Bridget Jones’s Diary

by Helen Fielding

I suddenly realize everything has shifted and now I am looking after my parents instead of them looking after me, which seems unnatural and wrong. Surely I am not that old?

Anyway, rang Tom from miracle-on-train-phone (How does it work? How? No wires. Weird. Maybe somehow connected through electric contact between wheels and tracks) to moan about the no-twenty-three-year-old-date crisis.

And in a world before mobile phones and social media this would be a valid thought