Somewhat unsurprisingly there were no Valentines cards in the post for me this morning. No declarations of secret burning desire for me. Then again I've never sent a Valentine's card either (apart from within relationships of course), so maybe it's nature's way of telling me I need to be braver with regard to such things.
It's not that I'm against the idea, I've just never before been in the situation around February time of wanting to reveal a previously harboured, unspoken admiration for somebody. Well except one year, but the middle aged guy at the laundrette across the road later insisted that he had been staring at the sales-assistant behind me, and that I should stop following him back to his flat muttering something under my breath about nipple-clamps.
My parents know how to make me feel better though. They called me up last night, having been watching that bloke Mika on TV via the red button, to tell me that he really reminded them of me, that we looked quite similar and seemed to have similar personalities and that.
Next time they'll be calling me to let me know I resemble David Dickinson, or Margeret Thatcher or something.