Bridget Jones's Diary (2001) Movie Script

It all began

on New Year's Day...

in my thirty-second 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 the time...

when a gherkin...

was still the height

of sophistication.

Doilies, Pam?

Hello, Bridget.

Third drawer from the top, Una.

Under the mini gherkins.

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.

I've laid out something

lovely on your bed.

Tsk.

Great.

I was wearing a carpet.

There she is.

My little Bridget

Hi, Uncle Geoffrey. Ha ha.

- 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?

I don't know.

You career girls.

Can't put it off forever.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

- Hello, Dad.

- Hello, darling.

How's it going?

Torture.

Your mother’s trying to

fix you up with some divorcee.

Uhh.

Human-rights barrister.

Pretty nasty beast, apparently.

Hoo. Ding-dong.

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's 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.

Yes, of course.

I'll be right there.

Sorry. Lumpy gravy calls.

- So... ha.

- So.

You staying at your parents'

for New Year?

- Yes.

- Mmm.

- You?

- Oh, 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 be lying

with my head in the toilet...

Like all normal people.

New Year's resolution...

drink less.

Oh, and quit smoking.

Mmm. Ha.

- Oh.

- Oh. Ha.

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.

Mmm.

Apparently...

she lives just 'round

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.

That was the moment.

I suddenly realized that unless

some thing 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 Alsatians.

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...

ohh...

obviously will lose

twenty pounds.

Number two...

always put last night’s panties

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.

BRIDGET, DRUNK, SINGING:

Ohhh

Can’t live

If living is without you

I can’t live

Can't give anymore

Or maybe I'm wrong.

Huh?

Ah.

Happy New Year, Mr. Fitzherbert.

Happy New Year, Brenda.

Mr. Fitzherbert...

Tits Pervert, 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...

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 mini-break to Paris...

Daily call from Jude.

Best friend.

Head of investment

at Brightlings Bank...

who spends most of her time...

trapped in the lady's toilet,

crying over fuck wit boyfriend.

I'm too needy.

Am I co-dependent?

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...

on traditional masculinity.

It's positively Vonnegut-esque.

Thank you for calling,

Professor Leavis.

Guest list for launch party.

Ah.

Was that... F.R. Leavis?

Mm-hmm.

Wow.

Huh.

The F.R. Leavis...

who wrote "Mass Civilization

and Minority Culture"?

Mm-hmm.

The F.R. Leavis

who died in 1978?

Amazing.

Emergency summit

with urban family...

for coherent discussion

of career crisis.

Fuck 'em.

Fuck the lot of them.

Tell them they can stick

fucking Leavis...

up their fucking asses.

Good, good.

That's very useful, very useful.

Shazzer... journalist...

Likes to say "fuck" a lot.

And, 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 blow job's...

probably the best answer.

- Ohh.

- Oh, you love it.

Are you that chap

that sang that song?

Yes. Yes, I am.

Tom...

Eighties 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 Nineties.

- Great song.

- Thank you so much.

Total poof, of course.

- More vodka?

- No.

Yes.

Fill her up, God damn it.

At least

now I'm in my thirties...

I can hold my drink.

Ohh! Whoops.

- 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?

Well, what about Julia?

Does she have to go

to the funeral?

Listen, we got

a little problem...

The only problem

is the kitchen.

Quite frankly,

there isn’t room...

Message Mr. Cleaver.

Am appalled by message.

Skirt is demonstrably

neither sick nor absent.

Appalled by management's

blatantly size-is attitude...

to skirt.

Suggest management sick,

not skirt!

That's quite ridiculous.

Ooh. Oh, I see.

Hang on. Hang on.

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'm 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, no.

Dum dum dee dum

Dum dum dee dum,

dum dum dee dum dum

And it all began, of course...

with some very

irresponsible e-mailing...

over Bridget's

non-existent skirt.

Daniel.

The New York office for you.

Yeah, tell them

I'll get back to them.

Daniel.

Jones...

- Evening, Kenneth.

- Good evening, Daniel.

