It’s not often that I discard a book halfway through but I’m afraid that’s what happened to this one. Bridget Jones, the character, and I are about the same age (fifty something) and when I was in my thirties, reading the first book, I could really identify with her, especially as I too have kept a diary all my adult life which charted my weight ups and downs (8st 2 fat!!! I wrote in 1986). This book however just doesn’t hit the mark and I’m not sure why. It’s as if the character has become a laughing stock, not the sensitive human being that Bridget was in the beginning. Anyway, perhaps it was the absence of Mr D’Arcy (Mark is dead) or the same references to ‘mummy pants’ all these years down the line when the joke has been well and truly flogged, but I just couldn’t persevere with it and back to the book swap it went. Maybe things are just better enjoyed first time round.