The Holiday | EXTENDED PREVIEW - First 10 Minutes | Love Love

I have found almost everything ever written about love to be true. Shakespeare said, journeys end in lovers meeting. Oh, what an extraordinary thought. Personally, I have not experienced anything remotely close to that, but I'm more than willing to believe Shakespeare had. I suppose I think about love more than anyone really should. I'm constantly amazed by its sheer power to alter and define our lives. It was Shakespeare who also said, love is blind. Now that is something I know to be true. For some, quite inexplicably. Love fades. For others, love is simply lost. And of course, love can also be found, even if just for the night. And then there's another kind of love, the cruelest kind, the one that almost kills its victims. It's called unrequited love. Of that, I am an expert. Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories, those of us who fall in love alone? We are the victims of the one-sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones, the walking wounded, the handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space. Yes, you are looking at one such individual. And I have willingly loved that man for over three miserable years. The absolute worst years of my life. The worst Christmases, the worst birthdays. New Year's Eves brought in by tears and valium. These years that I've been in love have been the darkest days of my life. All because I've been cursed by being in love with a man who does not and will not love me back. Oh God, just the sight of him. Heart pounding, throat thickening, absolutely can't swallow. All the usual symptoms. Oh, Jasper. Don't tell me you're still... No, no, no, that's over. Very over. What's the story with you two anyway? You were shagging him, weren't you? More importantly, I was in love with him, truth be known. Yes, yes, I remember. Then you found out he was shagging that trip from circulation. Which is when I stopped shagging him. I don't know if we should be talking about this at the office party. Can't we see you two together? He cheated on you but you stayed friends. I was head over heels, you know. Everyone knew. Does it look like I'm crying right now? No, no, no, no, no, no. It just looks like it's a smoke from my cigarette. Did he ever actually tell you that he loved you back? Yes. Three, almost four times. And when I reminded him of that, he said that it must have been as an answer to a question. Which, by the way, it absolutely was not. You know, Iris. When you catch your guy with another woman, you're not supposed to stay friends with him. You're supposed to never talk to the prick again. You're supposed to throw things at him, scream, call him names. Not do his blooming laundry. Don't do his laundry? Did someone tell you I do his laundry? No, no, all we do now is we email. Not when he's with her, of course. Also, when he's not with her, we talk on the phone. Sometimes for hours. And then there's the occasional long lunch. You know, I never realize how pathetic you are. Really? Oh, God. I'm so aware of it. They always know just how to get us, don't they? Who knows, whenever he wants to come crawling back into your life... Actually, he has made some small comments like that recently. But he hasn't exactly come right out and said it, but he's done it. Iris, did you file your story? Oh, no, not yet. Oh, down to the wire. Sorry. Better go. I'm his best friend. Spoke to the guests when he said, Hillary, Edward's wives, and Ralph. OK, I've got a question for you. What's it like to be the only person committed to their work when the rest of us are slumming? You mean, what's it like to be the only person not to finish their work on time? Hold on, don't... Don't go. Is it fun having a brain that works that fast? Shut up. No, I mean it. It'll be a brilliant finish, too. I assure you it's not. I see. Hi. Your column today was fantastic. God, I love that line. The onrushing stripping of dignity and thought from British lives. Great writing. Hey, I got you something for Christmas. That's convenient. I got you something, too. Oh, darling, I don't actually have my gift with me. In fact, I probably mislaid it, but I know I got you something. It's somewhere in my car. Do you want to open it? No, no, that's OK. I know you're going to look hot in it. Well, let's hope you find it, then. Not exactly something hot, but happy Christmas. I don't think we'll actually get a chance to do this yet. Remember last Christmas we exchanged gifts in March? This is good. We're getting better. You stinker. It's a first edition. Where did you find it? Buried in that little place we found in Covent Garden that time. Why are you so great? I hate it that we can never talk. Well, first of all, very happy Christmas to each and every one of you. Now, we're not officially closed, as you very well know, but we are going to try and get by this week with a smaller-than-normal star. But before some of you rash off on holiday, I do have one rather important announcement. Now, this affects Iris. Iris Simpkins, where are you? Ah, here. Iris, I have a tip for you. Excellent. A wedding was privately announced earlier today that I don't believe any other paper in town knows about, and I want you to be the first to report on this particular union, as it is between two of our most esteemed colleagues. May I introduce the newly engaged Sarah Smith-Alcott and Jasper Bloom.