THE VERY REVEREND MARTYR Saint Valentine of Interamna Nahartium, modern Terni, erstwhile rose producer and later bishop, had no idea of the trouble he was getting his fellow gentlemen into when he came up with the foolish idea of giving roses to any young people who came to visit him, something for which he would probably be clapped in irons today. These youngsters were often calling for advice about an impending betrothal, and had been directed to the good bishop, although why one should call upon a Catholic priest for such advice seems strange, particularly as up until the eighth century anno domini many priests had themselves castrated in order to avoid the temptation that has been the downfall of so many hapless paedophile priests of late.
INEVITABLY, IT WOULD NOT BE LONG before one of these couples who had each been granted a rose actually fell in love, a condition which was not yet afforded the romantic connotation it possesses today. History does not provide us with the names of these young people, but, in an age when there were precious few newspapers and absolutely no television, the fact that two people who were about to engage in an arranged marriage actually fell in love because of a rose offered by Bishop Valentine was deemed a miracle, and word spread throughout Europe, as people had nothing else to talk about.
THE THIRD CENTURY AD was a period when the Christian church was tolerated by Rome as long as it didn’t make too much fuss. Miracles were a fuss. Equally inevitably, the hoo-hah around this “miracle” fuelled the fury of the local Roman Prefect, the contradictorily-named Placidus Furius, who, under the orders of Emperor Aurelius, promptly had the good bishop endure suffering and then be put to silence in 273 AD. A martyr to Christianity and Romance was thus created, legend was made, and now we are burdened with the need to buy flowers, perfumes, chocolates and lingerie for our wives, cleaning ladies and mistresses, or all three.
BUT EVEN MORE DISTRESSING than this is the total removal from the calendar of what used to be the festival of Februa, or the Lupercalia, and which was to some extent the reverse of what goes on today. Wise, male members of society were invited to the festival of the purification of the virgin and then of the purification of the city, events which involved considerable drinking and ogling of demi-vierges, much as takes place in certain late-night bars throughout the world today sans vierges. All of this activity would ward off evil spirits and prepare and refresh one for the New Year, which started on the first day of March. How on earth sensible male-dominated society managed to allow this to be turned on its head is a mystery.
OF COURSE, ONE CAN SIMPLY try to avoid Valentine’s Day and its ensuing stress. But – alas! – today we do have newspapers, and television; and failing that there are shops, most of which have windows – all of which serve to remind even the dizziest and most scatter-brained lady that a present should be coming her way. Time was when a chap could slip away to one’s mountain retreat, shroud oneself in rural activities, such as overseeing the planting of the Easter vegetables, or spend some time in the decanting shed, and Valentine would stay off one’s mind; unfortunately, the dégringolade of standards in modern life has allowed brash commercialism to occupy sub-post-office windows with cute teddy bears bearing tinfoil hearts on their chests, encouraging us to wear ours on our sleeves.
THE PITFALLS OF THE PERIOD are myriad and fathomless. The first challenge is to avoid the “Don’t buy me anything” form of attack. This phrase is meta-talk for “If you don’t buy me anything I will make your life hell.” One should study hard before accepting or not this phrase at face value. If one is still having regular sex with one’s wife, cleaning lady or mistress, or all three, then this should be ignored toties quoties. If not, then the option can be taken up, but with some apprehension.
THE SECOND MAJOR PROBLEM is the “what to buy” issue. One should never ask a lady what she wants as a present unless one wishes to make it patently clear that she is no more than a whore in one’s opinion, in which case the most civilised manner of dealing with the situation would be to hand over a few hundred pounds in cash and tell her to get off to a shop and buy herself something skimpy or smelly (or perhaps both). If one actually feels any genuine affection for any of the triumvirate, then this approach should be avoided coûte que coûte.
IF ONE, DUE TO A lapsus linguae, lets slip the question, then the gentleman may be asking “What would you like?” but the receiver might often understand the following: “I really don’t know you very well, and I don’t care very much about the fact.” This is definitely not good form, and will often result in the dangers hinted at in the above paragraph. Yet, as good old Valentine knew, you can never go wrong with a bunch of roses; the thorny bit is what else to buy. And to make sure that one does not give the present for the wife to the mistress, nor the one for one’s domestic cleaner to one's wife.
IF ONE, DUE TO A lapsus linguae, lets slip the question, then the gentleman may be asking “What would you like?” but the receiver might often understand the following: “I really don’t know you very well, and I don’t care very much about the fact.” This is definitely not good form, and will often result in the dangers hinted at in the above paragraph. Yet, as good old Valentine knew, you can never go wrong with a bunch of roses; the thorny bit is what else to buy. And to make sure that one does not give the present for the wife to the mistress, nor the one for one’s domestic cleaner to one's wife.
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