Valentine's Day

I logged onto Facebook and Twitter on Monday, the day of soppiness and teddy bears holding hearts, to find a strange mix of posts decrying dismay for the day, dismissing it as commercial nonsense and exultations of love and how great it was to share such a day with their beloved. Something struck me about this; I could be wrong, but this is how it appeared: the majority of those people writing in the former category were single, the latter, in happy relationships (obviously). Make of that what you will.

I spent many years in that former group. Indeed, the last two VDays in particular were pretty awful, as both years I was dumped just a few days before, having bought cards and presents. And buy the same bloke both years too. But that's another story, and he's long gone now. So I'd never had a good experience of this most flowery of days. Until this year, and I warn you now, the gushing starts soon, so read on at your peril.

It started quite inauspiciously; the boyfriend had gone off to uni and I was in the flat. I walked into the front room around 11 o' clock, expecting, I don't know, flowers? A card? A present? And I found nothing, that is, but a messy room. Feeling somewhat deflated, I decided to go back to bed, seeing as I'm able to do that being the lady of leisure I am (I think the Twitter tag here would be #sarcasm) where I remained for a few hours, must've needed that nap. I ended up in the living room again around 3, not really sure why now, and was probably heading back to bed, when in the boyfriend comes, an hour earlier than I was expecting, brandishing a lovely bunch of red roses.

Are red roses clichéd? Maybe they are, but you know, most clichés are clichés because they work, are popular, or are just the best. And red roses are the best type of flower.

Later I was treated to a sumptuous three-course candlelit dinner cooked again by him, which consisted of baked camambert cheese with home-made garlic bread and chorizo and thyme bread to begin, salmon and leek filo pastry parcels with salad for main, and (get this) bowls of melted milk and white chocolate, with fresh strawberries, raspberries and blueberries to dip. Then he gave me a card and my present.

This was no ordinary present, however. No bear holding a heart for me, oh no; along with his flatmate, he'd composed a beautiful piece of music, which his flatmate had recorded himself performing on the guitar, and my boyfriend serenaded me by singing one of my favourite poems to the music. It was just...wow. We then slow-danced to the music and...well, what followed I'll keep to myself (hehe), but it was truly amazing day. This time last year (and the year before), I couldn't have imagined such perfect romance existed, but it does. And I know I'm one lucky girl.