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My Bloody Valentine

by Holden Caulfield

Don't think that we didn't have you sussed, T'Pau.  Ha!  Carol so-called Decker, and that big grock who used to mime some crazy fretwork for the benefit of Top of the Pops viewers.  When you were wondering how to follow up your abominable 1987 smash hit' 'China in your Hand', it didn't take you long to think; 'hey, dudes (or whatever), let's wait a month or so, and release another single in early '88.  Any old shite will do, as long as we call it something like 'Valentine''.  So what did you do?  You released another 7 inch piece of shite, cleverly called, er, 'Valentine', just in time for that lucrative lovers market that happens in the second week of February every year.  Happily, the kids weren't convinced, and the song - which, incidentally, made your earlier number one sound like 'White Man in Hammersmith Palais' - limped up to about number 17.  And this when your only competition appeared to be Curiosity Killed the Cat and Dick Spatsley of Newton-Le-Willows, a small French settlement near Wigan (or, as the Echo trumpeted at the time, 'Liverpool's own, RICK ASTLEY!!!!!!!' (their exclamation marks).


Valentines Day.  What's that all about eh?  Now in my 46th great year, and never once has my postman been troubled by having to slip that exciting piece of enveloped A5 cardboard, adorned with a heart or a cuddly toy, or two lovers kissing 'mongst the scream of midnight, through my barren letter-box.  And, hey!, I'm not bitter, I just find the whole thing so divisive, so disengaged, so ooooh, it makes me so annoyed.  You try and deal with Nadine from Purchasing, or Sally-Ann, from Accounts.  No fella, no handsome beau on the horizon; ergo, them having to breeze into work on 14 February, acting like its just a normal day at the office, whilst Mr Dreadnought's PA, Alison, ensures that her fella (Mick, or Wayne, or - perish the thought - 'Daz') sends a big fuck-off bouquet to the office, mid-morning, timed to cause maximum grief to the aforementioned 'spinsters' (Christ, they're 24 and 26 respectively), whilst all the other girls - WHO'VE GOT A FELLA, AND HE'S WHISKING THEM OFF TO PARIS AS A SURPRISE, AND HE'S TAKING THEM TO THE LONDON CARRIAGE WORKS AND THEN TO BABY BLUE WITH MIKEL AND XABI - coo appreciatively. 'Well, Nadine, what did you get'?  All eyes turn.  'Well, that would be telling, wouldn't it'?, she replies, fervently praying that her eyes don't brim with tears.  The 'it' girls make eye contact.  'Fuck-all again', it says.  Nadine busies herself with the new invoices  . . . .


It didn't seem such a problem in the old days, when you could just pretend to have got a card, or sagged school or taken the day off work.  Nowadays, though, it's in 'yer kite all over the shop.  Massive restaurant ads, inviting you and 'that special one' to dine at their over-priced gaff, every card shop in the city taken over by all-manner of romantic paraphernalia, and shitty compilation albums (invariably called 'Just the Two of Us) rushed out for the aforesaid lovers to get jiggy to after their expensive scoff.  An' it's all my arse.  Me, I've got Valentines' Night boxed off.  Home from work, coupla miles run, shower, chippy, and the 'Fred 'n Rose special on 'Crime and Investigation' (channel 237, Cable).  May even pull a stunt and send Nadine and Sally-Ann an anonymous card each.  They deserve it, I reckon, and who'll be laughing then?


Eight or so Reasons to Ban Valentines Day (part 567)


Psychological problems for adolescents, and girls who work in an office and have no bloke to speak of ('oh, er, he's serving in Belize')

Extended 'Peaceful Hour' on Radio City

Being seen by your mates coming out of a Styx gig

Hideously contrived 'proposals' on the Goodison scoreboard

Cash Cow - 'Happy Valentines Day to my Step Grandmother's God-daughter.  From across the miles'

Feelin' last on your teenage daughter who doesn't get one (although mum and dad will sort it - left-handed writing, anyone?)

Echo romantic specials.  'We fell in love after a super-glue and bog seat tragedy'

Albums containing the likes of Jim Diamond's 'I Should've Known Better', and other examples of 'Lovers Rock'

Please kill me now










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