Blonde's Eye View: I love ewe

Ostentatious bunches of flowers were still being delivered to simpering girls at Wharf offices on Monday, in a pointless public flaunting of people's love (or bank balance).

And this year's celebration reached new levels of manipulative merchandising with the release of a soppy film titled Valentine's Day.

St Valentine must be spinning in his catacomb.

If you're not in a relationship during February, you might as well join him; being single is as good as being dead.

My other half had strict instructions not to buy anything red/plastic/heart shaped/plays a tune/has "puppy dog eyes".

I also told him to stay out of the underwear shops - men get swayed by trampy black and red polyester sets, that women have accidentally to nuke in the washing machine.

I've been the recipient of awful gifts in the past. One boyfriend brought me a four foot cuddly sheep holding a sign that read, "I love ewe".

The relationship didn't last the rest of the day. I couldn't live with the toy, or anyone who gave it to me.

Even those shopping with a black AmEx card weren't safe from bad taste.

A girl I know received a horrendous expensive gaudy heart bauble, she plans to pawn for shoes.

What's wrong with a plain, little old diamond? Not that it's all about money.

The best gift I ever received was a key to a guy's apartment, cut in a colour to match my handbag.

Simple, cheap and staggeringly effective.

This year I got nothing. It seems my extensive list of do's and don'ts may have aggravated my partner.

Quick, where's the number for the florist, I need to make a public declaration of love.