Was all a bit hazy after that, but remember seeing Magda and Jeremy laughing together in a corner and catching her afterwards...

Odnośniki

Smutek to uczucie, jak gdyby się tonęło, jak gdyby grzebano cię w ziemi.
— Ciężko was Bóg pokarał, ale wam za to odmienił dusze — mówił — nieszczęście wiele uczy...
nawzajem swoimi energiami seksualnymi, co zarówno może dawaćdoznania przyjemności i błogości, jak i wzmacnia w was chęć, radośći siły do życia...
Smart card technology has roots dating back to 1974, when Roland Moreno was issued the first patents for his “chip cards...
Mężczyzna przybyły po tym, który was przed chwilą oczarował, życzył sobie, by przedstawiona mu kobieta miała niestrawność...
LCC–00114 illegal boolean response character Cause A value other than TRUE or FALSE was specified...
gerade das mit sich bringt, was er fliehen will...
onstage was reached too quickly...
Search ROM [F0h] When a system is initially brought up, the bus master might not know the number of devices on the 1-Wire bus or their 64-bit ROM codes...
The Renaissance, penetrating northward, past first from Italy to France,but as early as the middle of the fifteenth century English students werefrequenting the...
The Arrays class has another sort( ) method that takes a single argument: an array of Object, but with no Comparator...

Smutek to uczucie, jak gdyby się tonęło, jak gdyby grzebano cię w ziemi.

"What's going on?"
Turned out the trollop works in Jude's company. Jude told Magda all she knew was that the girl had had this distraught affair with a man who was still in love with his wife. She nearly died when Magda told her it was Jeremy, but all agreed we should not be horrible to the girl because it was
really Jeremy who had been the fuckwit.
"Bloody old bugger. Anyway, he's learned his lesson now. Nobody's perfect and I love the old fart really." "Well, look at Jackie Onassis," I said encouragingly.
"Well, exactly," said Magda.
"Or Hilary Clinton."
We both looked at each other uncertainly then started laughing.
Best bit was when I went out to the loo. Simon was snogging Shazzer with his hand up her bridesmaid dress! There are sometimes those relationships that once you see them starting you just know, click: that's it, it's perfect, it's going to work, they'll go for the long haul usually the sort of relationships you see starting between your immediate ex, who you were hoping to get back with, and somebody else.
I slipped back into the reception before Sharon and Simon saw me, and smiled. Good old Shaz. She deserves it, I thought, then stopped in my tracks. Rebecca was clutching Mark's lapel, talking passionately to him. I darted behind a pillar and listened.
"Don't you think," she was saying. "Don't you think it's perfectly possible for two people who ought to be together, a perfect match in every way - in intellect, in physique, in education, in position - to be kept apart, through misunderstanding, through defensiveness, through pride, through . . ." She paused, then rasped darkly, "the interference of others and end up with the wrong partners. Don't you?"
"Well yes," murmured Mark. "Though I'm not quite sure about your list of . . ."
"Do you? Do you?" She sounded drunk.
"It so nearly happened with Bridget and me."
"I know! I know. She's wrong for you, darling, as Giles is for me ... Oh, Mark. I only went to Giles to make you realize what you feel for me. Perhaps it was wrong but ... they're not our equals!"
"Um . . ."said Mark.
"I know, I know. I can sense how trapped you feel. But it's your life! You can't live it with someone who thinks Rimbaud was played by Sylvester Stallone, you need stimulus, you need. . ."
"Rebecca," said Mark quietly, "I need Bridget."
At this, Rebecca let out a horrifying noise, which was something between a pissed wail and an angry bellow. Gently determined not to feel any shallow sense of triumph, nor gloating, unspiritual glee that the two-faced, stick-insect-legged snooty bitch from Bogoffland had got her comeuppance, I glided away, beaming smugly all over my face.
Ended up leaning against a pillar by the dance floor, watching Magda and Jeremy locked in an embrace, bodies moving together in a ten-year-old practised dance, Magda's head on Jeremy's shoulder, eyes closed, peaceful, Jeremy's hand roaming idly over her bottom. He whispered something to her and she laughed without opening her eyes.
Felt a hand slip round my waist. It was Mark, looking at Magda and Jeremy too. "Want to dance?" he said.
15 Excess Christmas Spirit
Monday 15 December
9st 3 (seems, alas to be true that weight finds own level), cards sent 0, presents purchased 0, improvement in hole in wall since originally made: single holly sprig.
6.30 p.m. Everything is lovely. Usually, week before Christmas, am hungover and hysterical, furious with self for not escaping to tiny woodman's cottage deep in forest to sit quietly by fire; instead of waking up in huge, throbbing, mountingly hysterical city with population gnawing off entire fists at thought of work/cards/present deadlines, getting trussed up like chickens in order to sit in grid-locked streets bellowing like bears at newly employed mini-cab drivers for trying to locate Soho Square using a map of central Addis Ababa, then arrive at parties to be greeted by same group of people have seen for last three nights only three times more drunk and hungover and want to shout 'WILL YOU ALL JUST SOD OFF!' and go home.
That attitude is both negative and wrong. At last have found way to live peaceful, pure and good life, hardly smoking at all and only a bit pissed once at Jude's wedding. Even drunk man at party on Friday did not really disturb equilibrium when called me and Sharon 'glib media whores'.
Also got brilliant mail today, including postcard from Mum and Dad in Kenya saying Dad has been having a whale of a time on Wellington's jet-ski and did the limbo with a Masai girl on buffet night and they hoped Mark and I won't be too lonely without them at Christmas. Then a PS from Dad
saying, "We haven't got twins, it's well over six foot and more than satisfactory on the bouncy front! Hakuna Matata."
Hurrah! Everyone is happy and at peace. Tonight, for example, am going to write Christmas cards not with reluctance but with joy! - for as it says in 'Buddhism: The Drama of the Moneyed Monk', the secret of spiritual happiness is not doing the washing up in order to get the washing up done but to do the washing up. Is exactly the same with Christmas cards.
6.40 p.m. Bit of a boring idea though, just sitting in all evening writing Christmas cards when is Christmas.
6.45 p.m. Maybe will have one of chocolate tree decorations.
6.46 p.m. Maybe - too - will just have little festive glass of wine to celebrate Christmas.
6.50 p.m. Mmm. Wine is delicious. Maybe will have one cigarette also. Just one.
6.51 p.m. Mmm. Cigarette is lovely. I mean self-discipline isn't everything. Look at Pol Pot.
6.55 p.m. Will start cards in a minute when have finished wine. Maybe will just read letter again.
Cinnamon Productions
Sit Up Britain FiveAlive Blind Snog
From the Desk of Grant D. Pike, Chief Executive
Dear Bridget,
As you may have been aware, a Staf-trak programme has been under way during the last year monitoring staff performance and the flow of ideas throughout Cinnamon Productions.
You will be delighted to hear that 68 per cent of the fun "And finally" end of programme items on Sit Up Britain have originated with you. Congratulations!