Damned American import, it is. That's Valentine's Day. I have been forced to participate in the event and I swap cards with R. Please, I show my love every day as I push buttons to do our washing. I am just brilliant at using a washing machine. No, don't mock me. It is rare that I do anything less than a full load. I manage the water temperature as I am not happy with what the machine does. I buy huge quantities of detergent and fabric softener at cheap prices. Tea towels don't go with socks and jocks. Light colours don't go with dark. Towels are washed on their own. Food stains are dealt with by soaking. Auntie Andrew is a really good washer woman.
Now I have lost my train of thought. Oh yes, Valentine's Day. Bah humbug. That was until I saw a nice looking blond lad of about 18 years old wearing standard pink shorts, a dressy shirt with a narrow loose tie, with who I guess was his attractive girlfriend. He was carrying a large wicker picnic basket and they were heading for the Botanic Gardens, no doubt for a large repast from the basket in nice surroundings.
Instead of thinking, idiots, it will all go bad before you can turn around, I felt all warm and gooey. May their romantic innocence and naivety go on forever.