I’ve been persuaded to write about Valentine’s Day. It’s today, in case it’s passing you by.
That’s not likely to have been the case, though, with every high street store (perhaps with the exception of shoe shops), urging you to spend money there to commemorate the first century life of an early Christian martyr.
As I understand it, he was somehow linked with romance about 1,400 years later, and the tradition has stuck.
As always, for people already in a relationship it poses a quandary as ancient as the dusty old saint himself.
Think about it. Is your relationship so tired that a 99p card from the market and a box of chocs or some bubbly supermarket cava will ignite the affections of your true love?
Conversely, is your passion measured by the amount of cash you hand over at the checkout?
Is £50 for a bunch of red roses not quite as love-filled as a £100 meal for two and a bouquet? Or would a £5 Sainsbury’s arrangement of miniature roses in a pot be a cheapskate cop-out?
Does a card reassuring your wife of 20 years that you still love her (and always did) quite hit the spot?
I’d suggest there’s additional pressure on relationships from such mandatory hearts-and-flowers romance.
Even a well-thought-out romantic surprise isn’t really a surprise when it has to be administered on February 14.
And what about those who don’t have a Valentine love this year?
Once you’re out of school, it’s a minefield. The excitement and trepidation of who might fancy you and if you’ll fancy them back again has long since passed.
Sending an anonymous card to a work colleague might even be called into question as harassment in these difficult times.
My advice? For what it’s worth, if you’re single and want to avoid public life on Monday evening, settle down at home with a good film and some choccies of your own.
If you’re in a relationship, declare your personal Valentine’s Day on a different date altogether and do it your way, not the way Hollywood – or Clinton Cards – tell you to.
At least you’ll be able to get into that swish restaurant you couldn’t get a reservation for on the 14th.
First published in the Lincolnshire Echo.
