Valentines Day - The Finale...

So that’s Valentines over and done with for another year. See how quickly a mans romantic fervour can dissipate. It’s a bit like being a cheap rechargeable battery. Prior to the love fest on the 14th February one is full of romance and vigour. Planning that special treat, being just that little more attentive just to check out what might not be such a good idea for a present this year, what her mood is, is she expecting cards from another party of the third part? Then the day arrives and its full steam ahead, there’s the lovey dovey morning, as gifts, cards and bodily fluids are exchanged. A lingering cuddly kick-start to the day.

Then, for some men, its off to work with the new red satin/silk boxer shorts working their inexorable way into the crack of their bum, hoping upon hope that today, of all days, they are not going to get knocked down by a bus or something will fall off an aeroplane as it passes overhead to bash them on the head which would mean a trip to casualty and the red satin boxers adored with kisses and hearts would be displayed for all to see.

The evening, that evening which lies ahead, it meanders through ones mind all day, the planning, the seduction, the finale!!! Obviously it has been planned like a well oiled military campaign, the flowers are booked, the table at the romantic restaurant with the famous celebrity TV chef in attendance, the seduction…

That evening the romance batteries are working flat out. One has to shave and then wash all those nooks and crannies that might be kissed, licked or bitten. I know its two showers in one day but sacrifices have to be made, after all its Valentines Day! The clean shirt, the satin boxers, nasal hairs newly plucked. Its time to woo your love.

Then at the restaurant one has to mind one’s manners, no slurping, grunting, farting or burping. The true romantic will simply nibble at the over priced, but fabulously cooked meal giving all his attention to his Valentine. Feeding her titbits of food, brushing away a wisp of hair from her face, caressing her fingers across the table as he looks into her eyes. The true romantic would slip off a shoe, (clean socks remember) and caress her calf under the table. The champagne would flow and the seductive conversation would ensue.

She is now putty in your hands and the romance batteries are working at 100%. It’s back to the boudoir. For the final countdown. Of course one has to be a considerate lover on this of all days. One has to be firm, solid, ramrod in fact. Lightly caressing her body, perhaps a full body massage with aromatic oils, then all that other stuff women like ( I’ll just brush over the explicate bits as children might be reading this and I’m starting to feel nauseous – I don’t think I could be a Mills and Boon writer!)

And after that explosive finale its all over - the batteries are spent, empty, devoid of any passion or romance, not even if Kyle slipped into the bed with could the man raise even a spark of sexual enthusiasm, let alone romance. Maybe a final goodnight kiss a whispered I love you darling ('darling' or 'snugglypumps' is better than names because in that hazy glow of sated lovemaking and champagne one wouldn't want the wrong name to slip out now would one?)

(Read this in the voice of David Attenborough or your local animal programme presenter) It will take the human male another year before he is able to mate with such passion. The romantic ‘courtship’ display only happens in the New Year and then it seems that this instinct lies dormant until Hallmark cards start appearing in the shops just after Christmas. This seems to trigger some autonomous response within the male in which he attempts to make himself irresistibly attractive to his partner or the object of his desires, like Mary in accounting. This, however, often fails, which accounts for the number of lonely middle aged gits living in smelly damp bed-sits watching pornography on Sky and the rise in Lesbianism!

Hooray Easter is just around the corner. Chocolate mmmmm.