If you've got a moment...

I'd like a word

before you leave tonight.

Yes, certainly.

- I'll see you in a sec.

- Excellent.

- And, Brenda...

- Yes?

At the "Kafka's Motorbike"

thing...

I thought it might be fun

if you introduce me...

before I introduce him.

Add a lovely sense of occasion.

Certainly, sir.

Hmm.

Tch. Brenda, listen.

What are you doing tonight?

Actually, I'm busy.

All 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.

- Hmm.

- Maybe you can 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.

Next night?

Let's see, shall we?

Good night, Daniel.

Right. No pressure, Bridge...

but your whole future happiness

now depends on how you behave...

on this one social occasion.

Right. What should I do?

First, look gorgeous.

Ohh!

Ow! Gooh!

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?

Chech-nya!

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, ahem...

your... your chair

is on my wife's coat.

Your... your chair on the...

Of course it is.

Thank you so much.

Thank you.

Hmm. Major dilemma.

If 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.

Ha. 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. Tits Pervert.

Ooh, Fitzherbert,

Fitzherbert, Fitzherbert.

OK, 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?

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. Ha.

This is Mark Darcy.

Mark's a prematurely

middle-aged prick...

with a cruel-racedex-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

Garth and Underwood.

Perpetua is one

of my work colleagues.

Why, 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.

- Ha ha.

Perpetua,

how's the house hunt going?

Disaster.

I oughtn't 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 Vonnegut-esgue."

Obviously.

Listen, you don't know where

the loos are here, do you?

Uh, yes. In the hallway.

Thanks.

One, two.

Ladies and gentlemen.

I...

L-ladies and...

I...

Oi!

Sorry. The, uh...

mike's not...

work... working. Ahem.

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 thirty

books of our time.

Anyway, at least.

And here

to introduce it, ha...

properly, ha ha...

is, uh, the man

we all call, uh...

Tits Pervert.

Mr...

Tits Pervert!

Mr...

Tits Pervert.

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 brilliant...

post-modernist masterpiece of

oratorical fireworks, really.

Uhh.

You're looking very sexy, Jones.

I think I'm gonna have to

take you out to dinner now...

whether you like it or not, OK?

Come on, get your stuff.

So 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 Arsey Darcy?

Apparently, I used

to run 'round naked...

in his paddling pool.

I bet you did, you dirty bitch.

What about you?

Same. Yeah.

No, no, I was 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.

And 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...

because 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 have

another look.

- They're too good to be true.

- No.

There's nothing to be

embarrassed about.

I'm wearing something

quite similar myself.

- Here, I'll show you.

- No. No.

Ha. Huh.

That was fantastic.

Ohh. Mmm.

Ay, ay.

Ohh. Daniel.

Yeah?

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...

um, a long-term relationship,

is it?

You're very bad.

Ohh.

Mmm.

Bridget Jones,

wanton sex goddess...

with a very bad man

between her thighs.

Mum. Hi.

It's the truth

universally acknowledged...

that the moment one area

of your life starts going OK...

another part of it falls

spectacularly to pieces.

Ah, anyone else want

to have it off?

Haha. Don't be shy, madame.

French. Have it oeuf. Ha ha!

With the wisecrack egg peeler.

Now, nice firm grip.

Put it in the hole. And...

up, down, up, down.

And off it comes in your hand.

Oh! Mind the over-spray.

Sorry.

Darling, if I came in

with my knickers on my head...

he wouldn't notice.

I spent thirty-five 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.

And now it's

the winter of my life...

and I haven't actually

got anything of my own.

I've got no power,

no real career...

no... no sex life.

I've got no life at all.

I'm like the grasshopper

who sang all summer.

I'm 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...

where the fat people

beat up their relatives.

Ooh! I must wiz.

- Have you heard from Mark Darcy?

- Good-bye, Mum.

Julian.

Sorry to keep you waiting.

And a few weeks later,

it got lots worse.

Hello!

Look at this.

Paying 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

two pairs in 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

around to bloody dinner.

