So last week brought us February 14, aka Valentine’s Day, aka over-priced card and Spar flowers day.

I’m acquainted with people who received awesome gifts ranging from designer handbags, jewellery and those wine glasses that hold a full bottle, through to those poor souls who received something worse than nothing, one of those awful mugs with the unbranded hot chocolate in a suspect looking sachet that tastes like wet sand.

Apparently Valentine’s Day used to be a lot more ‘inclusive’– it wasn’t all about the romantics, it was about everyone-friends, family, the lovely chap at the takeaway who sends extra fries because you’re single-handedly putting his kids through Uni (cheers, Kev).

So to ‘spread the love’ I was kind enough to buy a few pressies for my single mates. One such present was a Valentine’s Day survival kit I found on the bay of E, comprised of several miniature bottles of Prosecco and 12 cats. I’m only kidding! As if I would give alcohol away!

What did I get? Well, at first I didn’t think I was going to get anything. We agreed on the classic ‘we won’t get each other anything’. This has been the case for a while and he still hadn’t cottoned on that ‘nothing’ really translates to ‘something spectacular.’ Of course we’re going to say ‘don’t get me anything!' Are we supposed to actually say yes? Crazy!

Each year I make sure to get him something lovely, this is then followed by a huge argument where he asserts that ‘nothing’ means ‘nothing.’ Idiot. Then I turn on the waterworks and sulk until I’m given a credit card. I don’t take the mick though – I think a couple of hundred spent on ASOS is enough to absolve him of his sins.

The kids made an effort by leaving a packet of Percy Pigs alongside a homemade card. I couldn’t unwrap the sweets and get the card in the bin fast enough before I started munching. Sorry, but the fridge is reserved for menus. They never mention that all their handiwork keeps ‘getting lost,’ anyway.

I was waiting on the main present after suffering severe indigestion from swallowing PP’s (I’ve managed to bypass chewing) when there was a knock at the door.

A huge bouquet of beautiful flowers – not the cheap daisy variety or a bunch composed almost entirely of those things they ‘fill’ them out with that you can get by the riverside.

I burst into tears. I was starting work soon – why, why would he send them to the house and not somewhere where everyone could witness his grand, romantic gesture? Tip: if you’re sending a lady flowers, she wants everyone else to know about it.