Will Squidgy Thing recognise your writing?
Whichever way you look at it, Valentine’s Day has a murky past. At least two beheadings of Roman priests who bore the name. Martyrdoms. Medieval bishops called Valentine burned to a crisp. Add to these ancient miseries, blisteringly tortuous tales of unrequited this and mistaken-identity that. It’s a wonder that February 14th became a source of celebration at all. Back when screens existed solely to prevent the driver’s glasses blowing off when she or he was at the wheel of a car, news was something you could touch. In our house, there was much anticipation of hilarity on February 14th when time came to turn to the Valentine’s notices in the classified section of The Times. ‘Squidgy tells Squashy that his heart remains hers’, ‘Little bunny keep your eyes open for a tiger on the 6.15 at Paddington’. I don’t do them justice, but you get the idea. The notices went on for pages and the pages weren’t titchy tabloid. There is more anonymity on paper, it’s a gentler m...