St. Valentine's Day ... j'accuse

I am not a fan of this day, no, not at all. Why, I hear you squawk in disbelief? Because...I accuse you (j'accuse it is French - how romantic - ed) all of you in conniving to make this day more meaningful that it really is.

I accuse you, the reader, of allowing yourself to be high jacked by retailers desperate to make money in a period that is generally quiet after the post Christmas sales.

I accuse you, the reader, of thinking that this one day is the only day that matters when showing your love and affection to your partner.

I accuse you, the reader, in thinking that an act on this one day is enough to set to rights all of those failures to show affection throughout the rest of the year!

I accuse you, the retailer, of using this Saint's alleged romantic connotations, to cajole the guilt ridden, romantically disinclined public into buying flowers, champagne, chocolates, gifts and treats for their partners.

I accuse you, the retailer, of hiking prices, putting fancy wrapping around objects that for the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year (365 on leap years - pedantic ed) are a fraction of the price.

I accuse you, the retailer, of using something as beautiful, deep and meaningful as love in this cheap (it is not cheap, that bouquet of flowers was nearly £13 - ed) and tawdry fashion.

I accuse you, the media, in all of its garish forms, from TV, newspapers, magazines into using this day to boost your sales and ratings with soppy romantic stories and bizarre marriage proposals.

I accuse you, the media, of tarnishing all that is great and good about love with the lowest forms of drivel in your columns and on your shows.

Have I finished yet, no, but let's move on in a less impassioned, less emotional and more balanced way. If you look up St Valentine on wikipedia you find that not much is actually known about St. Valentine apart from he died on this day.

So, I hear you cry, (or was it sew, a needle pulling thread - they sound so similar - ed), "You haven't got a romantic bone in your body". This is not so, not at all (Dodgy terrain here, so step carefully - ed).

I believe that flowers, champagne, chocolates, gifts and treats should be given on days of our own choosing, and that it should be done on a whim and a fancy and as part of the continual affirmation of feelings between partners  (taking note of this are you Bridget - marriage counsellor ed).

So what has got my goat (and will those that have borrowed it please return it - farming ed)? Well I popped out, to do a couple of errands around noon on Alton High Street (it was high noon and nobody was there apart from usual nefarious suspects - ed). After dodging a large number of teenagers (thought it was half term and they would be off the streets - so much for that theory).

I entered (via the front door this time, getting a bit dodgy to keeping popping in through the back door when they aren't looking, they are beginning to get just a little suspicious) into our local Fruit and Veg shop (yes, Alton does still have one on the High St. - retailing ed) and I was offered a single red rose at a cost of £1.50.

Now I wasn't either in the market for a red rose especially one at that kind of price. What I was in the market for, were the four leeks and the large red bell pepper clenched tightly in my hands. These had, for some reason that escapes me, leaped from the shelves into my hands. (When vegetables throw themselves at you from the shelves - you know something is not quite right with the world - parapsychology ed), and demanded of me that they be bought!

"What about some flowers for your lovely wife", the seller didn't say, and I failed to come back with the age old rejoinder, "Well you haven't met her then, have you! Boom, boom", Les Dawson would have been proud of me.

But, being a man of many talents (and when you find just one, will you let us know - employment ed), I had a retort ready on my lips, as all of you that know me know that I am well known for both the speed and wit of my rejoinders (really - truth ed), "I buy flowers for my wife all year round not just on this so called special day".

The female (failed) flower seller sighed wistfully and said, "I wish my boyfriend were like that, it's so romantic", the male member of staff (there is something off color in there if you try hard - viz smut ed) turned away - and it looked to me that he was putting fingers down his throat, I am still wondering what that means? Maybe he had swallowed something poisonous and was urgently trying to cleanse his system before the poison took hold? (You are so dumb at times - ed).

Anyhow, with four leeks and a red bell pepper in hand, and unusually paid for, I strode manfully from the shop and felt proud of myself. Proud, not just of  being English, but for once, being damn well British and even more surprisingly proud of being a citizen of the European Union. The clouds pulled back and a beam of light fell upon my brow and warmed me through.

Strangely enough, I could have sworn that the failed flower seller said something along the lines of, "What a cheap skate, flowers all year round, my a***", but I am sure that cannot have been the case.

Afterthought

Even though I don't buy especially expensive flowers on St. Valentine's Day, I do buy a card, and unsurprisingly it is not a special Valentine's Day card. It is simply a card with something I like on the front, you know a yacht, a sleek sports car, something a girl can really appreciate.

All the words inside it are all my own of course, hand crafted and lovingly engraved. This year's words contain some wonderfully meaningful and downright heart tugging phrases. I particularly liked the, "Will there be apple crumble tonight?"