That old romantic ideological psyche of mine…

Being such a gran at heart I am a full blown old fashioned romantic. Blame the parents. Mother met Father when she was but 19; I tend to ignore the sector of the story in which my Dad has had a previous wife, I believe this steals away from the affection a tad. Nan and Granddad met when they were of equal age and have now been together for 52 years. Great Nanny Emma and Great Granddad Bob also, were young lovers and life-long partners prior to Emma becoming a wee batty and believing my sister was my Uncle Mark in all his balding glory.

My eternal optimism for the power of love (sorry 80’s night and lots of Back to the Future will prompt one to say things along those lines more often than not) has been tested of late. Those pesky Functionalists will try to tell you that a broken home does no good for a child, but what about a loving relationship? Because all I know is that I have grown up believing beyond belief, in the words of Rob Simonsen for 500 Days of Summer, that I will “never truly be happy, until the day (s)he met, the one.” I ask, is this really healthy? Without intending heartlessness to those it has effected, wouldn’t a bit of divorce hit (or rather batter) some sense into me? This week I grappled with the image of my first V day alone in five years. Yes. Five years. This is the reasoning behind my heavily proclaimed undying love for the 14th of February, because until this week began I did not know Doom Day on the other side of the fence. Dear god is it awful. Now I possess sympathy. The adverts, the editorial space, the television shows. All dedicated to the smugness a relationship offers to us all. (Here I will take the time to personally thank This Morning for making my morning on the 9th of February the teary-est in existence.)

Nevertheless. I will NOT falter in my absolute, sheer belief in the day that is St. Valentines Day. YES. In a world alike to mine, an old romantic ideological psyche, every 365th day should be V day. Yet, and my commonsense allows me to acknowledge this much, there simply isn’t the time or the pounds to spend each evening at a candlelit meal, receiving standard wear red or black underwear and a card that says it superiorly than the inarticulate couple can themselves. Why not take one day out of the year to wallow in our complacency? Envious single people of the world, I have tasted the bitterness and I resent you not for your cynicism. Friend love is the retort to any negativity surrounding this day of the year. Bake a HUGE chocolate love heart cake ala Amber, Emma and Apryl. Make each other cards, watch girly, but not love films. Do not actively shun V Day. Comedy films may help some, but personally I am acquainted with myself and I know what I’m avoiding. This makes innate heart aches worst. The aim of the game is Friends fireman episode, not Noah’s (salty) Ark.

My beloved Valentines Day’s consists’ of seeing my beautiful besties to bake, onwards for the exchanging of flowerpots full to the brim with food, CD’s and velvet roses (even better was the exchange of a flowerpot for a guitar) and eating a three course dinner on the conservatory floor escorted by a mammoth mayonnaise. Valentine’s day can be truly lurid. Yet it is but one day of the year. And two days later is an even grander, chub-inducing day of dreams (and lemon and sugar.) Comfort eating is but 48 hours away my darling.

PS. Wait for the cake to cool before spreading on a ton of butter icing. Butter soaked into chocolate cake results in inedible food of doom. PPS. Jem and Bernie, my hoya kerrii sweetheart plant.