My throat hurts from laughing…

I have a sore throat, a head full of something that feels like it came from Gollum’s cave, couldn’t sleep. So I picked up my iPad and read a book that I had got on Kindle on a 99p deal. The new Bridget Jones, Mad About the Boy by Helen Fielding. I mean who doesn’t love Bridget? Especially when you are a bit under the weather. I have to admit knowing that Colin Firth’s character had died, was the reason I have put of reading it until now, I mean he really was the whole point of Bridget Jones, at least in my book.

So I settled down under the duvet with my iPad screen turned down low to save my eyes, and soon realised I was not reading what I thought I was. The book I had opened was actually entitled Bridget and Jones Diary – Mad about The Toyboy by Bridget Golightly. I laughed, a lot, even though it hurt.


It is parody, it is way over the top, it is slapstick and clichéd, and it suspends belief. But at the same time, it is warming and funny, and it gives you hope and warms your heart. My favourite passage:

Half past nine. Joan came knocking on my door again this evening. I told her to leave me alone but she insisted she had something very important she had to show me. Reluctantly, I followed her out of the B&B into the dark and down the road. After a little way, she stopped and looked at her watch. I looked around. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked, a little grumpily. ‘Why have you brought me here? Isn’t it enough you’ve hidden my phone, now you’re trying to finish me off? Are you planning on pushing me under the next tram?’ ‘Shush,’ she answered. ‘We just need to wait a minute.’ ‘Wait for what?’ I said. ‘I don’t get it. Why are we here?’ ‘I told you. Just wait,’ she answered, curtly.‘No,’ I said. ‘I mean, why are we here? In Blackpool? I’ve been here hundreds of times. Why did you think this would make me feel better?’ ‘Ah, but have you ever been at this time of year?’ Joan asked. ‘Well, no. Of course not. Why would I? It’s freezing! I don’t get it.’ ‘I’m afraid my savings didn’t quite run to the Arctic Circle,’ she said, looking up from her watch, ‘so I thought this might do instead.’ I followed her gaze. Suddenly the black night was filled with sparkling rocket ships, laughing sailors, the gleaming tower – all aglow with a billion watts of good old-fashioned northern electricity. ‘Blackpool Illuminations,’ she announced, proudly, ‘the real Northern Lights.’ I stared at her, then back at the lights. ‘Why Joan…’ I said, beaming, ‘they’re wonderful.’

I tend not to read funny books or romances etc, (unless of course Colin Firth is involved), but his works for me – highly recommended.

Oh and before I forget, Bridget and Joan have a twitter page which continues the fun, here

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Quote from Bridget & Joan’s Diary by Bridget Golightly