This morning an unexpected audible ping greeted my arrival into the living room. Conscious it was Valentine’s Day, I romanticised this sound maybe Cupid’s bow string metaphorically shooting an arrow in my direction – A gesture of amour from a love struck beau.
Upon realisation the noise’s origin was the sound of my boxer short waistband snapping, not a figurative flight of fancy, I made a hasty retreat to my bedroom to repair the stricken elastic waistband.
In the absence of a safety pin, and with all my other undies in the wash, yours truly blagged a temporary fix to my shreddies, utilising the adhesive qualities of a Blu Tac blob.
To clarify, I’m not advocating this remedy as a long-term repair for hamstrung elasticated clothing. However, in my defence, this eccentric underwear repair has remained robustly in place since being administering around 2 hours ago.
Sitting here now at my desk, I am patiently awaiting the postman’s arrival; eager to witness whether the god of love had despatched a metaphorical arrow in my direction.
Hopefully his post sack will contain something more enchanting than last Valentine’s Day when an energy bill and takeaway flyer were the sole post items. Neither correspondence from NPower or Chaz’s kebab shop requesting GJ Strachan become their valentine.
Incidentally, I’m only kidding about my lack of serendipity at attracting a valentine. I did in fact receive a lovely card from my Ossett beau, Sarah; along with some hot cooking sauces creatively packaged like dynamite. Along with a book titled ’25 Things You Didn’t Know About Horse Chestnut Trees’.
Inside my valentine’s card, the West Yorkshire lass wrote the following ‘heart-warming’ rhyme:-
‘Roses are red; Aubergines are black; Don’t ever come to my house again; And give my keys back’
A harsh greeting; but, it has to be said, a far better rhyme than my poem of:-
‘Roses are red; You are quite canny; I’ll give you £5; If you show me your face’
I was never much good at rhyming!
Although Sarah and I exchange cards and presents, it is hard not to feel some level of contempt at the gratuitous commercialism surrounding Valentine’s Day. In particular the opportunist skulduggery employed by retailers who shamelessly hike up greetings card, chocolate and flowers prices for the big day.
While queueing to purchase Sarah’s card on Monday, I spoke to a likeminded cynic scathing about the commercial furore surrounding events on 14th February. He launching a diatribe about numerous pointless celebratory occasions where greetings card companies are moved to produce merchandise.
Queueing in front of me, in the process of purchasing a ‘Happy Baby Sitters Day’ card, this guy spoke of his vehement opposition to lining the pockets of the greeting cards companies for contrived and meaningless days of celebration… Bearing in mind his card choice, the irony was not lost on me.
This man adding further his dislike of 14th February celebrations were exacerbated during 2023’s Valentine’s Day. An occasion when his then girlfriend gifted him an aerial photograph of his dog Bobby, along with chlamydia.
Anyhow, 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…… I think my boxer short Blu Tac fix has finally just given up the ghost!!
Leave a Reply