On May 26, 2014, “ Bridget Jones: Crazy About That Boy” comes out of print, dedicated to the daily travails of an iconic heroine who has captured the attention of millions of women everywhere ends of the world.
The third book about Bridget Jones introduces us to a new phase of the famous lady's life. Here she discovers the challenges of middle age: raising toddlers Billy and Mabel with bang, while writing a movie script and enjoying the company (or being bothered by the absence) of her thirty-year-old boyfriend. She also makes the firm decision to put up with the tyranny of social media, lose 14 kilos, and swap her usual puppy pajamas for a semblance of a sexy nightie.
The new editions of the first and second books about the inimitable Londoner will also appear on May 26: "Bridget Jones's Diary" and "Bridget Jones: On the Edge of Reason", translated by Savina Manolova.
Born in 1958, English writer Helen Fielding gained popularity through the joys and anxieties of her remarkable character. "Bridget Jones's Diary" was originally published as an anonymous newspaper column in "The Independent", it was not until 1996 that the novel was published, which, along with its sequel, reaped incredible success. Screen adaptations starring Renee Zellweger, Hugh Grant and Colin Firth quickly became blockbusters. The three novels about Bridget Jones, this crazy representative of the new feminism, triumphantly prove Fielding's talent as a soft-spoken storyteller with a unique sense of humor and self-irony.
Snippet
3:10 PM Brrr! I have to pick up Mabel in twenty minutes and I haven't made the rice cakes yet. Phew! The phone.
– I'll put you in touch with Brian Katzenberg.
My new agent! Of the most genuine. But I'd be TOO LATE for Mabel if I had a conversation now.
– Can I call Brian later? I chirped as I struggled with one hand to spread ersatz butter on the rice cakes, stick them together and put them in a vacuum bag.
– It's about your script.
– But… I'm on a date!
But how can I be in a meeting and explain on the phone that I am in a meeting? Secretaries explain to people that they are in a meeting, not the people themselves, who shouldn't be able to explain anything at all once they are in a meeting.
I headed to the school and now I was itching to call and find out what the call was about. Brian had sent the script to two production companies and they rejected it. But maybe some fish had taken the bait.
I fought the urge to call Brian and tell him that the meeting had ended prematurely, but I decided it was far more important to be accurate with Mabel: that's what a caring and responsible mother I am.
4:30pm Outside the school there's more chaos than usual: a bunch of flamboyant women, babies in strollers, men in white vans deadlocked against overeducated moms in SUVs, a man on a bicycle with a double bass on his back, rows of mothers on bicycles with baskets on the front full of filth.
The whole street was jammed. Suddenly, a distraught woman comes running screaming “Back, back! Come on! No one's helping!" Realizing that some terrible accident had occurred, I and all the other crazies backed cars onto the pavement and lawns to make way for the Ambulance. Once the street was cleared, I timidly craned my neck forward to catch a glimpse. ambulance/bloodbath Only there was no ambulance, just a very elegant woman got into a black Porsche, revved up and sped down the freshly cleared road with a pouting toddler in uniform in the front seat next to her.
By the time I reached the preschool wing, Mabel was the only child left on the stairs, except for the last straggler, Thelonious, who was just about to leave with his mother.
Mabel looked at me with her big serious eyes.
– Come on, old friend – he said meekly.
– We were just wondering why you were gone – Thelonius' mother called. – Did you forget again?
– No! Ha ha ha! I replied to Thelonius' mother who was staring at me. – I'm going to run I have to get Billy!
I managed to push Mabel into the car, using the traditional waist buckle to fasten her seat belt, and barely poked my hand through the jumble of belongings between the back seat and the front seatback.
I arrived at the freshman wing and saw the perfect Nicolette, the high-class mother (perfect house, perfect husband, perfect children, with only one slight imperfection - her name, probably chosen by her parents before the invention of nicotine gum " Nicorette"), surrounded by first-graders as noisy as a flock of mother geese.
The perfect Nicorette was perfectly dressed, with a perfectly done hair dryer and a perfectly giant handbag. I sneaked in timidly and out of breath trying to find out what the latest hot topic was and that's when Nicolette decided to flip her hair back angrily and almost poked my eye out with the corner of the giant bag.
