I’m reading Helen Fielding’s new Bridget Jones novel, Mad About The Boy – and I’m gutted.
I’ve been looking forward to it for ages, but have been putting it off just in case it didn’t work for me.
And oh no, it definitely doesn’t work.
After I’d thrown it down in frustration, my husband asked me what had I expected from the book?
After all, Ms Fielding had created a character who is too fat, not good enough etc etc etc and had sold books in the millions, so why would she change a winning formula?
But I had high hopes that Bridget, like most people who go through an inept stage, would come out the other side as a truly rounded character.
I may have grown up, but so far she hasn’t.
What a shame.