All Vallie’s Eve is an important date in the Anglo-XFactorial calendar. All around the nation weary people who have been in a relationship for more than six weeks are frustratingly dismissing card after card at Tesco for being too banal – but happy to go for the least banal at a supermarket they are stood in when the alternative options are going somewhere else or having put some thought into it before now.
Defence for defenceless? It’s a day for the card manufacturers and florists to make money from emotional blackmail. It’s practically a nationwide funeral for florists, upping the cost of roses is the only rational answer to florists when offered the credit card details of people drowning in meeting expectations.
It is not something should be forced into celebrating on one day, is said by some. Generally by people who don’t ever whisk their partner away for a meal of weekend away. I am not saying this suspended in a sphere of righteousness. I hate valentine’s day. I don’t really hate the idea and having one day where socio-sexual aggression is encouraged – legitimised stalking is certainly something I can get on board with. I just hate people, don’t I? (Remember? I say it all the time.)
It’s the “what are you doing for valentine’s day?” questions, like now you have to be DOING something. And it’s all very well standing by your guns and ignoring it with a self-satisfied warmth generated entirely by not contributing to Britain’s climb from economic oblivion by spending some money on a card. Yes, it is all very well but it is your girlfriend/boyfriend/husband/wife/gay-husband/gay-wife who has to say they’ve not got anything from their significant other on the day people are supposed to say something about love.