Bridget Jones's Diary 

It chronicles the life of Bridget Jones, a twentysomething (or is she thirtysomething, can't remember off the top of my head) Singleton woman living in London, surrounded by a 'surrogate family' of friends as she tries to make sense of life and love in the ' 90s. Often hysterically funny, the column accurately lampooned the obsessions of women's magazines such as Cosmopolitan and wider societal trends in Britain at the time.

The columns were later fixed up into a novel in 1996, a sequel (The Edge of Reason) following in 1999. The first book was turned into a successful movie in 2001, starring Renee Zellweger as Bridget, Hugh Grant as the caddish Daniel Cleaver and Colin Firth as Bridget's 'true love' Mark Darcy. (Before the film came out, a considerable amount of controversy surrounded the casting of the American Zellweger as what some saw as a quintessentially British heroine, but her performance is widely considered to be of a high standard. Also notable is the decision to cast Colin Firth as Darcy, since he played the 'real' Mr Darcy in the BBC adaptation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, and Bridget interviews the actor himself in the second book!)

As he had been their executioner; Or knowing, being sorry for poor clay You'll meet a thousand of an afternoon A world.html">world made out of more that has a reason Though he may.html">may scarcely give a Fool an exit A law that, given we flout it once too often, To me it looks as if the power that made him, Left out the first, -- faith, innocence, illusion, And thereby, for his too consuming vision, You'd never guess what's going on inside him. With too much independent frenzy in it; And what he'd best forget -- but that he can't. And there'll be such a roaring at the Globe He'll have to change the color of its hair.html">hair Black hair would never do for Cleopatra. But you and I are not yet two old women, Is more to you than how it is he does it, -- They work together, and the Devil helps 'em; They do it of a night; in which event He's not the proper stomach or the sleep -- Against the fiery art that has no mercy I gather something happening in his boyhood To make all Stratford 'ware of him. Well, well, And all his pigs and sheep and bellowing beeves, Be less than hell to his attendant ears. Down there some wind of heaven may yet revive him; Shall make of him again the poised young faun A legend of himself before I came Whatever there be, they'll be no more of that; Has made him a still man; and he has dreams He knows how much of what men paint themselves He sees how much of what was great now shares He knows too much of what the world has hushed He knows now at what height low enemies But what not even such as he may know .

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All is still licensed under the GNU FDL.
It uses material from the wikipedia.