Why is my postman in the Seychelles with a bottle of Prosecco with my name on it? And why Romance is more of a backing singer, than Jared Leto

Yesterday was Valentine's Day.  And, once I'd reached the conclusion that I reach every year - that obviously my postman is some kind of crook who is stealing all my gifts and flowers and burying the enormous quantity of cards that are en route to my address in some rubbish tip somewhere, where they will baffle future archaeologists into thinking that Jane Lovering was some kind of deity to whom supplications and offerings had to be made, which, come to think of it, is pretty much my opinion too - and stopped sobbing, I began to ponder Romance...



I like to imagine this is what he sees, first thing on Valentine's morning, all bearing my address and a simple, yet effective, heart shaped sticker...

I mean, I write Romance.  I should be able to define it, without recourse to 'it'll all end in tears', or 'the thing men use to get women to have sex with them'.  But what actually is it?  Is it hearts and flowers and chocolates, or is it a cup of tea brought at exactly the time at which you were starting to think of getting up and making yourself a cup of tea?  You see, the whole Valentine's Day thing makes me worry a bit, that all over the country partners are thinking that all they need to do is hand over a token of their esteem once a year and everything will be hunky dory, without noticing that there are another three hundred and sixty four days in which they could be doing something to make life just that little bit better for their chosen one, but not bothering. 

So I concluded that Romance isn't grand gestures, because all the weekends in Venice in the world won't make up for not noticing that your other half has lost a stone, or has been slaving over something and hasn't had time to make themselves so much as a sandwich all day.  Romance is quietly checking the oil in the car and sorting out that strange 'ticking' noise that has been coming from the understairs cupboard and which you both suspect is a mouse building a bomb.  Romance is that lovely, background hum that keeps life going, not the huge, explosive, showy thing that wants to be noticed and congratulated all the time.  As it says above, Romance is a backing singer, not Jared Leto.

Although, quite frankly, if he shows up with tickets for a weekend in Venice, I am prepared to compromise all the principles I have...