No really, you shouldn’t have

Feb 12 2008 Western Mail

WM’s resident lovebirds, Steffan Rhys and Chiara Rinaldi, weight up the pros and cons of Valentines gift giving

Steffan Rhys
HMMMM . . . what to get, what to get. Maybe a subscription to online bingo just in time for Betfred Bingo’s Valentine Special?

A trip to Somerset for a one-off Valentine’s Day Wurzels gig? A train ride to Carnaby Street, where artists are looking for couples to kiss so they can take pictures of them?

Lucky girl, I hear you ladies sigh, but somehow the above suggestions aren’t quite right.

In fact, the seeming abundance of gifts that emerge on Valentine’s Day as if by magic to make your special lady swoon with joy is but a mirage.

Weekend away? Not on my money, love.

Underwear? The margin for error is wider than the Long Lonely Highway on which I’ll be travelling with a thong necktie flapping in the wind.

Flowers? Thanks, they’re lovely, but I’m allergic to pollen.

Romantic meal? The couple on the next table are bound to look like they’re having a better time.

The entire sorry process is, for want of a better description, a bloody nightmare.

And it’s not helped by the fact that February 14 comes only just after Christmas and her birthday – or was that last August?

It’s unbelievably hard to tread the buying-Valentine-gifts-for-girlfriends line which takes so many twists and turns you just want to abandon the shopping delights of McArthur Glen and go back to the car park to be sick on your bonnet, or punch eBay’s face in.

For some reason, I attach an enormous amount of importance to buying gifts with some thought and originality behind them – like they do on the telly when presenting first editions of beloved, childhood-memory-rearing books – but I think it’s more to do with making myself look good than making the recipient happy.

And I mostly fail to get it right anyway.

It’s a gloomy outlook, that’s for sure, and not even the fact that the day coincides with National Condom Week is enough to inspire, though their limited edition condom paperweights are an interesting gift idea.

To be fair, and slightly less panicky for a second, it’s comforting to know that, in reality, she will be happy with anything, though I now have images of her friends reading this crippled by laughter at my woeful misperception of her values.

But what’s of far more support is that I already know she’s spent less than £10 on me and, no matter how much weight is attached to “the thought”, equal financial expenditure is by far the most important factor in mutual gift giving.

But what if she’s lying?

Chiara Rinaldi
THIS year I’m looking forward to celebrating St Valentine’s Day with a low-key affair (not literally).

It’s not a case of false protestations – “no need to make a fuss” – or even a stand against commercial exploitation – “it’s the card shops that invented it” – like last year when I was single.

I spent the evening with 12 other unattached friends at the Hard Rock Cafe, where we downed cocktails and cackled in the men-bashing spirit of Loose Women.

Couples looked over their candlelit dinners into each other’s eyes, aghast, and too intimidated by our raucous behaviour to tell us to shut up and listen to the soul singer.

This year I’m no longer miffed by the soap weddings or glare of cardboard Cupids in shop windows, so you are safe.

But at the same time I didn’t rush out for a horny devil dart board when it was apparent that I qualified to take part.

I admit for a few seconds I pondered over a monkey wearing heart-adorned boxing shorts in M&S but it would have been a purely selfish purchase.

And I was almost tempted to buy a giant mug declaring “SEXY HUNK” just for the look on his face but I just couldn’t handle the shame at the till. Who buys this tack?

I’m confident it’s not Steff, but I do hope he doesn’t get me anything expensive as it will make his gifts – a tambourine (he’s in a band) and a pestle and mortar – look pathetic by comparison.

To make matters worse the tambourine is now useless as his singing career lasted just a fortnight and he’s back on the drums.

But it’s already packed and I’ve even glued hearts onto the wrapping paper, so he’ll have to fasten it to his back like Dick Van Dyk in Mary Poppins.

Meanwhile the other present renders me in the same category as men who buy their wives a blender for Christmas. I know a kitchen utensil is about as romantic as two tickets to see Jeremy Kyle, but it’s something he always says he wants but never gets around to actually buying.

I stress my small and practical gifts are not because I’m mean or averse to a bit of amour, but February 14, like Easter, arrives too early this year.

This weekend my credit card will face his long-awaited Christmas present, a trip to an extremely posh restaurant – I’m talking three Michelin stars – and then a totally un-Valentine’s-related holiday the week after, decided upon and booked in less time than it takes to say “credit crunch”.

Is it any wonder we are all in debt when the standard gift these days seems to be a weekend in Paris or even New York?

And that’s on top of flowers sent to the workplace, to make sure colleagues know how appreciated we are.

I prefer romance to be spontaneous, so frankly I’ll be happy with a card and an Indian takeaway on Thursday.

The diamonds and dinner in Paris can wait until another day.