Each year as February 14th approaches, we witness the emergence of the Valentine. Frequently spotted in their natural habitat (Clinton Cards, Pizza Express, the supermarket booze aisle) the Valentine’s markings and mating calls vary widely across the genus, though studies have shown almost all Valentines exhibit a strong emotional reaction to the following symbol…
With my NEW no-nonsense guide, discover more about the different kinds of Valentine and where to find them…
The Heartbroken Valentine
The Heartbroken Valentine (HV) was dumped on February 13th and is easily identified by their intoxicated appearance and their propensity for grabbing happy couples by scruff of the neck and screaming: “YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT’S COMING!” before departing in search of tequila. Their discordant cry (‘What an utter bastard; What a complete and utter bastard’’) can be heard far and wide, until the ex sends them fifty red roses and they suddenly remember he’s just a beautiful, damaged soul with trust issues. This cycle will repeat every year until the HV emigrates, the ex dies, or the bees disappear, upsetting our delicate ecosystem and reducing the idea of roses to an urban myth.
The New Valentine
The New Valentine is the most skittish of all the varieties, and with good reason, since the NV is forced to celebrate February 14th with someone they barely know. This throws up a multitude of uncertainties for the beleaguered NV, such as: if you’ve only been on two dates, are you expected/allowed to exchange texts/cards/gifts/bodily fluids? And if so, what level of text/card/gift/bodily fluid is appropriate? It is impossible to say, of course, though NVs are advised to reign in their more excitable tendencies. So that’s yes to a funny card, a cheerful text or the suggestion of a casual drink, and no to surprising your Tinder date with the certificate for the star you’ve named after them.
The Happy Single Valentine
The HSV is honestly, genuinely contented with their life, but try telling their mother/married colleagues/inbox that. After several unsatisfactory relationships, the HSV knows they’ve got loads to offer, and they’re optimistic about meeting someone great one day, but they also know that, like a big ASDA on Xmas Eve, the approach to Valentine’s Day is no time to be re-entering the market. That’s why, when February 14th rolls around, the HSV can be found eating pasta in front of Scott and Bailey and thanking the sweet baby Jesus they’re no longer with their sociopathic ex. Speaking of which…
The Charming Valentine
No bouquet is too large, no gift too expensive, no gesture too extravagant for the CV, a character who pledges their adoration on all available social media platforms and yet mysteriously finds themselves unable to answer their mobile when your car breaks down.
A CV believes that words are actions and gifts are feelings, and dishes out both with distracting generosity. So dashing and persuasive is the CV that you can be in a relationship with one for several years before realising that, despite talk of a spring wedding, you’ve neither met their family nor spent more than 24 continuous hours in their company. This will include Valentine’s Day, on which occasion, after delivering another knock-out gift, the CV will suddenly remember they have an urgent appointment in Dusseldorf, leaving you to ride that bow-wrapped tandem alone.
The Self Help Valentine
The SHV smiles all the time, because negative thoughts attract negative events and nobody likes the sullen. At the social groups they join, the SHV ignores anyone attractive, because you won’t find love if you’re looking for it. The SHV believes that wanting to be in a relationship is weak, and yet, their dirty shameful secret is they DO want to meet someone, so they post affirmations online – those who fly solo have the strongest wings! – until the feeling passes. On Valentine’s Day, the SHV can frequently be found eating a candlelit M&S meal for two, a vase of roses beside them, smiling and smiling but maybe a little glassy in the eyes. Meanwhile, the hottie from the Meet Up ponders how they would have asked the SHV for a coffee if they’d only returned eye contact. Luckily, such self-help induced bonkersness will eventually gives the SHV an ulcer at which point, defences down, they’ll find themselves dating a hot gastroenterologist.
The Valentine Refuser
The VR is deeply suspicious of Valentine’s Day, with its insistence that they prove their feelings annually, on demand, and via a series of nonsensical, commercially-sanctioned practices ranging from the presenting of diamond jewellery to a course of anal bleaching. That’s why, on February 14th, the VR can usually be found on the sofa, in their pants, eating jumbo chocolate buttons and shouting at Netflix, thus inadvertently giving their mate the greatest Valentine’s gift of all – the gift of not having to celebrate Valentine’s Day. While hugely successful in pairs, the VR should steer very clear of –
The Ritually Disappointed Valentine
The RDV is the hardest working Valentine. Every year, the gift (beautiful and meaningful) is chosen, the dinner is prepared, the lighting is soothing, the music soft, the expensive lingerie is on and the RDV is waxed to within an inch of their life. All that’s left is to sit back and watch the whole thing go to shit. The disappointment can come in many forms – a forgotten card; a no show; a no gift; a gift that says ‘I know nothing of your interior life’; a tardy arrival from work; garage flowers; a phone at the dinner table or simply a perceived lack of appreciation for JUST HOW MUCH GODDAMN WORK HAS GONE INTO CREATING THIS RELAXING EVENING YOU UNGRATEFUL MOTHERFUCKER!, a cry issued by the RDV at approximately 7.32pm, at which point the evening ends, as the ritual demands, with a bitter row, an airborne champagne bottle and a bin full of buttered scallops.
The Moderate Valentine Pair
The MVP know how to do Valentine’s Day in a healthy and wholesome fashion. They buy each other a tasteful card, exchange a lovely but inexpensive gift and then stay in to eat a simple, home-cooked meal and delight in each other’s company. So sane are this pair, so grounded, so happy, so drama-free, so negligible is their contribution to either the Valentine’s economy or the divorce statistics, that at present we are unable to confirm whether they actually exist.
Happy Valentines’ Day!
Meet Frida: divorce lawyer, cynic and secret descendant of the immortal love god Eros. She’s about to have a really bad day . . .
When a delusional man named Dan bursts into Frida’s office and insists that she is fated to save the world, she has him ejected faster than you can say ‘prenup’. But a creepy meeting, a demon or three and one attempted kidnapping later, Frida is beginning to face the inconvenient truth: Dan is in fact The Oracle, the gods of Greek mythology are real and Frida herself appears to be everyone’s only hope.
The world is doomed.
Bridget Jones by way of Neil Gaiman, this smart and quirky story will change the way you look at love forever