Valentine's enema

Invariably the majority of us will feel a hint of sea sickness at this time of year. A veritable tsunami of pinks and reds will crash upon and engulf this Isle while the sound of Hallmark execs high fiving will ring across the cosmos.

A rapturious wave promising to whisk away the rose and chocolate faithful to a fuzzy nirvana while the rest are 'left behind' inevitably feasting on each others brains.

It's important to admit that like all holidays this is a made up marketing coo. Where mechanical teddies and gigantic rose monsters devour the none believers and the faithful are fondled. (Like a care home)

But for all the shallow materialism and forced affection Valentine's evokes, it's not without some merit. In the same way that Christ-massive forces you to tolerate family members. New Year's induces some reflection followed by vomitting...Valentine's can be an opening to make a move on someone. That doesn't mean assault.

But next year lets not all pile into central London like so many hapless sheep worshipping at the crotch of St Valentine (who is an Italian stallion by default) and do it a couple days earlier in the form of a poor man's protest.

Where's my chocolate enema?