Motorblog The St. Valentine's Day Rip-Off: He must have been the sixth or seventh bloke to go in there with a spring in his step. Yes, positioned as our 'Romantic Table For Two' was; adjacent to the men's room, I had heard the pound coins drop and the packet of three dump out on each and every occasion. And this is what Valentine's Day, or at least, the evening belonging to it, is all about; getting the old purple parsnip backed in and out of the garage until that (hopefully) mutual blossoming of ecstasy, followed by Captain Floppy riding into town and a damp spot on the sheets; then turning over and going to sleep.
Must admit, I raise my hand when accused of being the 'most unromantic man she has ever met,' yes, guilty as charged, but the one year I chanced my luck and ignored the red rose and a card and bought her £5 worth of scratch cards instead; with the resulting £12 she won, well, I was the hero for the day.
But scuse me, wasn't St. Valentine's Day supposed to be for the young? Wasn't it for a girl or boy to get several Cards through the letter box, not knowing who their secret admirer's were? Yes, that's it, but the Card and Red Rose Companies, and the pubs and restaurants have gradually erased this aspect from our consciousness; imagine you or she receiving five or six cards now; there'd be one hell of a row and divorce proceedings in action by next Monday afternoon.
Over the years we have been weaned away from the very essence of everything St. Valentine's Day was supposed to be about, and now, in the name of pure corporate greed, even down to the peak on the sales graph from that condom machine; right now, the morning after, we realise that yes, we were indeed f***ked over several times last night and only had a kiss first from one of them; but at least she was the one who mattered the most.