In 1929 Al Capone brutally murdered 7 ‘opponents’ in the gangsterly world of gangland Chicago. He knew how to treat the opposition. A model embraced by Kim Jong Un, Putin and so many other legends who adopted their own take on ‘democratic bargaining’. Big Al did his negotiating with a baseball bat. If only London Transport was run by him today.

But Valentine’s Day became a celebration of lurve. It went from bleeding corpses in Chicago to red roses, heart-shaped chocolates and unbookable restaurants. And cards. Loads and loads of fucking cards.

The love bit actually preceded the massacre by several centuries, apparently. Even before Spurs were born. Chaucer was a loved up dude who celebrated the day. Its written plain and clear in the sentence about ‘throng-guggling plastitudinous virtues of larft-spangled diversionation’. And in fact it all stems from some sainted person who performed Christian marriages for Romans. Who weren’t, ironically, considering where they are now, Christian at the time.

So as kids we’d send ‘valentines’ to those we loved. Or lusted after. Or wanted to see behind the gym at break-time. And you weren’t supposed to sign the cards. Oh no, they were signed with a flourish of question mark(s) from an apparently unknown admirer. Who was generally the red-faced kid looking coy with a bulge in his trousers.

When our kids were young we’d send them cards every Feb 14th. Because they were ugly and horrible and no-one but a parent (who is contractually obliged to do so) could actually love them.

Cards, cards, cards. Its all about cards. The manufacturers of which cannot create enough spuriously stupid days to ‘celebrate’. Fathers’ Day, Mothers’ Day, Whit-Sun-Day, Eat a Lemming Day, Kick a Tramp Day. Its all cynical bollox by Hallmark et al to fleece us out of more card money. Which used to be about 30p, then suddenly became a fiver. How did that happen?

So I never buy Valentines cards any longer. Nor flowers. Those roses which yesterday cost 7 quid a bunch today cost 27 quid. “Ahhh, but they come from Holland”. Well where did they come from yesterday? Bradford?? I’ll have some more of those Yorkshire ones. “Can’t get them today; market’s closed”. Oh.

So I avoid the whole day. I hide. I shirk. I don’t play their games. I don’t have to. Surely its better to demonstrate your love on the other 364 days of the year than save it all up for the day you’re told to? Surely. Mel is indeed a lucky woman (as I frequently tell her) that she is loved so much. And its NOT, just about proximity and availability. In that ‘love the one you’re with’, Crosby Stills and Nash way. Its real, its constant and its a many splendoured thing.

And all this because I forgot to buy a card.

Love you lots,

Happy Valentines Day

A xxxx