Unlike 'The Day After Tomorrow', which was a terrible excuse for a film, The Day After Valentine's was rather enjoyable, and thankfully not covered in 6 feet of snow.
Jake Gyllenhaal wouldn't have gone amiss though.
On Saturday, Hubby took me out for a textbook meal at the restaurant in town which we go to every year. I spent most of the night undressing the waiting staff with my eyes. I can't deny that since James was been in the picture, things between us have been a great deal calmer. We had a really lovely evening actually. Hubby is back to his 'old self' (he threw a half a breadroll at manger in protest to how obscenely stale they were - that is the man I know and love).
If Valentine's day was a little '7 Brides', the following evening was unashamedly '9 1/2 weeks'. James and I planned to go to dinner in central and take a romantic stroll along the river. This plan was violently scuppered by our inability to get out of bed. A gloriously wasted evening.
Janine received a Valentine's card over the weekend. With a poem! You should see her. It's anonymous but she keeps reading it again and again, expecting the sender's name to materialise. I do hope it wasn't New Boy who sent it.
In hindsight, New Boy is hardly Shakespeare. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he thought Shakespeare was another term for jousting. Or a euphemism for sex. The moron.