From Author:

I always stuck all the columns in a series of large hardback scrapbooks. I found them again recently. It was funny to read the first ones after all this time and remember how nervous I felt writing them. I didn’t let anyone except the section editor know it was me. All the journalists on my desk were frightfully serious and writing about New Labour and global warming - I didn’t want them to know that I was writing about why it takes three hours between waking up in the morning and leaving the house.

I feel rather more confident about them now. And it’s good to be starting the column again, back at The Independent, where it all began, before all the fuss. I hope you enjoy reading the originals - but please do remember: they are the diary of an exaggerated, comic, fictional character. It wasn’t me who drank all the alcohol units and shagged all the f***wits. It was Bridget Jones. Obviously.