Erikka Askeland: St Valentine’s Day is just a pain for singles

It could very well be that most readers are sitting back at this point, smugly pleased that the hand-tied bouquet has been ordered and reservations for dinner a deux have been made. Perhaps it was just me, then, who got a jolt when a friend mentioned it the other night, asking how I would be celebrating it. And while I have a myriad of other plans for the weekend, the import of Tuesday had slipped off my mental map until she said the “V” word.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a crusader against the whole idea. I have had my share of dinners featuring ridiculous stem wear for champagne that required its own little stand because it didn’t have a base on which it could be placed on the table. Likewise, I have a highly suitable person in my life whom I could easily make a fuss of on the date created to celebrate romance and all those other warm, soft, fluffy things that come with a happy relationship.

Yet I feel quite sanguine about not making a huge effort getting into the spirit of it this year. The Man in My Life and I have agreed to keep it low-key (albeit he did nervously confirm that, yes, I really did mean it when I said we shouldn’t exchange gifts, and no, I wasn’t going to be furious when he didn’t get me anything.)

Maybe it is the looming recession which makes the idea of buying flowers or buying something frivolous a bit odd. And chocolate? Well, I haven’t yet shifted those pounds gained over Christmas, so having to plough through a whole box might make me anxious. And is it really so romantic to be hemmed in by other mooning couples on barely separated two-seater tables and served by harried waiters?

It is all seems like too much pressure. And the only people I know who really seem to worry about it are, for the most part, single.

If anything, the whole palaver celebrating an obscure saint is more often just a cosh for singletons, who are forced by the overweening sentimentality of the occasion to worry about why they aren’t part of a couple.

Back in my own single days, I recall one dark episode in which I attempted to defy the whole annoyance of it by drinking rather horrible pink cocktails with another single girlfriend. It was bound to end in tears. And in fact, it ended up with me brushing her hair out of the way as she retched pink gin into a toilet, which in retrospect was probably not the sort of act of affection either of us were looking for.

It is also a minefield for those who are dating, scaring up a host of awkward questions that the day brings to a crisis. Does your affection stretch to a card, roses, a date involving horse-drawn carriages? And what if one gets a card from the corner shop while the other has hired a helicopter to ferry their date to Prague for the night? Can a delicately burgeoning relationship withstand the pressure?

No-one is even particularly certain why St Valentine was made the patron saint of the butterflies in the stomach inspired by your loved one. In one account, he was beheaded for the offence of having married Christian couples when the Roman emperor had banned it. Or maybe he was stoned to death, which is a lovely thought to bring with you as you clink glasses with your beloved.

And while many accuse the American greetings card industry for having invented Valentines, we have a series of Englishmen to thank for promoting the idea of the most awkward date on the calendar. As with most celebrations loosely based on Christian events, you can blame poets for filling our heads with nonsense about them. The first mention of Valentines in print was by Geoffrey Chaucer, who gave us the notion of “love birds” in a strange little poem about a debate among a “parliament of fowls” in a temple.

Instead, why not bring back the old pagan Lupercalian festival which Valentine’s Day replaced, where young men run naked through the street except for some goatskins. It would certainly be a good ice-breaker on an otherwise awkward date.