Another Valentine's Day has come and gone and my usual cynicism at what feels like a huge marketing exercise disguised as a tradition has been quietened somewhat by the oddly heartwarming message of love I received. That, and that gnawing sensation that comes with growing up that I might have just been wrong about it all this time.

Without going into too much of the history, Valentine's Day was designated by a Pope (I forget which one - does it really matter?) in 496AD, and not, as I had long suspected, by the Hallmark Greeting Card Company. In the Victorian era, it gained popularity with the kind of Pride and Prejudice set who probably had nothing better to do than write poetry and argue about whose money was 'oldest'. From there, someone started making cards and then it was all fluffy toys, flashing roses and those planes that trail messages behind them.

I can only imagine what Mr Darcy would have done for the girl whose name escapes me, had he been given access to the full gamut of modern society's love trinkets and ephemera. "One is quite fond of thee, (insert name here)". Please accompany me to some yamnsome affair at the Bradley Estate tomorrow evening, that is of course, if you permit me to be so bold as to propose such an outing". That would, I reckon, look pretty awesome trailing across a mild, blue English sky.

When we are single, we hate Valentine's Day. All those people running around holding hands, skipping, having picnics writing vomitous epithets in the local newspapers…oll of which serves to remind us that we're lonely losers. And of course we have shops filled with gaudy gifts and other useless things such as musical cards, which I must admit, seemed to be particularly popular in the store I visited last week, especially the one that played the minor mid-90's hit for All-4-One, "I Swear". I think $8 is a bit rich for a tinny reproduction of a song that wasn't much chop in the first place, but clearly, I'm in the minority. We mustn't grumble about the $4.95 we spend on the card we choose and bonus envelope, it is quite simply, the done thing. On February 14th, the last place we want to be is in the doghouse.

When I was much younger I was sent several infuriatingly anonymous cards over the course of several years without any clues as to the identity of my Valentine/stalker. And here's the rub; what on earth does someone say to the person they are madly in love/lust with, especially if they wish to keep their identity hidden for the sake of sparing them from embarrassment?

And here is the point of my rant today; someone sits down and writes all these messages for you, because you're not quite sure what to write yourself. Sure, it's not Shakespeare, but eventually, you'll find something that adequately condenses your dribble of lovey-dovey thoughts into three succinct sentences, possibly even rhyming the last line if that's your thing. If it works for Reader's Digest, it can work for you too.

So often we hear someone, pen at the ready, card open, blurt out "I don't know what to write!". Well, Hallmark takes the pen out of your hand and gives you a head start. And hopefully it will be the sort of soppy and romantic/witty and slightly naughty message you would hope to have though up on the spot for your snooky-wooky. I personally see it as a kind of gauntlet, thrown down by John Sands himself, as if to say 'go on sport, see if you can't write something as good as this tasty little para, eh?'. Ah yes, Mr Sands. I have something in mind.