I snuck out to the shops yesterday afternoon and bought a card and some posh chocolates – as convention dictates – such that my other half might have something nice to discover this morning before leaving for work. In the event she got up first – meaning the discovery turned into a bleary eyed delivery while she sat sipping tea from a colossal mug in the lounge.
Since those few moments of happiness this morning the day has reverted back to normal levels of chaos, frustration, annoyance and vitriol. The washing machine is running, the dishwasher has been emptied and re-filled, the lounge has been tidied up, the kitchen has been cleared (again), the rubbish has been taken out, and in a few moments I’ll be throwing my lunch break away walking into town. Again.
While running here and there completing chores before work this morning, my mind wandered off to think about the idiocy of St Valentines day – and how so many seemingly attach importance to it. They do realise it was almost certainly invented by marketers, right?
A quick search of the mighty internet informs me that the only vaguely related historical festival was invented by the Romans – called “Lupercalia” – where couples were paired off during the festival by means of a raffle. Who would have imagined it would continue until as recently as the 1970s with swinger parties pairing up couples via car keys in a bowl?
That Lupercalia somehow became “St Valentines Day” smells distinctly of the church taking over yet another festival (divide and conquer and all that), with an almost certainly fictitious fable about a bishop marrying couples to avoid sending men to war.
Anyway.
It’s lunchtime. Time to start running errands.
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