As regular readers will know, I’m not a particular fan of abbreviating words or finding shorter ways of saying things. I always prefer calling friends David rather than Dave, for example. Although only if they are actually called David. I tried calling my friend Liz ‘David’ once. Suffice to say that these days she’s less ‘my friend Liz’, and more ‘Liz’.
When it comes to Christmas, I absolutely point blank refuse to call it ‘Xmas’. Yes, I know that it’s derived from the Greek for ‘Christ’, but exactly how lazy do you have to be to say ‘ex-mass’ rather than ‘Christmas’. That millisecond that you save is hardly going to be the key factor that prevents you from achieving world peace and instead condemns man to a life of pestilence, war and famine, is it?
So today (he said, sounding progressively more like the grumpy old man that he fears he may well be becoming), I’m finding myself unwittingly engaged in a one man crusade to remind people that February 14th should be known as Saint Valentines Day, as opposed to Valentines Day. Nobody in this country uses the ‘St’ anymore, it would appear. It doesn’t appear in news coverage, it doesn’t appear in incessant adverts persuading me to buy chocolates, and it doesn’t even appear on the ‘Valentines’ cards themselves.
I wished The Special One a happy St Valentines Day this morning, and she looked at me as if I had wished her a Merry Little Smurfmas. Even the (very funny and apt) blogs I’ve read today from Brits and Americans alike have insisted on calling it Valentines Day.
Maybe I just missed a meeting when a group decision was taken to drop the saint? Or perhaps it’s for the same reason that I have to say ‘happy holidays’ rather than ‘happy Christmas’? Whatever the case, it’s frankly taking the
I know as much as the next man that Hallmark have hijacked this old fertility festival and turned it into an easy way of boosting sales at an otherwise difficult time of the year. But at least let’s try to stick to the – ahem – romance of the original inspiration. Let’s face it, it’s got to be better to feel you’re being persuaded into a outward demonstration of love to honour the memory of a dead bloke from Rome, rather than because of the difficult first quarter of American Greetings’ financial year?
Now, hands up all of you who think that this unmitigated rant is going to help me when The Special One discovers that I haven’t bought her roses?