She's even

taking Jaundice Julian...

to Una Alconbury's

Tarts and Vicars party.

That's not the Pamela I knew.

That's cruel.

Well, still,

could be a golden opportunity.

If you spent the entire party

flirting with other women...

it would drive Mum

wild with jealousy.

What?

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 mini-break

holiday weekend.

Just promise me

we don't have to sit...

in any little boats and read

poncey poetry to each other.

He’s also protecting

me at Uncle Geoffrey's...

hideous Tarts and Vicars

fancy dress party.

This can't be just shagging.

A mini-break means true love.

Suddenly feel like

screen goddess...

in manner of Grace Kelly.

Though perhaps ever so slightly

less elegant under pressure.

It's 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.

Oh. Hmm.

You do the boats,

I'll do the tea.

Oh, Jesus.

- Hello there.

- Hi.

Well, well.

I take it you're also heading

for the Alconbury's 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.

I'll see you

upstairs in a second.

Hmm. 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.

What've you done?

- I'm boarding you, Bridge.

- Don't you dare!

- I'm king of the world!

- No!

Fuck me. Uhh!

Aah!

Oh, piss and bollocks.

You stupid ass.

Bollocks.

All right.

Aah! No!

So childish.

Aah! No!

Yes.

Hey, Darce, come on in!

The water's lovely!

Come on, you're working

too hard, mate.

Ha ha!

- 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.

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 we go.

I'm going to give you

something to bite on.

Here.

OK? Pop this in your mouth,

darling.

You're begging for it.

Stop it.

No, no.

Hmm.

I 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.

Bridget,

I'm really sorry.

I just can’t do it.

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?

Because you don't have

the faintest bloody 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.

You know, this is

the Americans flying in...

because they're thinking

of shutting us down...

for fuck's sake.

Sorry.

I'm sorry, Bridge.

I know I'm being a prat.

Look, I'm going

to arrange a lovely car...

to come and pick you up

and take you back...

to London after the party, OK?

If you have to travel alone,

travel in style.

Hmm.

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?

Didn't you telephone

Colin and Bridget?

How's my little Bridget?

Bop, bop.

Oh.

Geoffrey.

So, where’s this chap

of yours, then, eh?

Ah, yes, well,

he had to work, so...

Ha! A 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-arounder...

the sort of thing one can wear

with anything to any occasion.

Oh.

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.

Heh heh.

Didn’t tell you, either.

No. 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.

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 just saying Geoffrey

didn't contact you, either...

to tell you that

the Tarts and Vicars concept...

had gone out of 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 really, really wanted

to see a friendly face.

Oh, now, listen,

I'll tell you what.

I have an idea.

Let me finish this...

while you go home,

have a long hot bath...

and I'll call round,

and we'll have dinner later, OK?

Is there someone here?

Not that I'm aware of.

Unless that Bosnian family

has moved in again.

Bastards.

Oh.

I'm sorry.

Sorry.

I'm going mad.

Listen, I am feeling

really bad, actually.

- I should've been there today.

- No, I'm sorry.

No, no, I'm sorry...

but at least I got

a hell of a lot of work done.

Just give me one more hour, OK?

Fine. That’s fine.

I will go home and de-bunny.

Oh...

and you know last night

when I said that I loved you?

Mm-hmm.

I didn't mean it.

I was being ironic.

Oh, God, yeah,

I know, I know.

All right.

- Thank you, madam.

- Mmm.

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.

This is totally insane.

I'm 36 years old. It may be

my last chance to have a child.

Alex.

Aah!

The male penetrates

the female and leaves.

Coitus is brief

and perfunctory...

and the female...

That's wonderful.

Well, I don't think it's bad.

Right.

We've had

very good response...

to the Teddy Knows Best

teaser campaign

and had various

local radio bits for...

Look, Bridge, stop that.

I feel... terrible.

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 and all...

it has something to do

with confidence and being so...

well, young, you know?

Well, we’ve... become very close.

Well, you’ve only just met her.

She flew in yesterday.

