If we must have Bridget Jones back, let her be 55 with HRT and hot flushes!

ANO, Sky News. No, The Guardian. Scarlet Blake — who this week was given life for murdering Jorge Martin Carreno, 30 — is not a ‘woman’. She is a trans woman. Why is this distinction important? Because statistically most murders are committed by biological males. This one is no exception.

s A mid-life Gen X-er, I must confess I’ve always had a huge soft spot for Bridget Jones. Helen Fielding’s bumbling heroine brilliantly encapsulated the many idiosyncrasies of being a woman in a post-feminist, postsexual revolution landscape, navigating commitment-phobic men, narcissistic baby-boomer parents and exploitative bosses.

Not to mention that confusing smorgasbord of societal expectations that required one to be both independent, self-starting career girl while at the same time maintaining an outward veneer of desirable femininity. All so that the blokes — many of whom had not yet come to terms with the concept of us being allowed out of the typing pool in the first place — would not feel their delicate nostrils put out of place.

Whereas today’s millennials push back with confidence and more than a little petulance (and don’t get me started on the entitlement of Gen Z which, while intensely infuriating, I can’t help but secretly admire), we were trained to roll with the punches.

Bridget’s trademark clumsiness is more than an opportunity for theatrical slapstick, it’s a metaphor for the pitfalls and uncertainty of that life. Like Bridget, many of us bounced from pillar to post, trying to be all things to all people, often sacrificing our own health and sanity in the process.

BrIdGetJONes was an astute piece of social commentary, disguised with humour. Indeed humour, often of a gallows kind, is how my generation survived — and continues to survive. sometimes it’s all we’ve got.

that said, when I read that filming was starting on a fourth instalment of the Bridget Jones movie, again starring renee Zellweger, I can’t say I was enthused.

Quite apart from the fact it will offer an opportunity for Hugh Grant to reprise his role as the dastardly daniel Cleaver — his character, having been presumed dead, was found to be alive at the end of the last instalment, more’s the pity — the likelihood of it reflecting the reality of a middleaged Bridget is fairly slim.

Hollywood seems only to be interested in women my age if we are acting out some sort of complex and deeply impractical mrs robinson fantasy.

You know, prowling around with our well-preserved assets encased in expensive rigby & Peller scaffolding, purring through our veneers at divorcees over the dinner table, terrorising male colleagues in the boardroom before crushing them in the bedroom with our iron-clad pelvic floor muscles, honed by innumerable sessions of reformer Pilates or, better still, indulging in late-flowering lesbianism with equally unfeasibly fit fiftysomething glamazons.

All very thrilling, I’m sure, but about as realistic as rishi sunak romping home with an 80- seat majority next election.

so, by all means, yes, let’s have round four of Bridget. But let’s make it real. Bridget was 32 in the first book, which came out in 1996 — that would make her around 60 now; although in the last film she was 43 when she had a baby, and that came out in 2016, which would make her 51 — so let’s split the difference and call her 55.

If she’s anything like the 55-yearolds I know, there’s precious little pants action (big or otherwise), and mr darcy is a distant memory amid the chaos of teenagers, dogs and hormonal-induced fug... 3:45am. Woken by alarming sound of beloved apparently being attacked by wild boar. On closer inspection, no wild boar present, merely beloved digesting claretbased supper.

Break out in hot sweat, in large part caused by dawning realisation of night before during which accidentally drank too much Whispering Angel and told obnoxious husband of best friend that she hates him and wants a divorce. Check WhatsApp. Confirmed. Am now ex-friend.

repair to spare room in attempt to sleep, but assailed by second heatwave powerful enough to melt mattress. Open window and lie in bed doomscrolling while worrying about, in no particular order: situation in middle east; trump; mother’s hip; child’s GCses, VAt on school fees; dog’s flea treatment; lack of interest in sex with beloved; fat on stomach (possibly related?); thinning hair; the effect of social media on children’s mental health. make note to monitor children’s screen time and schedule sex with husband. Oh, and apologise to ex-friend’s husband. 6: 45am: Oestrogel: 1 pump; utrogestan x 1. Assorted other meds: 27. Cups of strong tea: 943. Parts of body not screaming in pain: zero.

Attempt to rouse teenager for school. unsuccessful. says is identifying as labradoodle and wishes to go to park then sleep on

sofa all day instead. too tired to argue. Contemplate doing same. 8:45am: Office. two flat whites (bad), one cinnamon roll (v bad), one ginger shot (good). Attend diversity training session hosted by heavily tattooed child who is apparently now in charge of everything. Contemplate getting tattoo to seem more groovy and impress child-boss. decide against as risk of septicaemia high following illadvised cartilage piercing last year ( also attempt to seem more groovy). realise that term ‘groovy’ marks me out as ancient crone. 1pm: Lunch. eat over-priced sandwich and look at facelift videos on tiktok. Contemplate holiday to turkey. message friend. No reply.

5pm: Pilates. surrounded by 12year-olds in cut-off Lycra. smug instructor eyes me with pity, asks if it’s my first time. resist urge to say I’ve been coming here since before she was born. Or punch her.

7pm: mother calls to say she’s slipped and hurt her back. the doctor has prescribed bed rest and Valium. Am sorely tempted… 9:30pm: Whispering: ½ bottle (leftover, shame to waste); sneaky rollup 1 (v v bad); turn down central heating (again). Beloved, shivering, announces early night (not sensing an invitation). Labradoodle now identifying once again as teenager, demanding deliveroo. Acquiesce weakly. run magnesium salts bath. Watch Netflix. spare room…