I didn't get any Valentine's this year (although hopefully I will get a nice meal out this weekend with the boyfriend). I did, however, get asked out by a boy from my George Orwell class. Oh well, at least I can play the 'I can only go out with you if you want a fist-shaped bruise on your face courtesy of my boyfriend' card again.

And I got chatted up last night! Picture the scene if you will - me, Tori and her boyfriend in our favourite local, enjoying a bottle of the pub's second cheapest red wine. Man and his girlfriend sitting at the table next to ours, man's girlfriend goes to the toilet and man proceeds in chatting me up, saying irritating things like 'Three's a crowd,' and even asking Tori to change places with me so he could talk to me. Er, nooo thanks. And then when his girl came back from the toilet he announces to her that I had been chatting him up. Eh? The man was obviously a complete jester, as well as claiming that his name was "Mygo" (?). Twat.

Anyway, the following image is dedicated to everyone who, like me, received no Valentine paraphernalia in the year of our Lord Jesus Christ 2005 (though you've probably seen it already).

And now, on with the essay.

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