It’s amazing how little epiphanies catch up with you when you least expect it. Not that an epiphany is little in any shape or form, and that’s beside the point anyway. You never hear anyone say, however, that they know just when some realisation of a life-changing scale is about to come and tap them on the shoulder, and whisper its words of wisdom in their ears.

For me, it happened with a shock that registered about a million on the Richter scale. A group of friends had been to watch an afternoon show of Hamlet – for me, there is nothing quite like watching a performance from Shakespeare on the stage, in any case, it was far better than that Mel Gibson piece of diabolical trash – and we’d decided to find a quiet corner of the town, and grab food and conversation.

We ended up in a small café, and lunch was, as always, a cordial affair. The topics ranged from the deep and meaningful, to the utterly bizarre, to the vacant discussion on the latest clothes for sale in the nearby Vivienne Westwood store.

My mind was not engaged in this talk, however. Usually I would join in enthusiastically, yet today it seemed to float over me like a cloud. My eyes wandered away from the group, meandering over the people sitting nearby, to the waiters making a pot of Earl Grey for another table, and finally to the street outside, where the crowds milled around busily, going from place to place on their daily business.

I didn’t know why I was in this mood; it seemed to have come on since the play had ended. A bleakness seemed to fill my soul, which was completely inexplicable to me. Part of my mind was still transfixed on the ideas of justice, revenge and madness, and mulling it over. Another part dwelled on the idea of the fallen hero, of destroyed potential.

I spotted a homeless man sitting outside, just near the entrance to the café. He didn’t appear to be anything significant, but as soon as my eyes found his squatted figure…it was like my mind went into overload. Who was this man? Why did he find himself on the streets? What talents did he have, that lay wasted as he sat alone and unwanted, passed by hundreds of citizens during the day?

My own rather mediocre existence forgotten for a moment, I continued to ponder of the circumstances that prevent the development of one’s potential. Would it be of their own making – idleness, or apathy, that drove them away from achieving success? Or would some unseen and unavoidable disaster tear them away from their life’s ambition, regardless of their good intentions?

Ignoring the chatter of my companions, I rose, and left the café, vowing that I would not let my own life fall away by wasting my days. On the way out of the street, the man on the ground received a handsome sum for his unspoken contribution.

Good night, sweet prince.