Did everyone have a loved-filled, romantic Valentine’s Day? Yes? Then I hate you! No, I’m just kidding! Well, sort of kidding…

Do you know what I got for Valentine’s Day? Before you all scream “nothing” in unison it was worse than that. Come to think of it, it was even worse than a home-made Valentine’s card from the kids- I GENUINELY received a set of micro-fibre dishcloths. Dishcloths! Do I look like someone who’s capable of looking after themselves? Let alone wash a plate after they’ve used it?

Do you know what the reasoning was behind the dishcloths? I’d mentioned in passing to an admirer that I fancied some new cloths, and he admitted that he had no clue what to buy me but remembered me commenting on the ‘five for a quid yans’ at Tesco.

Romance really is dead. It appears to have been scrubbed off the plate of love by my new dishcloths.

“ Didn’t you hear me say CLOTHES?!” I asked him. “Yes, I was temporarily bowled over by the cloths but I’m always saying how much I love CLOTHES.”

I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, mind you, so to avoid any awkward, ungrateful interactions I blocked the guy on my phone.

To make matters worse I’d been scheduled to work on the evening of the 14 th so any romantic rendezvous I could have indulged in were put on the back-burner. I could have called in sick but there are only so many times a month a person can have diarrhoea without looking like a deflated balloon.

I sat in work and listened to my boss tease me and perform his unique version of All By Myself. As the evening progressed I held my breath as various bouquets of flowers were delivered, every time addressed to someone else. As happy as I was that my work mates were overjoyed at receiving tokens of love from their worse halves, I was insanely jealous. I waited until they left the room and let out my frustrations on the flowers - pulling just a few heads off the roses then chewing them up before spitting them in the bin. It was immature, but it helped to release the pressure.

Later that evening my son tottered in with a homemade card and what looked like a handful of grass he’d picked up in the car park. I shook the card. “ No money inside then?” I asked.

I’d just about given up hope when a stranger delivered a suspect package. Knowing me it was probably a bomb from one of my jilted exes or a Kill Bill style snake-in-the-box from my furious child.

Inside it was an array of cashmere scarves, a few knitted pieces and a pencil skirt. The tag read: "Sorry about the cloths…here are some CLOTHES fit for a queen."

I spent the time I should have been using to scan over an accident report to ratch around inside the box. It was some good, quality gear. I then removed Romeo from the blocked list on my phone and sent the following text: " Size 16?! Really?! We are totally over! Never speak to me again!"

On second thoughts it seemed a little bit of an over-reaction…

" Me again. Give me the receipts to change the sizes. Out of decency I won’t block you again until I have them."

I’m glad I showed a little compassion, it was Valentine’s Day after all.