Because of the day that’s in it and because I have no blog can I describe my evening. I disturbed a neighbour, drove to three towns, stood in a petrol station while a man with little English and did not know what cream was, tried to persuade me that what i really needed was custard. I suffered the indignity of local men teasing me and taking wild guesses as to what my particular fetish was and how said cream fitted in. I forgave them when I discovered they were not a gay couple, had no girlfriends and had waited for two hours for a steak that had to be sent back because it was raw and they still had the chutzpah to confront a borderline hysteric explaining that she had a real emergency and that her root vegetable gratin was in mortal danger. That was town three (Rhode, Daingean, Edenderry in case anyone’s interested). I could not return on Valentine’s night vanquished, a failure in my quest. Failure is so unattractive. So I started on the restaurants and finally a lovely Indian man gave me a pint of cream and refused payment. I returned home, triumphant. My husband had gone to great lengths, he even sourced a bottle of Billecart-Saumon which brand I took from a minibar in Paris to annoy him a few years ago. Later that evening I attempted to choke him. Reproducing that Champagne was far more touching than the roses and the bizarre arseless underwear (a stab at recent domestic arrangements, no doubt). More chutzpah, returning us to the scene of the crime when we are safely on the other side to remember a bad moment and remind us how good it is now. Happy Valentine. Limerick Abu

And thank you Mig, for hosting what turned out to be a very interesting contest indeed!