But the brittle British accent and physical tics she initially brought to Bridget - the self-conscious totter, head-cocks and winsome pursed moues - have now become so magnified our heroine looks like an alien who learned to pass for human by watching silent movies, or possibly footage of geckos.
He left her well off, though: she’s given up her TV producer job to fail full-time at parenting their two adorably anarchic young kids (Casper Knox and Mila Jankovic) in an enormous, stylishly squalid Hampstead house.
Bridget Jones’s Diary started out as a mid-90s newspaper-column spoof of Pride and Prejudice and while no one would begrudge Fielding the success of the subsequent books and films, they’ve steadily decreased in sophistication and wit.
Bridget’s past feelings of inadequacy in the workplace and the romantic arena have transferred seamlessly to the sleek helicopter mums at the (private) school gates, who have kids called Eros and Atticus.
Although this being Bridget, she instead pratfalls into a relationship with hot and much younger park ranger and “garbagolist” Roxster (Leo Woodall, primarily acting with his shirtless upper body).
