Shakespearian potato

More rain. When will it all end? The day the world ceases to exist, most likely.

Now, the other day, I mentioned my ex-girlfriend Mimi, and promised to tell you more, didn't I?

Well as I said, Mimi was the true love of my life. We were together for three and a half years but split up - no let’s be more accurate here - Mimi dumped me one year seven months, two days, sixteen hours and thirty-three minutes ago (not that I'm counting or anything) and ran off with her yoga instructor.

Mimi was my whole world and I just didn’t see it coming.

She came round to my flat one evening and said in a calm but firm tone that there was no point beating about the bush, we needed a serious talk. We sat down in the kitchen and it all came out.

She’d fallen in love with someone else.

I felt like I’d been slugged in the chest with a sledgehammer.

Who was he?

that wasn't important.

Yes, it fucking was!

Okay, her yoga instructor, Milo.

The bastard!!

I'd met him on several occasions, picking up Mimi after classes. Sweet Jesus, I even quite liked the bloke.

Bitter emotions burned within me. Anger, hurt, desperation, sorrow, anger again.

Mimi went on about how she felt our relationship was going nowhere and, frankly, had been for some time.

That was news to me.

She wanted different things, she said. And if I was honest with myself, I could feel that too.

No, I fucking couldn't!

She still loved me dearly, but not as before. She hoped her words were falling softy, letting me down gently, but they were like a cold steel knife being stabbed repeatedly into my heart.

Mimi thought it best if we split up. I had every right to be angry, but eventually I’d come to see it was the right thing for both of us.

I broke down and cried awful, desperate tears.

Curiously, the one thing that ran through my mind as I sat there weeping, my life disintegrating before my very eyes was that Milo and Mimi sounded like a fucking circus act.

Anyway, the split left me bewildered, like a man staring at the shattered remains of his humble home after a hurricane had swept through.

My life fell to pieces and very quickly.

You know how it is when you’ve spent ages staring at a bright light and you suddenly look away? It’s hard to see anything else for a while.

I spiralled down into a deep, dark emotional black hole, wallowing in self-pity, losing my head completely.

I grew a beard, became ridiculously skinny. Wandered about the flat in a daze, unaware what day it was or even, sometimes, what week.

I woke up late in the afternoons, went to bed at sunrise, if at all. Drank even more heavily, smoked far more weed than normal. I didn't go out, and on the rare occasions when I did, I just felt like this weird fucking alien bloke wandering around in someone else’s numb, rather uncoordinated body.

I couldn’t relate to anyone or anything. My hands trembled, my eyes twitched uncontrollably...I developed a Welsh accent.

It’s not a period in my life I'm at all proud of, but hey, time’s a great healer and after about six months or so I got my shit partially back together. Enough to attract the curiousity that is Zosia, strangely.

To this very day, I still think about Mimi and what might have been.

I remember so clearly the first time we met, like it was yezzerdee. We caught each other's eye at a party and I felt a powerful energy flash through me. Damn near knocked me down.

And I knew she’d felt it too.

We got chatting. Before she left the party that night, we exchanged phone numbers. And she was gone. I was left floating in space with, you know, a distinct hard-on.

Too exhilarated to sleep that night, I re-ran our conversation over and over in my head, analysing every little thing she said, every nuance of her body language to determine whether or not there was any remote possibility that she fancied me.

There were things I wished I’d said, things I wished she’d said.

The image of her willowy, sexy form burned in my mind. The old bishop took a solid beating as my imagination ran wild.

An unbelievable floaty feeling enveloped me.

I stared up at the glow in the dark stars on my ceiling thinking, Shit, who was that girl?

I had to see her again.

The next morning wafted by dreamily, Mimi right at the forefront of my thoughts. I didn’t know why she’d had such a profound effect on me, but she had. I couldn’t understand what had changed in me.

But something had changed.

I found it hard to eat breakfast - unheard of! On the way to ASDA that morning I saw a tall, graceful figure with long blonde hair slinking along the pavement ahead of me in the crowd and my heart raced thinking that maybe it was her.

The words to the cheesiest love songs piped over the in-store radio took on a deep significance.

Did a bloke like me stand any kind of chance with a girl like that? I knew not, but had to see her again just to find out.

Back home, I decided not to play it cool and just call her. I was nervous. I dialled her number and waited, twisting a lock of hair round and round with my forefinger and thumb.

The line hummed and buzzed. There was a clicking sound then a ringing tone at the other end of the line. This was it, I thought, my heartbeat quickening.

There was another click and then a girl’s voice.

“Hi, this is Mimi. Sorry I can’t answer at the mo’ but please leave a message after the long bleep thingy and I’ll completely ignore it and never call you back.”

There was a long beep and I was on.

“Er, yeah, hi. This is a message for Mimi, er, obviously, from Zacarias. Um, I met you last night, but then you probably remember that because it was only a few hours ago…unless of course you suffer from acute short memory loss, in which case you might not remember me…but, well, frankly, that seems unlikely. Anyway, um, it would be really cool to see you again and er, well, I wondered whether you fancied hooking up in The Cornet in Finsbury Park around eightish tonight? If you can make it, give me a buzz back. It would be great to see you...Okay, well, bye...”

I was about to hang up but decided to add more.

“Listen, if there’s a problem about tonight and you can’t make it or whatever, just give me a buzz anyway and er, well maybe we can hook up some other time, er, somewhere else...or something. Erm. Right, hope to see you tonight. Cheers.”

Mimi and I did hook up, but not that night.

A few nights later we met for an eary evening drink and from that moment on, we became inseparable.

In the beginning, it was fun, as though she’d found a secret door into my soul, kicked it down and switched on the light.

She was so well informed about everything. Music, art, films, the theatre, books, fashion. She opened my eyes to many spectacular new horizons.

We went to gigs, galleries, exhibitions, experimental theatre productions. We ate candle lit dinners almost every night, took acid on forest walks and shagged a lot.

I mean, back then it was like, two or three fucks every single day.

I thought it was great. Not only was she perfect for me personality wise, but physically she absolutely did it for me too.

I longed for her constantly, day and night.

I’d had two or three girlfriends before, but no one special, no one I really cared about. Certainly no one I ever wanted to say, “I love you” to.

But with Mimi, well, it was different. Right from the off, I just knew.

I fell hopelessly head over heels in love with her. It was out of my control. And for a few years I was happy as a pig in shite. Until that is, Milo the fucking yoga instructor decided to stick his wick in and steal her away.

Am I still hung up on Mimi?

Well, yeah, you know. Life's a bitch.