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Well, no. It doesn't. No. Yes. A film doesn't go all the way through. It's shot in little
bits and pieces. (Louder groaning noise) Little bits and pieces.
BJ: I see. Do You think Mr. Darcy would have slept with Elizabeth Bennet before the wedding?
CF: Yes, I do think he might have.
BJ: Do You?
CF: Yes. I think it's entirely possible. Yes.
BJ: (Breathlessly) Really?
CF: I think it's possible, yes.
BJ: How would it be Possible?
CF: Don't know if Jane Austen would agree with me on this but-
BJ: We can't know because she's dead.
CF: No, we can't...but I think Andrew Davie's Mr. Darcy would have done. BJ: Why do you
think that, though. Why? Why?
CF: Because I think it was very important to Andrew Davies that Mr Darcy had the most enormous sex
drive.
BJ:(Gasps)
CF: And, um ...
BJ: I think that came across really, really well with the acting. I really think it did.
CF: Thank you. At one point Andrew even wrote as a stage direction: "Imagine that Darcy has an
erection."
(V. large crashing noise)
BJ: Which bit was that7
CF: It's when Elizabeth's been walking across the country and bumps into him in the grounds in the
early stages.
BJ: The bit where she's all muddy?
CF: And dishevelled.
BJ: And sweaty?
CF: Exactly.
BJ: Was that a difficult bit to act?
CF: You mean the erection7
BJ: (Awed whisper) Yes.
CF: Um, well. Andrew also wrote that I don't propose that we should focus on it, and therefore no
acting required in that department at least.
BJ: Mmm.
(Long pause)
CF: Yes.
(More pause)
BJ: Mmm.
CF: Is that it, then?
BJ: No. What was it like with your friends when you started being Mr Darcy?
CF: There were a lot of jokes about it: growling, "Mr Darcy" over breakfast and so on. There was a
brief period when they had to work quite hard to hide their knowledge of who I really was and ...
BJ: Hide it from who?
CF: Well, from anyone who suspected that perhaps I was like Mr Darcy.
BJ: But do you think you're not like Mr Darcy?
CF: I do think I'm not like Mr Darcy, yes,
BJ: I think you're exactly like Mr Darcy.
CF: In what way?
BJ: You talk the same way as him.
CF: Oh, do I?
BJ: You look exactly like him, and I, oh, oh ... (protracted crashing noises followed by sounds of
struggle)
7 Mood-Swinging Singletons
Friday 25 April
9st (yesss! yesss!), alcohol units 4, cigarettes 4, spiritual realizations as joint result of Road
Less Travelled and alcohol units 4, flats without holes in 0, no. of pounds in bank 0, boyfriends
0, people to go out with tonight 0, election par-ties invited to 0.
5.30 p.m. Office. Challenging two days at work with Richard Finch reading out bits of the
interview then bellowing with deep, gurgling laughter in manner of Dracula, but at least has got
me out of myself. Also Jude said the interview was quite good and really gave an excellent sense
of the atmosphere of the whole thing. Hurrah! Have not heard anything back from Adam or Michael at
Independent but sure they will ring soon and maybe ask me to do another one, then can be freelance
in home office, typing on roof terrace with herbs in terracotta pots! Also is only one week to
election when everything is going to change! Will stop smoking, and Mark will come back and find
new professional me with large indoor/outdoor living flat.
5.45 p.m. Humph. Just rang in for messages. One only, from Tom saying he had spoken to Adam and
everyone at the Independent is really annoyed. Left him urgent message to call me back and
explain.
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, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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