Every year since I have known Mark we have spent Valentines day either apart due to a gig/work generally, or it has passed by unnoticed. Odd, when shops are suddenly transformed into red, pulsating flower filled dens of . . . romance, well, not the dog washing parlour perhaps, but all others that can think of an excuse to sell more of anything.
This year Mark is in Brum on Valentines day, but a bunch of red roses had been left (with price tag) on the kitchen worktop. Yes! We are edging ever nearer to a full blown MEAL OUT in candlelit restaurant situation. Thanks, darling. I was going to embarrass you with a single red rose via interflora turning up in the middle of a world music lecture . . . remember that?? BUT, I got sidetracked into helping with other people's burst pipes.
When Mark rang me this morning to say something lovely, I think he was anyway, I looked exceptional. This photo is the closest representaion I could find, except I wasn't wearing a top hat and the dog now only has three legs. But you get the idea.
I would like to have been attired in a flowing, pink, Bette Davis gown, languidly holding three bouquets of roses from various admirers . . . was actually in filthy jogging pants, leopard skin slippers clutching firewood, and with hair like a wookie.
Next year . . .
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