I have ranted about the Hallmark holiday that is Valentine’s Day.
I have spewed bile about its romance-on-demand element.
I have baulked at the tweeness of red cuddly toys and heart-shaped chocolates.
I have sniggered at rows of pink and red cards in the shops.
I have spluttered my indignation when anyone asked me “So, what are you doing for Valentine’s Day?”
I have warned my beau that I HATE Valentine’s Day and all its faux trappings and not to buy me anything.
And then I got a huge bouquet delivered to the door. And it was lovely, which made me feel like a big hypocrite.