The Daily Telegraph - Saturday
How would Bridget Jones manage the menopause?
With another film on the way, Liz Hoggard imagines how our heroine will cope with stray chin hair and night sweats
Ring out, wild bells, and crack open the Chardonnay, Bridget Jones 4 starts filming in May. The plot is shrouded in mystery but Helen Fielding, author of Bridget Jones’
Diary, has hinted she is working on a film adaptation of her 2013 novel Mad
About the Boy, which takes place four years after Darcy dies and sees Jones navigating the difficulties of being a single parent and dating toyboy, Roxter, in her fifties.
Renée Zellweger (now 54 herself) is reportedly thrilled to be bringing Bridget back to the big screen, but let’s not forget that these are the menopause years. How will our heroine deal with stray chin hair and plummeting libido?
Monday
144lbs (no way: I blame the hormonebalancing phytoestrogens – does anyone actually LIKE tofu, soy and pumpkin seeds?), alcohol units 3 (excellent), cigarettes 3 (v.g.), calories 2472.
Sleep score: good.
Feeling pretty pukka now menopause has been rebranded ultra-fashionable life-stage by Mariella/Davina et al. Visit Harley Street menopause clinic to find out about cool bespoke bioidentical hormones (made from natural plant sources). Impressed by feminist art on walls, and Louboutinwearing receptionist, but, hello, it turns out face-to-face consultation costs £350 (excluding blood tests), while hormone replacement treatments range from £80-£200.
May need to sell first-born child.
Tuesday
142 lbs (day spent on bone broth, excellent source of protein and collagen, though whiff of Pedigree Chum), alcohol units 7 (high normal), cigarettes 3 (v.g.),
calories 2134. Sleep score: fair.
Boast to Shazzer that I am seeing one of Tatler’s top 250 private doctors, only to discover I could have got bodyidentical (one-size-fits-all) patches and gels on the NHS with a yearly HRT pre-payment certificate (£19.30). March to local GP to score prescription. Steely receptionist in sensible shoes (dead ringer for Daniel Cleaver) stares at outfit (“Has skirt gone on holiday?”) and says list is full. No chance of real-life appointment. Must ask Roxter how to work mystifying NHS app.
Wednesday
130lbs (excellent progress – 2lbs of fat spontaneously combusted through joy and romantic happiness), alcohol units 3 (v.g. for weekday), cigarettes 5, calories 2000 (love has eradicated need to pig
out). Sleep score: poor
The dreaded night sweats. Fling open windows, buy up cotton sheets and silk pillowcases (though can’t quite face the hot-flush-proof pyjamas developed with Nasa technology). Roxter complains my new smart humidifier is interfering with his Bluetooth. But – on the plus side – notes that I’m “hot” in bed.
Thursday
150lbs (terrifying slide into obesity – why? why? Roxter ordered takeaway curry from DELIVEROO dark kitchen
[whatever that is] last night; night sweats off the scale), alcohol units 7 (v.g. for weekday), cigarettes 5, calories 2500.
Sleep score: poor
Time to revamp underwear drawer. Doctor says sexy boy-baiting knickers cause all sorts of menopause issues (candida, anyone?). And scented bath products strip skin of natural oils and disrupt body’s natural bacteria, so emollient body wash best. Say a firm no to cooling panties with anti-flush technology (there are limits), but to my surprise Roxster loves the big M&S cotton pants. “Hello Mummy.”
Pick up new glasses. Whoah. Chin hair, is that really A THING now?
Friday
142 lbs, alcohol units 4 (not counting amusing joke gin and tonic miniature), cigarettes 3, calories 2700 (succumbed to late-night Ciabatta loaf with Brie).
Sleep score: who cares?
Waist seems missing in action (did I ever have one?). Doctor bluntly says carrying extra weight makes menopause symptoms worse. Determined to stay “body positive”
(if 20 years younger, could have made fortune as “curve” model, thank you very much). But vow to start strength training (protective effect against heart disease). Spot
Davina Fitness 3kg Weighted Vest at Argos but can barely lift off shelf. Instead, invest in fat-shaming Lululemon leggings and head for gym, heart-rate monitor strapped to arm.
But what are all these terrifying machines? Realise last exercise burst was Legs, Bums & Tums at Portobello Road community centre, 1998. Hire ripped young trainer Toby (£70), who promises interval training will give me a “beasting”. The sort of youth I normally wouldn’t trust to park my car.
Saturday
150lbs (state of emergency now as if fat has been stored in capsule form and is being slowly released under skin), alcohol units 2 (v. bloody g.
but what is point?), cigarettes 2, calories 2300. Sleep score: left Fitbit
in the bath
Pick up new prescription glasses. Whoah. Chin hair, is that really A THING now? Look at facelift videos on TikTok. Pencil in brows. And if hairline rises anymore will resemble Elizabeth I or boiled egg. Goodbye centre parting. But cheered that new EHRC guidelines say employers must make allowances for midlife women – so, time off as needed and a later start time. “The menopause is not an effing disability!” roars Jude.
Sunday
148 lbs, alcohol units (off the scale), cigarettes (empty carton), calories
2300. Sleep score: as if for dead
Wake up sneezing like a horse with hangover. Turns out beloved lady petrol can trigger hot flushes. “It’s the histamine,” I protest. “It’s the alcohol,” retorts Toyboy, unbelievably smug as he sips a Momo forced rhubarb kombucha (THE NONALCOHOLIC BEER OPTION THAT MILLENNIALS GET SO EXCITED
ABOUT, GAAA). Vow to go sobercurious and stock up on sleepy teas (calming raspberry leaf, ginseng, gingko biloba, valerian root). Or preferably vodka (clean spirits). Possibly next week.
Monday
130 lbs; alcohol units (0), cigarettes (0), calories 1,800. Sleep score: excellent (but
what’s the point?)
Is vagina depressed? Roxter groans at suggestion of early night and a “cuddle”. Time to tackle mismatched libidos. Turn down Tom’s kind offer to walk me through Grindr “for ideas”. But hastily assemble female WhatsApp group (code name: “Moist”) who suggest intimate lubricants with low dose of vaginal oestrogen such as Estriol cream and Vagifem (applied just before lift-off) plus lubricant. “Even if you’re not interested in shagging, they’re brilliant at massively decreasing UTIs,” says Jude; while Shazzer recommends dab of testosterone cream on back of wrist, à la Chanel No5. Feel like empowered adult woman, the Bella Baxter of “fierce jumping”. Sex is not off menu – huzzah! Now where did I put the chin tweezers?