It’s Bridget, Beach (oh dear)

I started this post with the intention of it being book-writing related (as it should) but all I can think about is the beach and my upcoming holiday. So I’ve decided to write about my favourite beach read of all time. There have been quite a few and it’s difficult to pick just one but if you put a knife to my throat, then it has to be Bridget Jones. Cliché? Who cares! It’s fantastic! I read Bridget Jones’s Diary in London so I am not counting that as my favourite beach read (I once had to bite my lip so hard it bled just to stop laughing as a group of people clearly coming back from a funeral (the black clothes, rosaries and all the crying gave it away) stepped onto the train and sat down right in front of me. I got off a stop earlier to save everyone the hassle). Bridget Jones’s Diary had me laughing like a maniac in public but I found that instead of getting dirty looks, people would sympathise and giggle along with me. They knew the deal.

Bridget Jones: The edge of Reason is my favourite beach read so far. I read this book 12 years ago whilst on holiday in Cyprus. Falling off my sunlounger, spitting out my piña colada and scaring random passers-by every time I had a sudden outburst of laughter were all regular occurrences. In bed I would burst out laughing much to the anger of my cousin who was trying to sleep next to me. At some point in a failed attempt to muffle my laughter I put a pillow over my face only to hear, “I can still feel you laughing. Either that or EARTHQUAKE”. I just had to put the book away.

I would love to read it again and I’m glad so much time has gone by because there will be a lot I won’t remember and much laughter will ensue. I think I will save both Bridget Jones books for when I need a week of laughter therapy. Thinking about it, they would have come in handy about a month ago when Greece as a whole needed Prozac.

Although there are times when I find myself quite funny (insert joke to regain modesty: if I had to do a stand-up routine I would be pelted with tinned tomatoes), when I read books by really funny women, i.e. Helen Fielding, Sue Townsend or Lisa Jewell, I question my ability to compare or even come close to being as funny or as adored. One can but dream that one day people will be spitting out their piña coladas at beaches all over the world whilst reading my stuff.

Sigh… is it too early for a drink?

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