AND THEN THERE WERE FIVE

I'm exhausted. And it's all Natalie's fault.

Who's she? I wish I knew. I mean, I know WHO she is - she's about 5'10'', brown eyes, feather-soft curls and is prone to descend into uncontrollable hysterics whenever I say something funny, which is usually at her own expense.

This last point in itself would, on paper at least, suggest that she could be my ideal woman. Indeed, there was a time when I thought the same.

I'll spare you all the details - I once wrote 20,000 words about our brief fling and my prolonged obsession/depression when she dumpled me.

We met in April 2000, almost exactly four months after my 24th birthday. It was the Jewish Festival of Passover and we'd both turned up to the communal meal being held at my synagogue.

The proceedings were well under way when Natalie walked in. She was tall and slender. She wore an ill-fitting cream dress with a brown horizontal stripe across the bottom. Her smile stretched from ear-to-ear and never for a moment did it fade. Her brown eyes had the infinite depth of a teddy bear’s; so brown that, from where I was sitting, it looked like she had no pupils. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

Occasionally, I caught her looking at me. And when I did, neither of us flinched.

Then it happened.

All the wine Natalie had been quaffing -- quite impressively, I might add -- was beginning to take its toll. She reached for one of the bottles of water in parched anticipation, unscrewed the top, and out came a loud hissing sound, followed quickly by half the contents of the bottle -- all over a very wet and red-faced Natalie.

She laughed so hard I thought she would wet herself even more. I was mesmerised. I got her number and we went out.

I remember how I turned up at her flat to find her on the phone. I handed her a bag of cinnamon balls that I'd stolen from my mother's biscuit tin. We went to see Being John Malkovich at the cinema, which we both loved. I took her out to Pizza Express later that week.

That nigt, we kissed. Never before had I felt so utterly taken in by someone. I drowned in her. I wanted to wrap myself in her. I didn't think I could ever be this happy.

And then...nothing.

It would be four years before I would kiss Natalie again. In between, I obsessed about her for a full year. She messed me around so much I sometimes wondered if she was pure evil. I couldn't eat or concentrate at work. I was depressed. I hated her.

But I don't anymore. For reasons known only to her, she kept in touch with me, mailing me out of the blue and occassionally calling. She came to a leaving party of mine last year and we hooked up again.

I knew this was dangerous for me, but I was in control this time; indifferent. I even told her about the feelings I'd once had for her. She had no idea. But then I went away again and now I'm back.

Which brings us back to the present day, or yesterday. Five years after I first invited her over to my new flat, she finally came round, with her sister. She'd ventured into my neck of North London for the first time since my return. I didn't even bother changing out of my pyjamas which I'd put on in anticipation of an early night that never materialised.

Natalie stayed for 45 minutes and then left. I hope I see her again soon.

In the meantime, I'm a little overwhelmed by ladies right now. There's Mariella, the voluptious Brazilian I grappled and groped with on the plane the other day; there's Lisa, an attractive, combative, handful-of-a-girl whom I kissed on New Year's Eve; Miranda, the rabbi's daughter I've been set up with but haven't seen yet; and Vanessa, the gorgeous (natural) blonde I used to fancy, but who went out with my mate Stephen, and who doesn't seem to remember that I once e-mailed her to ask her out after which she never spoke to me again. Interesting times...