It is that time of year again.
Valentine’s day : The day when no man can do the right thing.
As a Northern male I am expected to have a somewhat palaeolithic approach to romance. This caveman reputation is probably because of those glum buggers across the Pennines in Yorkshire.
In fact, as pointed out by Charles Nevin in his book ‘Lancashire, where women die of love’, we Lancashire men are whimsical and incurable romantics. Lancashire women, on the other hand, consider it their duty to suppress such whimsy in their men at every opportunity. This has been the premise of many a situation comedy.
I shall not comment upon the accuracy of this as my wife sometimes reads my blog and I prefer to keep my genitalia in their current configuration.
Anyway. One consequence of having female friends and collaborators at this time of year is that the…
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