Hello, Mr Darcy.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a warm-blooded woman in possession of good eyesight, must be in want of some gratuitous pictures of Colin Firth." 

Jane Austen. (Probably.)

If you were in Britain and had a pulse in 1995, you will remember the phenomenon that was the BBC's adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. It was a classic of the genre, the standard against which all subsequent attempts should be judged. Memorable performances abounded - Julia Sawalha as a giggling, brainless Lydia, Jennifer Ehle's moon-faced beauty and expressive eyebrows, the wickedly caddish portrayal of Wickham by that bloke off Peak Practice - but none permeated the public consciousness like The Man Himself. For me, there will only ever be one Mr Darcy: Oscar-winner and all-round charming man, Colin Firth.

We all know I like a man in period attire, and I can only assume that being exposed at such a tender age to the sight of Colin Firth striding across the lawns in all his manly, dripping glory had more than a little to do with it. That famous lake scene isn't even in the book (he simply walks round a corner - DULL), but what a stroke of genius it was. In one seemingly inconsequential scene, Darcy goes from Mr Uptight Stick-Up-His-Arse to a sensuous man, glistening with sweat, so desperate to feel the cool waters against his skin that he throws propriety (and his clothes) to the wind and surrenders to a deeper, physical urge. Also, you can kind of see his nipples through his shirt. It's steamy stuff.

But what, you might wonder, has prompted this little trip down memory lane? Is this just turning into a blog about on-screen hotties of yesteryear? Sadly not. Colin Firth has been on my mind recently for a very specific reason. This reason:

That's right, people. MR DARCY IS MOVING IN NEXT DOOR. Kind of. Okay fine, he's not technically *moving in*. And that is not technically *my* house, since I haven't actually lived with my parents for the better part of a decade. But Colin Firth is shooting a film all this week mere yards away from the house where I grew up. The very house, in fact, where I first saw him dive into that god damn sexy lake.

Oh yeah, and Nicole Kidman is in it too. Just a couple of Hollywood A-listers, hanging out on my street. No big deal.

As you can imagine, North Berwick is all a-flutter. This is the most exciting celebrity happening in the town since Ronnie Corbett appeared in support of the Save The Outdoor Pool campaign. My mum reports higher than usual traffic along our section of the beach, with people casually strolling first one way, then the other, attempting to appear disinterested while twisting back over their shoulders hoping to catch a glimpse.

The couple who normally live in the house in question have decamped to a neighbouring flat and the decoraters have moved in, transforming it beyond recognition. North Berwick's usual sci-fi-esque streetlamps have been replaced on our street with original 80s fittings, bathing the terrace in a retro orange glow. Soon, though, it will be basking in the bright white light of superstardom emanating from the perfect, screenworthy features of Colin and Nicole. (See how we're on first name terms already?)

Regrettably, I probably won't get to hang out with Col and Nic personally, since they have quite selfishly scheduled filming to take place while I'm at work. I did manage to snap some behind-the-scenes pictures on Saturday though, and my mum has promised me frequent updates, which I will no doubt be relaying on twitter and which I'm sure you're all very excited to hear. "I think I just saw Colin's arm in the window!" "Nicole's assistant's assistant just walked past the back gate!" That kind of thing. In a happy coincidence, Isla has just had her final jags and is now free to run around outside - I think there's a strong chance she might "accidentally" run into Colin Firth's trailer...

So, how was YOUR weekend? See any Hollywood A-listers? Snuggle any puppies? Take any pictures of lampposts?



{Second image by Lillian and Leonard. Note the wedding bunting.}