By Helen Fielding
The number one nationwide bestseller by way of Helen Fielding, writer of the hot novel Bridget Jones: Mad in regards to the Boy (October 2013)
Bridget Jones's Diary is the devastatingly self-aware, laugh-out-loud account of a yr within the lifetime of a thirty-something Singleton on an enduring doomed quest for self-improvement. stuck among the thrill of Singleton enjoyable, and the phobia of loss of life by myself and being came upon 3 weeks later part eaten by way of an Alsatian; tortured by means of conceited Married buddies asking, "How's your love life?" with lascivious, but patronizing leers, Bridget resolves to: decrease the circumference of every thigh by means of 1.5 inches, stopover at the fitness center thrice per week not only to shop for a sandwich, shape a sensible dating with a accountable grownup and learn how to application the VCR. With a mix of flighty attraction, existential gloom, and endearing self-deprecation, Bridget Jones's Diary has touched a uncooked nerve with thousands of readers the realm around. learn it and laugh—before you cry, "Bridget Jones is me!"
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Extra info for Bridget Jones's Diary (Bridget Jones Series, Book 1)
Yeah,” I said. ” “Heh,” I said. She finally noticed my inability to say anything but monosyllables and crossed the room toward me. ” No. No, I wasn’t. What was happening to me? Slipping into the past of someone else’s life had seemed so effortless, so real. But that was impossible. I tried to wipe the goose pimples from my arms. ” She took off her black cardigan and draped it around my shoulders. ” I nodded. ” She cocked her head. ” “I’m fine. Um, about the party? I’ve changed my mind. Natalie, my parents would kill me, and with everything else I’ve been going through …” Natalie’s eyes narrowed.
Suddenly unsure, I paused with my thumb over the security print. “Why are you here? ” He flashed a crooked grin. ” “Hey! I’m never in trouble—I mean, except now. And that’s not what I meant. How did you know where to find me? And those fake papers—” Bennett’s phone jingled. “Saved by the iPhone,” he said, and stepped away. I stood there with my thumb hanging out, watching him. He eyed me as though I were trying to eavesdrop, which I was, so I went inside and tried to eavesdrop from there. I heard him murmuring, but couldn’t make out the details.
He cleared his throat. ” “Thanks,” I said. I took a bite as we rounded a curve and saw the school: pale stone and paneled windows, with marbled steps leading to a grand entrance. Not a cottage, not a house—a mansion. We mounted the steps and the crunch of the apple sounded in my ears; the sweet juice flowing in my mouth tasted so familiar. And my feet on the steps were even more so, as though I’d climbed them hundreds of times before. Then there was that great whooshing sound— The world spun around me, like a merry-go-round, when everything speeds up and twirls and you can’t see anything except a blur of color and motion.