– I asked him why Atticus is still in the football reserves, the kid comes home literally in tears, and Mr. Walker cut me off, “Because it’s not worth it. Anything else?”
I look at the hot topic/new PE teacher: lean, tall, a little younger than me, with close-cropped hair and a strong resemblance to Daniel Craig. He watched darkly as a group of boys went wild, then suddenly blew his whistle and shouted:
– Hey, you all! March quickly to the lockers so I don't start handing out punishments.
– Here, see? Nicolette continued as the boys lined up in a crooked column and ran towards the school chanting 'Raz, sir! Two, sir!” like disorientated Bushmen assembled to stage a spring uprising, while Mr. Walker ridiculously blew his whistle in time with them.
– It's still cool, Fariza said. Fariza is my favorite school mom, her priorities are always on point.
– Cool, but married – stuttered Nicolette. - And with children, although he doesn't see it.
– I heard he was a friend of the principal – another mother intervened.
– Exactly. Who knows if he has any qualifications at all - interrupted Nicolet.
– Mom. I turned back to see Billy in his tiny blazer, his dark hair tousled, his shirt tucked out of his pants. – I was not selected for the chess team. – And those same eyes, those same dark eyes, filled with pain.
– It doesn't matter if they chose you and if you win, I said and gave him a ste althy hug. – It matters who you are.
– It matters, of course. – Brrr! Mr. Walker. "He needs to practice." To deserve the place. - He walked away, but I very well heard him muttering under his breath: - It's good for ambitious mothers, but this school is full of gentlemen.
– Exercise? I said cheerfully. - How come it didn't occur to me? You must be one hell of a smart guy Mr. Walker, sorry sir!
He looked at me with cold blue eyes.
– And what does this have to do with PE classes? – I added in a sweet voice.
– I lead the chess lessons.
– Oh, how lovely! Do you use the whistle?
Mr. Walker was embarrassed for a moment, then shouted:
– Eros! Get out of the flower beds! Now!
– Mom – called Billy and pulled my hand, – those who chose them will miss two days of school because of a chess tournament.
– I will practice with you.
– But, mom, you're a piece of chess.
– Not true! I'm very good at chess. I would you!
– You're not!
– I am!
– You're not!
– Okay, I let you win because you're a kid – I burst out. - It's not fair, you study chess at school.
– Perhaps you should come to chess lessons too, Mrs. Darcy. - OH LORD. What is in Mr. Walker's business that he still listens to us? – The age limit is seven years, but if we consider the mental age, you will fit in. Did Billy tell you his other news?
– Oh! Billy beamed. – I have nits!
– Nits! – I looked at him in disgust and instinctively reached for my hair.
– Yes, nits. Everyone has them. - Mr. Walker looked down and I saw a light of joy in his eyes. “I understand this will cause panic among North London mums and their hairdressers, but you just have to comb them out with a nit comb. And myself, of course.
Oh my god. True, Billy had been scratching his head lately, but I put that out of my mind because it was more than enough for me. I could already feel something popping on my head as my mind raced. If Billy had nits, Mabel probably had nits, I probably had nits, and that meant… that Rockster had nits.
– Is everything okay?
– Yes, no, it's great! I stated. - Everything is normal, just extra. Goodbye Mr. Walker.
I walked away, holding hands with Billy and Mabel, and then my phone beeped. I hastily put on my glasses to read the message. It was from Rockster.
“Am I very late in the morning, honey? Shall I jump on the bus tonight and bring a shepherd's pie?”
Ooh! I can't let Rockster come, we all have to comb our hair for nits and wash the pillowcases together. It's not normal to wonder how to break up a young boyfriend because the whole family is crawling with lice. Do I still have such stupid anger?
5pm We burst into our row house with the usual mess of backpacks, crumpled drawings, smudged bananas, plus a big bag of supplies and lice products from the pharmacy, and we thump past the ground floor with his 'living room/office' (increasingly unusable except to house the sofa bed and empty boxes from John Lewis department store) and down the stairs into the warm and messy basement/kitchen/living room where we spend all our time. I get Billy to do his homework, Mabel to play with her family of stuffed bunnies, and I get busy making spaghetti bolognese.
