And because I am sure someone else has addressed the theme of 'dark seductive rose scents', or whatever else a person might think to wear to a romantic candlelit dinner - should you be fortunate enough to have a partner who will not flinch at the shameless price hikes that obtain at this time of year - I will confine myself to telling you about my own Valentine's Day so far. It may be more typical than I imagine - you can be the judges of that!
Sunday started later than usual, at 6.57am, when Truffle began her highly honed and completely non-negotiable 'walking on my face' trick, which she will sustain without let up for a good fifteen minutes. I usually crack within three, however, and stumble downstairs in the semi-gloom to feed her. In the past few days, the head walking stunt has been timed at 5.47, 5.53 and 3.48, so at least there's no risk of the pair of us getting in a rut with our morning callisthenics routine - or cat-isthenics, routine, even.
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| 'It's this or your head.' |
In the past, I could always count on receiving a Valentine's card from Charlie Bonkers, with an actual paw mark on it and everything. She used to sell some of her kibble to raise funds to buy it, peel off the cellophane wrapper and price label - the full nine yards. By contrast, there has been nothing at all from Truffle today - no box of eponymous chocolates, no card, zilch. I tell myself she is still only five months old, and has no means of getting out to go to the shops, even if she could write.
Truffle can already flick water like a good 'un, mind - that was her technique this morning for making me get out of the bath, so she could climb in after me and swing the plug around on its chain, bat the Greek sponge around like a football etc. Yes, she splashed water about half a dozen times quite deliberately over my iPhone. She knows about this tech stuff, I tell you, like all the young ones seem to do. I bet she'd gone and hidden the bag of rice too, that trusty cupboard staple pressed into service in such calamities.
Later this morning, Truffle was very naughty with some hanks from the wool basket, getting a high end ball of Debbie Bliss Cashmerino yarn into a right old robble. If it had been bright red, there might have been extenuating circumstances given the nature of the day, but it was egg yolk yellow and definitely off limits.
But even though the kitten didn't quite come up trumps, the day has been enjoyable. I visited the friend who keeps perfume in the fridge on his barge - the one I introduced to BEX Londoner SE1. In a strictly non-Valentine's related show of hospitality, he served up rhubarb crumble, which we ate off a repurposed toilet seat before watching a pair of swans outside the window not quite making partial heart shapes with their necks.
Next up I went to Asda, where, rather than buy myself an expensive bunch of roses on the cusp of wilting, or a pack of strawberries with dipping chocolate - or even an Easter egg for that matter, as there are absolutely tons of those in store already! - I stocked up with 36 cans of tonic water with a best before of May 2016. Half price at just £2 a box! Can I drink 36 gins in about 12 weeks - leaving a bit of a buffer for premature flatness, or 'deffervescence', if that's a word? At a rate of only three a week, I'd say no bother at all...;)
And now, in the spirit of 'sisters spraying it for themselves', I really should consider putting on some perfume for what's left of the day. In view of my 'tonic coup' just now, maybe I'll skip the rose scents this year, and go straight for Juniper Sling.
Oh, and here is the iconic ad in question...
