It’s Valentine’s Day. The media is all over it, of course, and for weeks we have been hearing about how special / romantic / over-commercialised / unfair the occasion is. So I won’t go there. I myself had a lovely day. I was home for the weekend, and brought home presents for Mum, Dad and my sister (Dad shook his and declared, “These are sharing chocolates, I can tell!”). So we all had chocolate for breakfast, I played with my little dog and then I rode my horses. It was all sunshine and happiness, and then I made the 2 hour drive back to my placement, and when I arrived it was pouring rain. True story.
But I digress. It’s Valentine’s Day. And I remember a conversation I had with a GP while I was on work experience last Christmas holidays - one night during that week, he and his wife sat me down at the kitchen table and told me exactly what sort of husband I should be looking for. It’s worth mentioning that this doctor is a long-time family friend, so it makes this situation a little less strange. A little. Apparently I need an understanding sort of fellow, who is a rich professional of some sort (but not a doctor), and happens to enjoy feeding animals and cooking.
Not quite as bizarre as my friend, who was waiting for a not-too-tall chicken-man to climb up to her bedroom window, rose in teeth with a lopsided smile. And well, she seems happy, so maybe there’s hope for me yet.