However, I'm already in a complete quandary of what message to text Rockster tonight and whether to tell him about the nits.
5:15 p.m. Probably not.
5:30pm Oh my god. I had just texted him, "I'd love for you to come, but I have to work tonight, so you better not," and Mabel suddenly jumped up and started singing Billy's most hated song at him:
– “Forget about the money, the money, the money!”
Then the phone rang.
I went down to him and at that time Billy screamed:
– Mabel stop singing Jessie J!
A secretary's voice purred from the receiver:
– I'm connecting you with Brian Katzenberg.
– Is it possible to call Brian after…
Mabel was already singing at the top of her lungs and chasing Billy around the table.
– Brian is on the line.
– Nah! Could you not…
– Mabel! Billy shouted. – Stop it!
– Quiet! I'M TALKING ON THE PHONE!
– Hello! - Brian's cheerful, energetic voice sounded. - And so! Great news! Greenlight Productions is ready to try your script.
– What? - I mumbled and my heart skipped a beat. – Does that mean they're going to make a movie about it?
Brian laughed heartily.
– This is the movie business! They'll just give you a small amount of money to develop it and…
– Momoo! Mabel is holding a knife!
I covered the receiver with my palm and hissed:
– MABEL! Give me the knife! Now!
– Hello? Hello? Brian's voice rang out. – Laura, I think we lost touch with Bridget…
– No! I'm here! I said and reached for Mabel who was swinging the knife at Billy.
– They want an exploratory meeting on Monday at twelve.
– Monday! Great! I stated as I wrestled with Mabel for the knife. – Is this exploratory meeting like an interview?
– Momoo!
– Shhh! – I pushed them to sit on the couch and started fighting with the remotes.
– They have a few issues with the script and want to discuss them with you before deciding whether to go ahead with it.
– Yes, sure. - I suddenly felt insulted and outraged. A few issues with my script? Already? But what could they be?
– So keep in mind, you will not…
– Momoo! I'm bleeding!
– Shall I call you in a moment?
– No! Everything is fine! I assured him desperately as Mabel screamed:
– Call an ambulance!
– So what was he saying?
– They won't want a newbie screenwriter pushing themselves.
You have to find a way to accommodate their demands.
Meekly, without complicating things. You will do it! - snapped Brian.
– My brother is going to die, Mabel sobbed.
– Is something going on there…?
– No, everything is normal, great, twelve o'clock on Monday! – I managed to say before Mabel got fed up:
– I killed my brother!
– Okay, Brian said, quite nervous. “I'll have Laura email you the address.
6pm After the furore died down, the tiny scratch on Billy's knee was covered with a Superman Band-Aid, and Mabel's behavior card was black-dotted, and the spaghetti bolognese was already in their stomachs, I found. that innumerable themes arise in my mind like that of a drowning man, only more optimistic. What should I wear to the date and would I have won the Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay? Didn't Mabel finish early on Monday and
how was I going to collect them? What would my outfit be at the Oscars and should I have informed Greenlight Productions that Billy had nits?
8pm Open nits 9, live lice 2, eggs 7 (pl. good). I bathed the kids and combed them for nits, which turned out to be great fun. I found two lice in Billy's hair and seven eggs behind his ears - two behind one and a whole five behind the other. It is incredibly satisfying to see small black dots appear on the white comb. Mabel was upset because she didn't have any, but I was cheered up when I found out after giving her a comb through that I didn't have any either.
Billy waved the comb proudly.
– I have seven!
But when Mabel roared, he cavalierly placed three of his in her hair, which meant I had to decide Mabel all over again.
9:15pm The kids fell asleep. I was incredibly excited about the exploratory meeting. I was a professional woman again, going to work meetings! I decided to put on my navy blue silk dress and go for a blow dry despite the damned Mr. Walker's disdain for hairdressers. And despite my nagging feeling that women's habit of going to the hairdressers turns them into those eighteenth (wasn't it seventeen?) century men who didn't feel comfortable in front of people without their powdered wigs.
