Valentine’s Day. What’s all that about, eh?
Who bloody knows?
Not those pope fellas, that’s for sure. It was established by Pope Gelasius I in 500 AD. Then, shortly after, it was deleted from the Roman calendar of saints in 1969 by Pope Paul VI. Make your mind up, popeys.
Nowadays, Valentine’s Day breeds a dichotomy of emotions.
If you’re in a relatively new couple, it provides an opportunity to show how much you “wuv” each other by wasting your hard-earned Tesco wages on overpriced roses, teddy bears and other hideously over romanticised flimflam.
If you’re single, it serves as a painful reminder that you’ve been rejected by love. The postman might as well bang on your door and shout “NO ONE LOVES YOU APART FROM YOUR FAMILY AND EVEN THAT’S ONLY BECAUSE THEY HAVE TO LOVE YOU” in your face when you answer.
But it’s those in long-term relationships that suffer most. There you are, sat at the table of misery in Pizza Express, shrouded in awkward silence, embarrassedly trying to pretend you’re having fun whenever one of the unnecessarily chirpy waitresses comes over to see if you want some more heart-shaped dough balls. “Did you pay the gas bill, love?” is all you can muster, as the love dies ever further and your beloved’s eyes glaze over. You glance across at a young couple holding hands and wistfully remember the early days of your courtship.
Still, on the plus side, Valentine’s Day does give lingerie companies like Victoria's Secret an excuse to pack their finest bangtails into glorious lingerie for the purposes of advertising. Stick that up your jumper, Pope Paul VI.