Dear Helen Fielding,
Am most devastated to learn that Mark Darcy has passed. One knows that the circle of life sometimes taketh away dishy barristers rather than emotional f**kwits, proving that Mother Nature, too, lets a stiff drink cloud her judgment every now and again.
Have attempted Zen meditation classes to help with clearing one’s mind, but then discover that saying “Ohm” three times makes the stomach grumble. Plus, cannot stop mind from being peaceful when Whistles is having a 40% sale on jumpers (not of the reindeer kind, sadly).
Put on sucking-in spandex for a class described as “ballet for the bum and tum.” Felt v. positive about the whole experience until the class actually started. Now cannot feel left thigh. F*******
Numb thigh aided by
3 2 1 1/2 bottles of Chardonnay, brilliant at helping to heal the heart and contemplate the vast afterlife.
One trusts that your third book, Mad About The Boy, will be enjoyable despite the absence of Mark Darcy. Though one suspects that this 30-year-old infant that Bridge is seeing might be the second coming of Daniel Cleaver.