Love Story

By Zoe Havler

Twenty years ago I found myself backstage in a room full of models, about to hit the catwalk. Sounds far more exciting than it was as it was actually just a shite in-house show for a jeans brand in Brussels. Never-the-less, just before the show started the male models oiled themselves up and did speed press-ups so their muscles appeared bigger, which was all the more sad considering the show’s calibre. Amongst the sea of excitable, buffed-up beefcakes was a hunched over figure at the back not joining in, looking completely disinterested, stoned and vaguely green. That turned out to be the man I would spend the next twenty years with. I can hear him farting next door as I write.

From the heady heights of the catwalks in Brussels we returned to London and fell in love. The summer of 2000 was life-changing. I lived in a flat in Ladbroke Grove with two girls who would become like sisters and I fell in love for the first and only time. That summer consisted of listening to Coldplay on our balcony whilst pissing ourselves laughing, hanging out in Portobello, stealing each other’s clothes, hitting the town every night and me shagging my new boyfriend all over the flat, much to my housemates’ annoyance.

At the end of the summer everyone went their separate ways. I moved to Paris and my love went to Tokyo. I was bereft. He took a shine to another girl over there, but quickly realising what he was missing in the headstrong, outspoken, over-opinionated Yorkshire girl, hopped straight on a plane to Paris and our round-the-world whirlwind began.

We had a LOT of fun - dancing on the streets of Tokyo, sleeping in London’s Hyde Park, getting stoned in our Parisian apartment, driving our bashed-up Beetle in Cape Town, eating pizza at midnight in NY....Fast forward twenty years and he’s handing me cabbage leaves to put on my tits in Hastings - we have just had our second child and I have explosive boobs, hence the cabbage leaves. Honestly. Google it.

Life has done its thing and thrown a few things our way since our globe-trotting days; death, dementia and children being a few of the standard items from life’s bag of pic-n-mix. We have both changed immeasurably, but over the years we’ve grown together rather than apart. 

Never did I think at aged 18 I would meet the love of my life, but twenty years later here we are. He is still the moodiest person I know,  infuriatingly slow and has a tendency to give the worst presents (sleeping bag, anyone?*). He is also still the most loving person I know, gives the best hugs, makes the loveliest cards and is unselfconsciously silly. He is my love, my best friend and my family in one. I hope I’ll always hear him farting next door. 

*I don’t like camping