9st 2, alcohol units 2 (standard health issue to avoid heart attacks), cigarettes 5 (v.g.), calories 1,800 (v.g.), Positive thoughts 4 (excellent).

8 p.m. Whole new positive mood. Sure everyone is being more courteous and giving under new Blair regime. Is surely clean sweep with broom sweeping out evils of Tory rule. Even feel different about Mark and Rebecca. Just because she is having a dinner party does not mean they are going out, does it? She is just being manipulative. Really, it is marvellous when one feels one has reached a plateau and everything just seems lovely. All things I used to think about not being attractive beyond a certain age are not true- Look at Helen Mirren and Francesca Annis.

8.30 p.m. Hmm, though. Is not very nice thought that dinner party is actually tonight. Think will read a bit of Buddhism: The Drama of the Moneyed Monk. Is good to calm down. Cannot expect life always to turn out well and everyone needs to nourish their soul.

8.45 p.m. Yes! You see problem is have been living in fantasy world, constantly turning to past or future instead of enjoying present moment. Am just going to sit here and enjoy present moment.

9 p.m. Not enjoying present moment at all. Is hole in wall, stink on stairs, growing overdraft in bank and Mark is at dinner party with Rebecca. Maybe will open bottle of wine and watch ER.

10 p.m. Wonder if Magda is back yet. She promised to call me the second she got in with full report. Sure she will say Mark is not going out with Rebecca and he was asking about me.

11.30 p.m. Have just rung Magda's babysitter. They are not back yet. Have left message to remind her to ring.

11.35 p.m. Still hasn't rung. Maybe Rebecca's dinner party is fantastic triumph and they are all still there having riotous time climaxing with Mark Darcy standing on table announcing engagement to Rebecca ... Ooh, telephone.

"Hi, Bridge, it's Magda."

"So how was it?" I said, too quickly. "Oh, it was quite nice actually."

I flinched. Totally wrong thing to say, totally.

"She'd done grilled goat's cheese on a green salad and then penne carbonara only with asparagus instead of pancetta, which was lovely and then peaches baked in Marsala with mascarpone.

This was terrible.

"It was obviously Delia Smith but she denied it."

"Did she?" I said eagerly. This at least was good. He does not like people being pretentious. "And how was Mark?"

"Oh fine. He's a really nice chap, isn't he? Terribly attractive." Magda has no idea. No idea, none. Not to praise ex-boyfriends who have chucked one. "Oh and then she did orange peel coated in chocolate."

"Right," I said patiently. I mean honestly, if this were Jude or Shazzer they would have every nuance, ready and deconstructed. "And do you think he's going out with Rebecca?"

"Hmmm, I'm not sure. She was very flirty with him." Tried to remember about Buddhism and that at least have own spirit.

"Was he already there when you got there?" I said slowly and understandingly as if talking to a very confused two-year-old.

"Yes."

"And did he leave when everyone else did?"

"Jeremy!" she suddenly yelled at the top of her voice. "Was Mark Darcy still there when we left?"

Oh God.

"Mark Darcy what?" I heard Jeremy bellow, and then something else.

"Has he done it in the bed?" Magda yelled. "A wee or a poo? IS IT A WEE OR A POO? Sorry, Bridge, I'm going to have to go."

"Just one more thing," I gabbled. "Did he mention me?"

"Take it out of the bed - with your hands! Well, you can wash them, can't you? Oh for God's sake grow up. Sorry, Bridge, what was that?"

"Did he mention me?"

"Um. Urn. Oh fuck off, Jeremy." "Well?"

"To be honest, Bridge, I don't think he did."

9st 2, alcohol units 5, cigarettes 9 (must stop slide into decadence), hatred poison plans to kill Rebecca 14, Buddhist shame at homicidal thoughts: extensive, Catholic guilt (even though not Catholic): growing.

My flat. Very bad day. Went round to Jude's earlier in zomboid state. She and Shaz were going on and on saying I had to get back on some kind of horse and started - frankly insultingly - leafing through the Time Out Lonely Hearts.

"I don't want to look at Lonely Hearts," I said indignantly. "It's not that bad."

"Er, Bridget," said Sharon coldly. "Weren't you the one that wanted Tony Blair to set up dating agencies for Singletons? I thought we agreed that Political integrity was important."

"Oh my God, this is outrageous." Jude was reading out loud, shoving large pieces of a leftover Crunchie Easter Egg into her mouth. "'Genuine tall attractive male 57, GSOH, WLTM civilized, married luscious lady 20-25 for discreet uninhibited no-commitment relationship.' Who do they think they are, these creeps?"

"What's GSOH and WLTM?, I said.

"Giant sore on head. Willy limp, thin mollusc?" suggested Sharon.

"Great sex on horse with little tiny mouse?" I wondered.

"It means: Good Sense of Humour, Would Like to Meet," said Jude, suspiciously suggesting she might have done this before.

"I suppose you'd have to have a sense of humour to be too mean to fork out enough to say so in genuine words," sniggered Sharon.

Talking Hearts turned out to be v. entertaining. You can actually ring up and hear the people advertising themselves like contestants on Blind Date.

"Right. My name's Barret and if you'll be my sugar and spice, I'll give you champers on ice."

Is not very cool to start message saying "Right" thereby giving impression of huge build-up to scary messageleaving, even though obviously is scary.

"My work is thoughtful, fulfilling and rewarding and I'm interested in all the usual kind of things - magic, occult, paganism."

"I'm handsome, I'm very passionate. I'm a writer and I'm looking for a very special leading laydee. She'll take pleasure in having a good body, I'll be at least ten years older than her and she'll like that."

"Pahl" said Shazzer. "I'm going to ring some of these sexist bastards up."

Shazzer was in seventh heaven putting them on speaker phone then murmuring sexily, "Hello, is that 'First Time Advertised' on the line? Well, get off it quickly there's a train coming." Not very mature admittedly, but seemed amusing with all Chardonnay in selves.

"'Hi, I'm Wild Boy. I'm tall, I'm Spanish with long black hair, dark eyes, long black lashes and a lean, wild body....'" I read out in a stupid voice.

"Ooh!" said Jude brightly. "He sounds rather nice."

"Well, why don't you call him then?" I said,

"No!" said Jude.

"So why are you trying to get me to ring someone?"

Jude went all coy then. Turned out whole Stacey, Singleton Depression weekend thing had catapulted her into returning one of Vile Richard's calls.

"Oh God," said Shazzer and I simultaneously.

"I'm not going back out with him or anything. It's just ... nice," she finished lamely, trying to avoid my and Shazzer's accusing stares.

Got back home to hear answerphone clicking on. "Hello, Bridget," said deep, sexy, foreign young-sounding voice. "This is Wild Boy. . ."

Bloody girls must have given him my number. Horrified by sense of danger implied by total stranger having phone number, did not pick up but merely listened while Wild Boy explained he will be in 192 tomorrow night holding a red rose.

Then immediately called Shazzer and gave her bollocking.

"Oh come on," said Shaz. "Let's all go- It'll be a laugh."

So plan is, we are all going tomorrow night. Ho hum.

What am I going to do about hole in wall and stench on stairs? Bloody Gary! He's got Ј3,500 of mine. Right. Am going to bloody well ring him up.