Post Valentines' Day. Or more accurately, no post.

So here we are, four days after Valentines’ Day and nothing. Not a sausage. A sausage would, of course, not be welcome. One cannot be expected to send a message of undying love on a pork product. But I would have liked to have received something.

I don’t think there’s any food, really, that can be said to be romantic. Certainly I have never found anything erotic about food of any kind. I have heard of people using food in their love making or romantic rituals, but personally I can’t see it. A turnip? A beetroot? A bag of potatoes? None of which set the pulse racing particularly. I did know of one actor who used Chocolate Mousse in their amours. Smeared it all over himself. Didn’t get the part, and suffered an uncomfortable bus journey home.

Of course, having recently moved (4 years) it is possible my admirers have not updated their address book to my current Kennington address. Also I have changed my phone numbers and agent in the last decade, and that could be another reason. It’s not like I am that difficult to find.

But it doesn’t bother me.

I just think it’s odd that I got absolutely nothing. No card, no invites, no mysterious gift, nothing. But I am not letting it get to me.

I rang a couple of people to check what they had got. I was surprised to find they had all received admiring missives from people either known or unknown to them. And yet, someone like myself, nothing. It’s not an important thing but one likes to be appreciated. One likes to think that on a planet of six billion people, ONE would go to a little trouble. It’s not much to ask.

I know I have fallen out with people in the past. Perhaps someone has been spreading untruths again. Maybe they mentioned me as an answer on some daytime quiz show as an answer to a question the context of which was resultant in NOT GUILTY. I shall check the farming magazines tomorrow.

I don’t need adoration. I don’t need people telling me how fantastic and talented and nice I am. But it would be nice. I don’t need it but sometimes it would be nice. Last Wednesday it would have been nice.

I don’t care. In fact, if you did send me something, I wish you had not have bothered. It’s a waste of money and a waste of your time, frankly. No matter how appealing your figure, how fulsome and lythe your body, how charming your manner or how bright your smile, it doesn’t matter, it makes no difference. I am married to my work. I am in a relationship with my work. I need no other party. I don’t need your adoration or professions of undying love. Keep them.

Nothing.