Valentine's Day Purely Commercial, Cynical Enterprise, Anyway.

I Got Into My Usual Obsessive Writing Frenzy, Using All The Material I'd Worked On For So Long And Crafting It Into A Little Novel [bridget Jones's Baby: The Diaries].

Tom Has A Theory That Homosexuals And Single Women In Their Thirties Have Natural Bonding: Both Being Accustomed To Disappointing Their Parents And Being Treated As Freaks By Society.

It Struck Me As Pretty Ridiculous To Be Called Mr. Darcy And To Stand On Your Own Looking Snooty At A Party. It's Like Being Called Heathcliff And Insisting On Spending The Entire Evening In The Garden, Shouting "cathy" And Banging Your Head Against A Tree.

I Certainly Think I'll End Up Writing About America In Some Form. I've Taken Plenty Of Notes. I Like America Very Much.

Reminded Of Favorite Poem By Wendy Cope Which Goes: At Christmas Little Children Sing And Merry Bells Jingle. The Cold Winter Air Makes Our Hands And Faces Tingle. And Happy Families Go To Church And Cheerily They Mingle, And The Whole Business Is Unbelievably Dreadful If You're Single.