It’s St Valentine’s Day – A perennial event celebrated by lovers, paying homage to the patron saint of ‘Two M&S Meals for £20 (including prosecco)’. St Valentine, not to be mistaken for St Tinder, the recently canonised matchmaker who employs more contemporary courtship encouragement techniques.
On entering my living room this morning I was greeted by a just audible pinging sound. Being a hopeless romantic (well my wife says I’m hopeless at romance), I misguidedly visualised the brief twanging noise originated from Cupid’s bow string. The sound a consequence of the bow triggering an arrow in my direction; a Valentine’s Day gesture from a love struck amour.
Moments later, though, when my shorts started losing their battle against gravity, this notion was immediately dispelled. Clearly the twang wasn’t the target of an arrow, instead the sounds source was the elastic in my boxer short’s snapping. An event necessitating my hasty retreat upstairs to fix the stricken waistband.
Once in the bathroom, in the absence of a safety pin, I undertook a short term elastic fix with Blue Tac. I’m not advocating this solution as a long term fix, but for the record the shorts have remained at full mast since I administered this temporary repair over an hour ago.
God only knows why we had Blu Tac in the bathroom cabinet. I’m also perplexed that I didn’t have the problem resolution foresight to change into fit for purpose shreddies.
When I said above that I hoped an arrow was heading my way from Cupid, I obviously meant it metaphorically. To the best of my knowledge, real arrows aren’t reckless fired by the god of love.
Explaining to the local constabulary why your lover is laid prostrate with an arrow in their chest wouldn’t be easy. I suspect the police and Crown Prosecution Service would pour scorn on a statement claiming your paramour’s injuries were sustained from a small winged individual shooting a dart into your beau’s heart.
Adding your motive for the impaling was to exhibit your love for the person with critical archery injuries, would inject an even more incredulous spin to the tale.
Indoor bow and arrow usage is foolhardy; which shouldn’t be confused with Stan Laurel’s side kick who’s Oliver Hardy.
Anyway it’s Valentine’s Day and after the Blu Tac fix to my undies, the god of love thoughtfully despatched that metaphorical arrow in my direction, courtesy of my wee spouse.
Our own Valentine’s Day will be spent with a agreeable lunch (I’ll be agreeing a lot with the missus, anyway), a classic old movie in the afternoon, followed by a newer movie this evening. If we stay up until late evening we’ll view an even newer movie.…… Should we survive until the early hours, my valentine and I will watch a documentary about a movie that is still in production.
My wife Karen and I haven’t gone overboard on the 14th February for over ten years, a consequence of not being aboard a boat on that date for at least a decade.
If truth be told, I contemptuously dismiss Valentine’s Day due to it’s commercialism, a consequence of greetings cards and flower prices are cynically hiked up during the homage to old Valey.
I conveyed this very cynicism last week while buying a card in the Hallmark store while queuing to pay for my ‘Happy Baby Sitters Day’ card. Opining to the lady beside me that only a fool would purchase their products on contrived and meaningless days of celebration.
As much as I dislike using the word prematurely on Valentine’s Day, I’m going to have to draw a line under this blog prematurely. A result of wanting to investigate the root cause of the current commotion in the kitchen. I just hope I don’t find a bloody big arrow residing within the lunchtime joint of beef like last year.
2 kids who've flown the nest, 1 wife whose flown with Jet2. Born at a young age in 1960's Leeds, the author became interested in the literary life when his wife bought him a dog. Having an allergy to dogs, he swapped it for a typewriter. Being unable to train the typewriter to retrieve tennis balls, he reluctantly turned to writing...... Website - www.writesaidfred.org