Today is the day I dread. Valentine’s Day is when the country is cruelly divided into winners and losers.
You can easily spot the winners — those smug creeps swanning around with a self-satisfied grin on their faces, like the cat that got the cream.
They’re the ones who have had flowers delivered to their office, or who already know they have been invited out for a 'special treat' this evening. The ones who got a hand-delivered card or present posted through their letterbox at dawn.
The ones whose partner proposed to them on the train to work, or whose chap rented a billboard so the whole world could share in their undying love.
Or the ones who awoke to find a saucy e-card had plopped into their in-box overnight. YUCK!
The rest of us — the so-called losers in love — will spend today superficially behaving as normal, acting as if we’ve better things to do than drink Prosecco and eat oysters by candlelight (pretending we’re going to our book clubs, have signed up for hot yoga or are meeting some friends for a pizza).
But deep down we’ll be experiencing that mixture of jealousy and impotent rage that only comes on Valentine’s Day — because we’ve been unfairly categorised as rejects, yet again.
Tossed on the stockpile of non-essential singletons. Destined never to rise to the dizzy heights of being an object of love, or even an object of fumbled lust.
I loathe the banality of Valentine’s Day, the horrible notion of designating one day in the year the occasion to declare our love for another person. It seems so arbitrary.
A fake 'celebration' exploited by greetings card manufacturers and florists.
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As for the romantic concept of anonymity, that vanished decades ago.
These days, hand-made cards, designer chocolates, flowers grown in the depth of arctic weather and tasteful-not-tarty knickers are so expensive we want to make sure the lucky recipient knows who coughed up, so we sign our names on the package.
Valentine’s Day started before the Middle Ages — even Chaucer wrote about it.
The Victorians celebrated it by sending beautiful hand-painted cards with lacey cutouts of birds and flowers.
But back in those days, sex was something that happened after marriage, not post happy hour at the pub.
Romantic love really existed, and these cards were one way to express the unsayable, and perhaps win a woman’s heart.
In the modern world of sexting and round-robin emails about sexual conquests in the workplace, what’s so special about coughing up for a mass produced Valentine card, or an over-priced bunch of tulips or roses at your local supermarket?
My hatred of Valentine’s Day started as a teenager. With NHS specs, beige hair and big teeth, I was never going to be the stuff of anyone’s dreams.
In my mind I was a winner, an individual, someone whose potential hadn’t yet been spotted by any local member of the opposite sex.
Even so, every Valentine’s Day was torture — the day when all the 'normal' girls gloated and made the rest of us feel awkward and miserable because we weren’t wearing padded bras and didn’t have a cheap card from some spotty bloke who worked at the chip shop and wanted to get into our knickers.
Back in those days, the post arrived before school, so the lying started at 9 am upon arrival in the playground.
Worse than getting nothing was receiving a naff card with a scribble inside that you knew your mum had sent you out of pity.
These were easily detected by the postmark, which gave away the fact that she’d mailed it on her way to work the day before.
Although by the time I was 16 I had managed to score a few real cards, sadly these were mostly sent by boys who were so creepy I chucked their attempts at romance straight in the bin. These vulgar offerings weren’t worthy of a snog!
Aural anguish: Just a few bars of Chris de Burgh (left) and Bryan Adams (right) is enough to have Janet reaching for the sick bagOver the years, I have come to associate Valentine’s Day with lying and deception. I’ve often given cards to men I’m fed up with, just for a quiet life. It’s polite, isn’t it?
Real love, true passion, has been downgraded into this bland marketing opportunity. I might make a funny card for my partner, but it will celebrate his quirky shortcomings, not his prowess in bed.
As for going out, this is the worst night of the year to be in a restaurant, as any maître d’ will confirm.
At exactly the same time, your favourite hostelry will fill up with slightly embarrassed couples who will start the evening whispering, then gradually run out of things to say to each other, before swiftly degenerating into a bored mutual silence.
Between each couple will be a sad single rose or carnation in a glass, bravely trying to convey a feeling of gorgeous romance.
In the background, smoochy music will attempt to paper over the cracks in these flimsy relationships. But how many times can you endure a loop of Chris de Burgh’s Lady In Red, Bryan Adams’ (Everything I Do) I Do It For You and — the killer track that has me reaching for the sick bag — Whitney Houston burbling I Will Always Love You?
By 10pm, it’s all over. Half the couples will have had a row and left separately, new parents will have dashed home to pay the babysitter.
Dodgy dining: Thanks to the cooing couples, Valentine's Day is the worst day of the year to have supper outThe rest have drunk a couple of bottles of house plonk, called a cab and are on their way for some sex (or not, depending on the amount of units consumed). All in all, a washout.
Instead, on Valentine’s Day, why not celebrate our friendships — our relationships that don’t rely on sex?
I shall be spending this evening having a meal with one of my ex-husbands and his very nice wife, together with my partner of ten years, an old friend and her sister. We’ve known each other for ever, and it will be an evening of laughter and love.
As a society, we need to connect more with our friends.
Research shows that the number of people we count as 'close' has diminished drastically over the past decade.
There’s a worrying number of people who now say they have no one special in their lives at all, and more of us than ever are living alone.
I want Valentine’s Day to be an opportunity for us to reach out and be friendlier to each other.
To hell with the roses, the chocolates, the smutty cards and the frilly pants — why not hug a total stranger today. That’s what modern love should be about.
