it worked," in manner of Conservative Party, and - in sharp contrast to them - everyone will believe me and think I am marvellous. Oh dear, though, is 9 o'clock. Will go tonight instead. Where the fuck is Gary?

Later. In office. Hahahahahahaha! Was marvellous at work today.

"So," said Richard Finch, when we were all assembled round the table. "Bridget. Tony Blair. Women's committees- New policies with Women in Mind, any suggestions? Nothing to do with Colin Firth if you can possibly manage it."

I smiled beatifically, glancing down at my notes, then looked up with poise and confidence.

"Tony Blair should introduce a code of Dating Practice for Singletons," I said eventually.

There was a jealous pause from all the other researchers round the table.

"That's it, is it?" said Richard Finch. "Yup," I said confidently.

"You don't think," he said, "that our potential new Prime Minister might have better things to do with his time?"

"Just think of the number of working hours lost through distraction, sulks, discussions to interpret situations and waiting for the phone to ring," I said. "It must be easily on a par with back pain. Also, all other cultures have specific dating rituals, but we are operating in an ill defined sea with men and women increasingly alienated from each other."

At this, Horrid Harold let out a snort of derision.

"Oh God," drawled Patchouli, lounging with her Lycra cycle-shorted legs all over the table. "You can't proscribe people's emotional behaviour. That's fascism."

"No, no, Patchouli, you haven't been listening," I said strictly. "These would be just guidelines for sexual good manners. Since a quarter of all households are single, it would significantly help the nation's mental well being."

"I really think, in the run up to the election . . ." Horrid Harold sneerily began.

"No, wait," said Richard Finch chewing, twitching his leg up and down and looking at us oddly. "How many of you are married?"

Everyone stared foolishly at the table.

"So it's just me, is it?" he said. "Just me who's holding together the tattered shreds of the fabric of British society?"

Everyone tried not to look at Saskia, the researcher Richard had been shagging all summer till he abruptly lost interest and started on the sandwich girl.

"Mind you, I'm not surprised," he went on. "Who'd marry any of you? You're incapable of committing to fetching the cappuccinos let alone to one person for the rest of Your lives." At this Saskia let out a strange noise and shot out of the office.

Did a great deal of research all morning, making phone calls and talking to people. Was actually quite interesting that even those researchers who had pooh-poohed whole thing kept on coming out with suggestions.

"OK, Bridget," said Richard Finch just before lunch. "Let's hear this ground-breaking, great oeuvre."

Explained that Rome was not built in a day, and obviously had not completed whole work yet but these were lines was working along. I cleared my throat and began:

'Code Of Dating Practice'

1) If citizens know they do not want to go out with someone else they must not egg them on in the first place.

2) When a man and woman decide they would like to sleep together, if either party knows they just want a 'fling' this should be clearly stated beforehand.

3) If citizens snog or shag other citizens they must not pretend nothing is going on.

4) Citizens must not go out with other citizens for years and years but keep on saying they don't want to get too serious.

5) After sexual relations it is definitely bad manners not to stay the night."

"But what if . - ." rudely interrupted Patchouli.

"Could I just finish?" I said. graciously and authoritatively as if I were Michael Heseltine and Patchouli were Jeremy Paxman. I then ran through the rest of the list adding, "Also, if governments are going to go on about family values then they have to do something more positive for Singletons than slagging them off." I paused, shuffling my papers pleasantly. "Here are my proposals

'Smug Marriage Promotional Suggestions'

1) Teach 'Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus' in schools so both sides of opposing armies understand each other.

2) Teach all boy children that sharing the housework does not mean twiddling one fork under the tap.

3) Form giant Government Matchmaking Agency for Singletons, with strict Code of Dating Practice, MateSeekers Allowance for drinks, phone calls, cosmetics etc., penalties for Emotional Fuckwittage and rule that you have to go on at least 12 government-arranged dates before you can declare yourself a Singleton; and only then if have reasonable grounds for rejecting all 12.

4) If grounds are deemed unreasonable, then you have to declare yourself a Fuckwit."

"Oh Christ," said Horrid Harold. "I mean I really do think the issue is the Euro."

"No, this is good, this is very good," said Richard, staring fixedly at me, at which Harold looked as though he'd eaten a pigeon. "I'm thinking live studio discussion. I'm thinking Harriet Harman, I'm thinking Robin Cook. I'm maybe even thinking Blair. Right, Bridget. Move. Set this up. Get Harman's office on the phone and get her in tomorrow, then try Blair."

Hurrah. Am head researcher on lead item. Everything is going to change for me and for the nation!