Chez Spud

I don’t remember Valentine’s Day playing any kind of role in my childhood, beyond a secret yearning for one of those vast and (I now realise) hideous padded cards, complete with saccharine verse inside. Valentine’s Day was for lovesick and sickening teenagers and dutiful married people.

I can remember the giddy expectant joy of it all as a teenager. Oh, and the crashing disappointment. And, worse, the shame when I realised the card I was so, so sure was from the Love Of My Life turned out to be from my mother. Unfortunately this was after I’d told all my friends, rather jubilantly, that He Loved Me. Blushes…

But somehow Valentine’s Day seems to belong to children now too. And I’m cool with that. We made cards for the boys’ little girlfriends, and some presents too ..including a very, um, ‘individual’ bag designed by Diggy for his One Great Love (Clara), made by me under his watchful eye and decorated by him. Alas it was whisked away to His Love before I could get a photo. Take it from me…it’s quite a sight…

And now I’ve got sucked in to buying little Valentine’s gifts for the boys from us too. I’ve even puzzled myself with that one. Whatever.

So, above, is a small selection of the Love Gifts exchanged in our house yesterday. Coffee spoons from me to MrSpud, a heart of bells from me to MrSpud, a card from him to me, the Twitterature book from him to me, fabulous handmade butterfly broaches from him to me….

I win, of course. See the background? Pretty isn’t it. It’s a tea towel. From me to him. The memory of those saucepans is alive and well…

Who said romance was dead? MrSpud said it first and loudest with those bloody saucepans. Grudge….grudge…

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