'St Valentines Day can be one of only two things: rich fat-cat industrialists with warehouses full of Valentines Day stuff to fob off onto unsuspecting poor folk, or two: love. Can you decide which because I can't think about it without twitching.'
I'd protest this holiday. And on the burning barricades I'd chant at police and hurl Molotovs. And then? I'd fall beneath the bejeweled jackboots of St. Valentines Day thugs, wielding their guilt trips and demanding their chocolate boxes and heart-shaped cards. So if anyone needs me I'll be at the florists. Muttering to myself.