January 16, 1997, Rosarito.

It’s the UK premiere of Hamlet today. In fact it’s 1.15 AM in England, so they’ll all be partying at the Dorchester [hotel]. I didn’t get much of a chance to write yesterday - we [came] inside to complete the scene where Rose meets Jack. We didn’t complete it, but we’ve done most of it. We did Leo’s and my reshoot and close-ups, though. Initially, I was so fed up because we’d been shooting that scene forever and it isn’t an easy one. But thank the Lord we did it again; I felt I really found beats that I couldn’t find before.

January 18, Rosarito.

Nothing, nothing prepared me for the scenes we are shooting now. I vow I will look much more carefully at script directions in future! "Jack and Rose run through flooded corridor" has turned into the most arduous three days of my life. Scared. Terrified. My experience in the water seems like the worst of anybody’s because of that bloody flimsy dress. Everyone is being very sympathetic. We never do more than three takes before we warm up. Jim is being really careful about hypothermia. You don’t realise when you’ve got it, seemingly your brain just switches off and you don’t know how cold you are. When you’re in freezing cold water and you’re acting your arse off, you forget about the temperature of the water. Thank God we have on-set jacuzzis. We fling ourselves into them for 10 to 15 minute stretches while the dressers attack our clothes with hair driers, ready for the next take.

January 23, Rosarito.

In every shot when Leo and I are in a confined space, there are safety divers underwater, untangling my legs from the dress. [Now Sarah has done the stunt] we are doing the close-ups in the scene where we’re swept along by a tidal wave, then get trapped behind an iron gate. The water’s rising and then, at the last minute when it’s almost at the ceiling, we break through. It is frightening and claustrophobic. To make matters worse, at this point in the film, my fiance’s coat has been put on me, up on deck. So for a lot of the scenes I’m wearing a huge soaking overcoat that I can hardly move in. Every time we get the gates open and break free, we then swim under a pipe that runs across the ceiling of the corridor with literally centimetres in which to breathe. And in every take the bloody coat gets caught and the poor diver is frantically trying to free it. I know there are escape holes in the ceiling and safety divers everywhere but this all feels very real and bloody frightening. It makes my drowning scene in Hamlet seem like a swimming lesson.

January 24, Rosarito.

We finished at 7 AM. Not easy to keep at it when I’ve been awake for 19 hours and just want to fall asleep standing up. But Jim was calm, kind and concise, giving fab direction. He helped me find all the things I was looking for but couldn’t quite find and had to compromise somehow before. The sunrise is gorgeous outside, an orange, pink and yellow strip against the deep blue sea. The sunsets are always glorious here.

January 26, Rosarito.

I’m at work in my dressing room waiting to go on ship for another night’s work. It was frantic yesterday - we got lots done. Jim was in a fantastic mood and we had a real laugh. How many close-ups can that man do though? "Can we do another shot of Kate, please?" I can’t bear close-ups. I wonder if any other actors like them? I had to spit in Billy’s face in one part of the scene today. We stopped between takes for a private lesson on the side of the ship. Tina [make-up] had a bowl of beaten eggwhite, but in the end I used my own spit. When we started rolling again, Sian [make-up] ran over with a tube of K-Y jelly, and put a splodge on my tongue to make it look more dramatic - more spit - not a pleasant experience.

January 29, Rosarito.

Underwater close-ups and it was horrible! I was weighted down, on top of a small stepladder, which is weighted down to the bottom of the tank. There were stunt boys around that I’d known from doing the drowning scenes in Hamlet which made me feel a bit better while I still had my mask and breathing gear. Leo is so happy in the water! He is over there doing backflips like he’s a water baby! Then I’m at the bottom of the tank and someone takes the mask off for me and I feel completely naked and helpless. I couldn’t see Leo. The surface seems miles away. Jim was absolutely brilliant. He wouldn’t have made me do that if I didn’t say, "No, I’m okay.' So they take the mask off again and I can’t see anything...and it is really petrifying when they yell "action" and suddenly that regulator is out of my mouth and I have nothing and I cannot go anywhere because I am weighted down to this ladder. Take after take I reminded myself that I wanted to be part of this. I will not admit defeat - I will not do that.

February 1, Rosarito.

I managed to get seven hours sleep, woke about 4 PM and ate two scones that Amy (my dresser) made - pear and blueberry - and drank coffee on the couch with Tina and watched the sunset. It’s windy outside. I’ve got lots of hope and courage at the moment. I’ve started to feel good about the work I’ve done on Titanic. Before I was just a bit bewildered and depressed about it, not knowing whether what I was doing was good or bad or indifferent or what.

February 2, Rosarito.

I had to wear a wetsuit today, it was so freezing cold. We did a very wide shot outside in the huge tank, with lots of extras and me surfacing having gone down with the ship.

February 4, Rosarito.

