Valentine's Day? We should all move to Scunthorpe
So, got your card? Your roses and chocolates?
Well, according to Royal Mail you should have all of the above and more today. For in the latest piece of spurious “research” it has been decided that Hull is one of the most romantic cities in the country. And before you roll your eyes, muttering, “who on earth comes up with this rubbish”, the research also concluded that Scunthorpe is the least romantic town so there must be some truth in it after all.
Romford and Ilford (unlikely candidates, it has to be said) are your actual official centres of romantic love – Hull actually only comes in around fourth. But it is a rare poll indeed that Hull comes close to topping so we need to take our victories where we can I guess.
Obviously, all this deep and meaningful research - based on the number of Valentine's cards sent to postcodes last year - has been conducted in the name of good St Valentine. Equally obviously, it is in no way a shallow attempt by the Royal Mail to try and persuade people to stick more cards in the post, creating more business for the struggling service. Oh wait a minute; the accompanying release handily reminds people to “post their Valentine’s Day cards in advance to ensure they arrive in time for February 14”. Ah, if there ever had been a mystery it would be resolved now.
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The truth is, of course, that Valentine’s Day is a load of nonsense that mystifyingly draws in even the most rational of women, sorry sexism alert, people. Although, have you ever known a man anxiously watching the door for flowers and a card on February 14? No, thought not.
Some of my most successful and independent friends take the whole stain hearts and fluffy teddy thing very seriously indeed. Forget a bunch of roses at your peril, sir. You will be sleeping in the spare room quicker than you can say Valentine’s Day massacre.
You only had to take a quick peek at Facebook last night to see any number of veiled threats, hints and “humorous” pleas that suggest there are going to be a few expectant faces at the breakfast table this morning. I look forward to the updates as the day goes on to see which of the other halves have managed to live up to expectations. For believe me, there will be a huge amount of competitive romanticising going on. And at least one dodgy engagement.
It is mystifying really. For surely flowers, treats, little displays of love are so, so much more meaningful when they are spontaneous and unexpected? I don’t want flowers and a card because someone has told my husband he needs to buy them on a particular day: I want him to decide to surprise me because he loves me and wants to make me happy. Or because he accidentally got drunk after football and didn’t come in until 3am. Either or – I am not bothered.
So this morning I woke to no hearts and flowers, no over-priced teddies or boxes of chocolates and, thankfully, no “sexy” red flammable nylon underwear. If, by the end of the year, I have received no little gifts or tokens of his esteem then believe me he will be in big bother. He may even have to consider relocating to Scunthorpe – and that is not a threat to be taken lightly by anyone.