Uh...

Oh.

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.

Oh, fuck.

There's no easy way

to say this, but, um...

I wanted you to be the first

to know that...

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 spinster hood...

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.

Ahh.

Ohh!

Fuck.

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. Yuck!

Ah.

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 on Monday.

We'll see how we go.

Oh, and...

incidentally...

at "Sit Up, Britain"...

no one ever gets sacked

for shagging the boss.

That's a matter of principle.

Oh, Bridget.

Come on, it's...

I mean, I know it's been

awkward as ass...

but there's no need to leave.

No, actually, there is.

I've been offered

a job in television.

Television?

Mmm. And they want me

to start straightaway.

So I've got to leave

in about, ooh, three minutes...

so, um...

Whoa. Just hold it

right there, Miss Jones.

I'm sorry to inform you...

but I think you'll find

that by contract...

you're expected to give

at least six weeks notice.

Ah, yes, well...

I thought with the company being

in so much trouble and all...

you wouldn't really 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 going to fire

her bony little bottom anyway...

for being totally spineless.

What?

Well, I just think

you should know that, um...

there are lots of prospects

here for a talented person.

Just give me a minute,

will you, Simon? Thanks.

Right-o, boss man.

Lots of prospects

for a person who...

you know, 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 10 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."

OK, 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.

But...

I'm thinking... miniskirt.

I'm thinking fireman's helmet.

I want you pointing a hose.

I want you

sliding down the pole...

and then go straight

into 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 Newcastle first.

Stop!

Climb back up.

On you in thirty seconds.

OK.

Neville, what

the fuck is going on?

She's supposed to be

sliding down the pole...

- not climbing up it.

- Go, go, go, go, go!

Oh, OK.

- Oh!

- Oh, Jesus Christ.

Uhh! Uhh!

OK, we're out of time.

We're out of time.

Just wind 'er up.

Well, that seems to be

about all we've got time for...

down here in Lewisham.

Uh, Chief Officer Bevan,

thank you very much.

Excellent fire station.

Uh, and now...

back to the studio.

Whoo!

Excellent.

I'm a national laughing stock.

Have bottom the size of Brazil.

Am daughter of broken home...

and rubbish

at every thing and...

oh, God.

I'm having dinner

with Magda and Jeremy.

The only thing worse

than a smug married couple...

Lots of smug married couples.

Right, everyone.

This is Bridget.

Bridge, this is Hugo and Jane.

And, obviously,

you know, of course...

Cosmo and Woney.

- Hi, Bridge.

This is

Alistair and Henrietta...

Julia and Michael...

Joanne and Paul...

and Jeremy's partners

from chambers.

This is Natasha Glenville

and Mark Darcy.

Hi, there.

Hello.

Not in your bunny girl

outfit to day?

No.

We bunnies only wear our tails

on very special occasions.

- Sit yourself down.

- Right.

Hey, Bridge,

how's your love life?

Oh...

Still going out

with that publishing chappie?

Uh, no, no.

Terribly brill.

Never dip your nib

in the office ink.

Right.

You really

ought to hurry up...

and get sprugged up,

you know, old girl?

Time's a-running out.

Tick-tock.

Yes, yes.

Uh, tell me, is it

one in four marriages...

that ends in divorce now

or one in three?

One in three.

Seriously, though.

Offices full of single girls

in their thirties...

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 their thirties...

these days, Bridget?

Oh, I don't know.

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.

I just...

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's 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. A part 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

the most brilliant idea.

Right.

I must go, because...

well...

bye.

Just as you are?

Not thinner? Not cleverer?

Not with slightly bigger breasts

and a slightly smaller nose?

Mm-mmm.

Well...

fuck me.

But this is someone you hate,

right?

Mmm. Mmm.

Yes, yes. I hate him.

November 9.

Weight... 138 pounds.

Cigarettes... three.

Birthday... thirty-three.

OK, 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 hard-headed interview.

You do know

the Aghani-Heaney case?

Yes, of course.

