February 14 2007Today I am worshipping the God of Chocolate on the altar of St Valentine’s Day.
As I write there is a rather gorgeous blue and pink box of Hope and Greenwood (Tastes Like Home™) Miss Hope’s Organic White Chocolate Buttons which will, I am reliably told, ‘rekindle memories of simpler days, when playing with all the beautiful, irregular buttons in her Mum’s button box was almost better than Watch with Mother.’
Watch with Mother was actually rather a miserable affair in our house – my father had (quite incredibly with hindsight) built our TV with bits he had liberated from the Phillips factory in which he worked. Consequently it was a bit bizarre (he never did make the cabinet to house it) and one of us would always have to stand waving the aerial in the middle of the room while the others would shout, in the manner of the Golden Shot, ‘left a bit…up a bit…down a bit….hold it there!’
Of course, being the youngest this was always my job and, given that WWM was on when only mother and I were in the house, it was a bit tough holding up the aerial at the same time as peering under my armpit to watch the show. No cuddling up on laps, no sirreee.
Anyhow, I digress. Valentine’s Day causes Adrian no end of anxiety, knowing I am Fussy and Hard to Please. One year he proffered carnations (possibly my most abhorred flower – sure they’re nice enough in their own way and quite innocent of causing irritation, but smack of sad B&B breakfast tables). Another year he got me an electric toothbrush (ouch, nothing like hinting to one’s beloved that she could do with better oral hygiene). But this year the boy done good. As I flailed my way out of sleep (and a curious dream about trying to drive a Defender from the back seat) I found myself presented with not one, but three packages. First up, a gorgeous photo album, covered in white linen with a heart made of little pearly buttons (and a pic of himself inside). Aaah bless. Then a True Grace candle in (the boy must be psychic, given cowgirl’s blog yesterday) fig flavour. And finally that box of chocolate buttons in THE most pleasing wrappings.
I felt a bit bad, as I had opted for Sensible and Practical – with a pair of Levis (he always manages to make enormous holes in jeans in next to no time) and a copy of The English Civil War, which he had waved at in an excited, ‘me me me’ way last time we were in Waterstones.
We are not going out to dinner tonight. Valentine’s Day dinner on Exmoor is truly a joke. There are only so many romantically inclined places to go and so you end up surrounded by people you know. Given it’s supposed to be a romantic loved-up evening you can’t do what you’d normally do, which is just nab everyone together on the same table and have a right good old laugh and a gossip. But rather you end up giving surreptitious little waves across the room to people (half of whom you know damn well would rather be with other people!). So we are staying home and have planned a huge feast. Only problem is that, at this rate, I will be so full of buttons, I won’t have space for anything else. Oh well, in for a penny…..and the hand dips in once more.
We are not going out to dinner tonight. Valentine’s Day dinner on Exmoor is truly a joke. There are only so many romantically inclined places to go and so you end up surrounded by people you know. Given it’s supposed to be a romantic loved-up evening you can’t do what you’d normally do, which is just nab everyone together on the same table and have a right good old laugh and a gossip. But rather you end up giving surreptitious little waves across the room to people (half of whom you know damn well would rather be with other people!). So we are staying home and have planned a huge feast. Only problem is that, at this rate, I will be so full of buttons, I won’t have space for anything else. Oh well, in for a penny…..and the hand dips in once more.
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