Well the week has begun again and thank God. I was becoming stir-crazy, being called in to work to do nothing when I could be here eating Granola bars, watching movies and seeing Mel and Lisa [make-up artists] dye their roots! I went for a midnight walk. I spoke to Mum.

February 5, Rosarito.

They’ve found rats on set in steerage corridors - very authentic! I spent the night soaking wet, cold and in the see-through dress. I now strip off anytime I can and dive in the jacuzzi. Forget about a flabby arse when you just want to get into hot water and warm up.

February 6, Rosarito.

We didn’t complete the scene where the third-class passengers try to escape, so more tomorrow. My feet are pulsating, because they were so trampled on by all the steerage extras, like a herd of elephants. They reduced all my toes on my left foot to a pulpy mess in one take.

February 9, Rosarito.

At last the week has come to an end...the worst week so far. I had an amazing massage. I lay on the table and zonked out. I didn’t even bother to dress afterwards. I stayed in my white dressing gown, shoved my sore feet into my slippers and fell into the car, then walked through the front door and proceeded to pick the coffee icing off the top of a maple walnut scone from the freezer.

February 12, Rosarito.

It’s been so mad these last few days - me running scared in freezing water. Very tired. More of it to come, though. Hyperventilating and fainting, no less. Never let it be said that I don’t suffer for my art! Very stressful. I had a good cry tonight for a lot of accumulated reasons. I want to go home now. I really want to go for a ride on a London bus. I wish my spots would go away.

February 16, Rosarito.

I was wrapped early because I’d hurt my arm - I fell during a take and since it was already sprained from something else this week, it just made it worse. I’m exhausted and ache like hell... I’m bruised and battered from head to foot. Just realised that this is the first time in ages that I’m going to sleep in the dark - it’s the night!

February 22, Rosarito.

No-one seems to know when we will wrap. I had a letter from Mum today which was really lovely. Hamlet’s out and the reviews are: so far so good. Ken [Branagh] has been nominated for best production/screenplay Oscar. He won’t win it though, because he’s up against The English Patient.

February 25, Rosarito.

Just finished another night of work: a civilised dry scene on the bridge. Jim did one particular shot on me, and when we’d finished, he took my hand and walked me to the monitor and made me watch it and said, "She may have had a shit morning, but look how gorgeous she is!" He was referring to the previous scene: rowing at breakfast with my fiance Cal, and a corseted lecture from my mother, Ruth - scenes we hadn’t shot that day, but scenes that precede the one we were doing. It made me feel good. It was Billy’s birthday and I didn’t know, so no pressie. Whoops!

March 18, Rosarito.

Mum’s here! The thrill of tasting home cooking again! She’s been cooking scrambled eggs for my breakfast although I’m still on my odd timetable and she’s on normal, so she wakes me up at 1 PM with: "Darling, shall I put on the coffee, then?" and by the time I’ve showered she’s cooked the eggs. Marvellous. I feel happy while I trot off to work and when I get back I just crawl into bed with my mum.

March 22, Rosarito.

Five o’clock in the morning. I can hardly believe that this is the early hours in the morning of this, the final shooting day of Titanic. How am I feeling? I don’t know yet. It’s lovely having Mum here, though she’s going to have to come off the sun-drenched terrace and do some serious packing for me. Still got one more night of work to do, though. Under the stars and in the water - under the water, in fact. I think this will be day 164. Longer than True Lies, apparently. Seven months, such a long time, and it’s gone so quickly. It’s the little lines that trip you up. "They go down together. They are separated under water. Rose kicks for the surface." Sounds so simple, but no. I’ve been having lessons on how to "equalise," pinching my nose and blowing really hard. That’s so your ears fill up with water and no more water can get in and burst your eardrums. You have to equalise as you’re going down. We go down with the ship. We swim towards each other. We’re looking at each other and then I wrap my legs around Leo and cling like a monkey. We rehearsed wearing masks and we’re in the heated pool this time. Then we hear Jim’s voice say five, four...and we both take a deep breath, then Leo pulls us under, do [to about three metres], then we get down there and he [Jim] says, "Action", and we have to swim around each other. I’m holding onto him and then we get separated. Then we have to surface and we have no breath left and we’re kicking as hard as we can. I’m wearing high heels, the dress and a life jacket.

August 22, 1997, Los Angeles.

This is too weird for words. One year ago exactly to this day, I was on a plane to LA to start shooting Titanic. I’m still shooting it. Today Leo and I were Jack and Rose once more, shooting and insert, running down a corridor looking wet and bedraggled on the Twentieth Century Fox lot. It was like looking at a ghost when I looked in the mirror. Red wig (because my hair is blonde now) the same make-up and God-awful costume that makes me want to die because it is so uncomfortable, soaking wet and I’ve worn it so much that it’s like a very nasty second skin. Surreal as hell. We may as well have never stopped shooting. Five months of life that I’ve just had may as well have not happened. The most frightening part was that it all felt so normal. It was great to see [those] people again, but get me to the airport...get me home.