Big case...

featuring someone

called Aghanihini.

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 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 for some ciggies.

14p for the Polos

and packet of Wheat Crunchies.

Packet of Embassy, please.

I'm sorry.

I'm not quite fine...

Good afternoon.

Hi.

You like me just the way I am.

Sorry?

Nothing.

Bridget,

we've fucked up utterly.

Eleanor Heaney and Kafir Aghani

have come and gone.

Oh, God. I'll be sacked.

Did the others get interviews?

I don't know.

I was having a slash.

Actually, nobody got interviews.

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've 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.

Aah! Oh, bugger!

Oh, bugger, bugger!

Where the fuck

is the fucking tuna?

Oh, 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, I'm...

Between you and me,

I'm not entirely sure...

that Julian

isn't a bit of a shit.

Yes, well,

you know, Mum...

I haven't really

got time right now.

Oh, 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.

Ecch.

Oh.

Who can be calling now?

Oh.

The door was open.

I came to congratulate...

the new face

of British current affairs.

Huh.

But I see I may have come

at a bad time.

How's it look?

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've been the string.

Oh, it's string soup?

Oh, God. They're going

to be here any minute.

Well, don't worry. I'm sure

they've come to see you...

and not orange parfait

in sugar cages.

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.

Well, 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 main course,

we have...

uh, congealed green gunge.

- That is caper berry gravy.

- Oh, yes. Yeah.

- Do you have eggs?

- Yes.

Right.

- Omelet it is, then.

- Ah.

With caper berry gravy.

You wouldn't by any chance

have any beet root cubes?

A mini-gherkin, stuffed olive?

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

The gravy needs sieving.

Surely not. Just stir it, Una.

Happy, happy birthday!

Hey, TV queen.

Hey, Bridge,

you looked fantastic.

Hello.

Are you joining us?

Yeah. Yeah, of course.

Excellent.

Mmm. Yeah.

Delicious.

Really special.

It's really... really very good.

Really. It's very nice.

Say...

Mmm.

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 really 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 careful 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 as she is.

To Bridget...

just as she is.

I'll go.

Who?

Ah. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

I'm obviously interrupting a...

Darcy.

What brings you here?

Oh, right. Yeah.

I should've 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.

That Sunday in the country...

Come 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,

twenty years from now...

I'll be in some seedy bar

with some seedy blond.

Well, what about Lara?

Oh, over, over.

totally fucking finito.

Dumped me.

She realized

that I hadn't got over you.

I know you're thinking...

it's just a sex thing,

but I promise you...

whenever I see that skimpy

little skirt on TV...

I just close my eyes

and listen...

to all the intelligent things

you've said.

I was thrilled that little

Kurdish bloke was set free.

Bridge...

I missed you a lot.

Oh, God.

I'm going now. Bye.

Mark, stay. We...

No, I don't think I will.

Well, listen,

don't leave on my behalf.

I think it's time you and I

put this past behind us.

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've done this years ago.

Done what?

This.

Ooh! Fuck!

Fuck me, that hurt!

Ahh!

What the fuck

do you think you're doing?

- This.

- Aah!

Aah! Oh, Christ, not again.

Uhh!

Fight!

What?

Well, quick!

It's a real fight!

It's 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, OK?

Cheat!

Cheat! Cheat!

I should've knew it!

Ow, ow, ow, ow!

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.

Yeah, but he also shagged

Daniel's fiancée...

and left him broken hearted.

Good point.

It's a very hard one to call.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

Oh, yes!

Mark!

I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry, all right?

Ohh! Ohh!

Aah!

Oh, God, I'm sorry.

I really am sorry.

I... I will pay.

Had enough, Darcy?

Not quite,

if that's all right by you.

Oh!

You broke my bloody jaw!

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday,

dear what's-his-name

Happy birthday to you

- Uh...

- Ohh...

- Uhh.

Jesus.

Uhh.

All right.

- All right?

- 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.

A very, very foolish mistake.

Forgive me.

Uhh.

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.

Um...

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.

