I’m not sharing Valentine’s Day with anyone in particular this year.  That’s not a huge deal, as I’m no fan of pink champagne or heart-shaped boxes anyway.  But while I don’t relish the day’s commercialism or syrupy trappings, Valentine’s day still represents something that is very important to me.  All my happiest moments have been caught up with some form of romantic love, and I’ve never been skilled at burying the past – I still have a collection full of love mementoes slowly fading into meaningless in a drawer (a crisp packet?  What was I thinking?).  In fact, if I close my eyes and think back over the times that have meant most to me, they are these:

My parent's old wallpaper - yes, they are into patterns

1.  Grabbing a stolen kiss from my first boyfriend in my parent’s North London sitting room aged 19, noticing how much better it was snogging someone you really loved, and that all that gooey stuff in songs actually had a ring of truth to it.

2.  Watching the snow  falling outside from under the duvet of my chilly East Berlin flat, with an unusual-looking but handsome French lover (body by Michelangelo,  face by Picasso).  As the grimy courtyard beyond the window slowly turned white, I was quietly convinced that nothing had ever been, or could ever again be so perfect.

3. A post-gig taxi ride from Vauxhall to Gospel Oak with a musician boyfriend – his keyboard stretched across our knees – where we both admitted for the first time that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.  Sinking back into my seat in shock and delight, I thought “This is it!  Real happiness coming at last!”

Written baldly on the page, I suppose all that looks a little trite – and those moments all passed soon enough.  I never come across stolen kiss boy nowadays except as a disembodied voice on Radio 5 Live, and my still dear French friend is now  driving somebody else insane.  Meanwhile it’s hard to suppress a wry smile when I think that my musician ex  now has a long-term partner to make (not so) sweet music with.

Moments like those still resonate, though.  They remind you that underneath the sensible, prosaic person who recycles, waters the plants and fills in their tax return, there is a passionate person who can both stir and feel joy.  And while dwelling on moth-eaten loves might not be the wisest thing to do, at least it reminds you that you might just fall again.

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