It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m writing this sentence in a green leather chair in The Victoria. I’ve been on a date here once upon a time. It’s a good date place as it has a fireplace and candles. It’s a bad date place because it only serves pies. There is nothing wrong with pies, but they are not the sexiest thing to consume in front of someone.
There are two men, not quite the retired age, sitting in the corner with their pints. Their conversation doesn’t flow. One says something and then the other will reply a minute or so later. The greyer one says something about Valentines, and then the other, eventually replies,
“I like to take the Mrs to places she’s never thought of, y’know? See a railway from the back road or something, then take her to an Italian I guess.”
A railway?
Over the years, I’ve ticked off most ways to celebrate Valentine’s Day. I have received roses and shared a fondue. I’ve been taken to the zoo, to a spa and for country walks, but not to a railway. Never a railway.
My beer is gone, so I leave the pub.
I pass the Picture House, which is ironically showing True Romance. Last valentine’s I went to the cinema and watched Belfast with a Canadian man. It was the novelty stage of the relationship, where we were happy with the little things like sharing a box of popcorn. I was apprehensive about going to that date, worried that he would be with a giant heart-holding teddy bear or something similar, but thankfully, he was waiting by the cinema door, empty-handed. We remained in that novelty stage until the spring, and then he had to return to Canada.
I stop off at Branca’s farm shop and treat myself to an overpriced sourdough loaf and some kernels. At the till, my phone buzzes again, another anti-Valentine’s meme from Sausage to ease our single-30s-valentine’s-pressure. I send another laughing-crying emoji back.
I get home and throw everything that accumulated from the day on the kitchen bench. There is no time wasted before putting the kernels on. As I wait for them to turn into popcorn, I break off a chunky slice of sourdough and stuff it into my mouth.
As the popcorn begins to build up in the pan, my phone buzzes again. This time not a single-womens-meme, but a photo of a snowy Newfoundland, and a message to say Happy Valentine’s Day.
THE QUACK 