Ding dong, merrily on high

December 25.

Weight... 140 pounds...

Plus forty-two mince-pies.

Alcohol units...

Oh, thousands.

Bugger off!

Come on, 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 don't understand it.

The man's actually

turned red now.

Merry Christmas, Pamela.

Well...

I'm going to Bedfordshire.

Night, night.

The thing is...

well, close up,

he was almost purple.

You were such

a lovely normal color.

He had a filthy temper.

And, well,

the jewelery is fabulous...

and really very

reasonably priced and...

I thought I might ask 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

grownup club of two...

and always saying...

"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.

Oh!

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. It's always

a bad time of year for him.

You know, 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.

Christmas Eve, Mark

comes home early from work...

finds the pair of them

in a most unorthodox position...

stark naked,

a tit like rabbits.

Just give me five minutes.

Stop. Stop the car.

Stop the car.

Dad, get out. Too slow!

Hey, to keep me from you

Dad, get in.

- Hurry.

- What's your hurry?

Not too fast.

Keep me from you

A bit snowy, isn't it?

Sorry. One moment.

Thank you for inviting me.

I didn't.

It must've 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...

Come on, Mark.

Be helpful, please.

The caterers

have totally screwed up.

Does nothing work

outside of London?

Hmm? Apparently not.

Well, I'd better...

Listen, uh...

I owe you an apology

about Daniel.

He said that you ran off

with his fiancée...

and left him broken hearted,

he said.

Ah.

No, it was the other way around.

It was 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?

Quite delightful,

isn't it, my dear?

OK.

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.

So if you wanted

to pop by sometime...

that might be nice.

More than nice.

Right.

Crikey.

Ladies and gentlemen...

could I have your attention

for a moment, please?

Excuse me.

Of course.

...wife and companion Geraldine.

A toast to her,

my... 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

and Abbott in New York.

He also,

incidentally...

takes with him his

brilliant partner in law...

Natasha.

And, well, 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-for England...

to lose...

such a great legal brain.

- Is she pissed?

- What?

F-for the people of England...

Like me and you...

to lose one of our top people.

Uh...

just top person, really.

Ahem.

Well... better dash.

I've got

another party to go to.

It's single people.

Mainly... poofs.

Bye.

I know I will be OK

Yes?

Hi, it's us!

Oh.

Great. Come on up.

Have we got the most

fantastic surprise for you.

Oh, no.

You're not going to sing.

Not that fantastic, sadly, no,

but still pretty good.

We've decided we're taking you

to Paris for the weekend.

Forget everything... particularly,

forget about 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

the family heirlooms...

and whip you up in his arms,

then 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,

shouldn’t we?

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!

Come the fuck on, Bridget.

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.

Which was?

Well, I realized

I'd forgotten to, um...

kiss you good-bye.

Do you mind?

Um...

not really, no.

So...

you're not going

to America, then?

- No.

- Not.

- Oh, oh.

You're staying here?

So it would seem.

Aah!

Go, Bridget!

Friends of yours?

No. I've never seen them

before in my life.

Look, are you coming

to fucking Paris or not?

Not.

- No fucking room anyway.

- No.

Maybe we should just go upstairs

for a minute.

Yes. Very good idea.

No.

Come on, let's go. No.

Of course she's not coming.

Close it down.

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.

Mark?

Mark!

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Double shit.

Bollocks!

Oh, God.

Ooh! Wish me luck!

Good luck, crazy girl!

Ain't no mountain high enough

- Oh, ho

- Ain't no valley low enough

- Ooh

- Ain't no river wide enough

- Oh

- To keep me from you

Ain't no mountain high enough

Ow, ain't no valley low enough

Say it again,

ain't no river wide enough

Hey, to keep me from you

Ain't no mountain high enough

Nothing can keep me

Mark?

Keep me from you

Mark!

Oh, damn.

Ain't no mountain high enough

No, ain't no valley low enough

I am 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 fucking do.

Bridget Jones's Diary (2001) - full transcript

Extract Subtitles From Media