Man, I hate St. Valentine’s Day. I despise it with the fire of a thousand suns for making me think I want things I definitely don’t.

I mean, when I was single it made me feel bad for not having anyone to share it with. Now I have someone, the most commercial day of the year makes me feel shit because I’m not struggling home on the bus with a five foot teddy bear like Karen from Finance.

I’d be furious if Glynn spent money we don’t have on that crap, let alone where I’d store it but that’s not the point. The curse of Valentine succeeds yet again in making me question what constitutes romance.

I know what I have is real and I’m so grateful for it, a dozen red roses isn’t going to convince me any more on that. What counts in this life – something I probably didn’t have a grasp on until this relationship – is that being able to count on someone is the ultimate.

And it’s the small things we do for each other to make life nicer that matter. An impromptu lift home from work, a hot bath running as you walk through the door. Sometimes it’s just having someone who’ll be as pissed off as you are about certain things.

I even do things for my husband sometimes too, though he’s much better at selflessness that I am.

What I’m getting at is that I’m loved up every day and I won’t let International Chocolate Heart Day shake that. Love is an every day state of affairs and it shouldn’t only equate to romantic love either.

Family, friends, colleagues, pets – ourselves. If we simply have to keep doing VD, can we broaden our horizons a bit?

That said I wore a heart print dress today as a concession (sue me – I hate the day, love the aesthetic), I’ve just demolished a takeaway and now I’m watching pretty people get picked off one by one in Valentine. It’s not so bad.

Until next year, Happy Valentine’s Day fuckers! ❤️