I wrote no cards, wrapped no presents and was blissfully oblivious of the puke inducing heart balloons and lovey dovey mush which was all singing and all dancing on the high street for the last however many weeks.

I mean, Bog Off, we've just had Christmas!

The morning of February 14th was just like any other morning. I hit the snooze button too hard so the entire alarm clock shut off.

Tim happily trotted off downstairs to make breakfast (he is one of those weird morning people. psychos!)

My daughter was quick to follow (psycho in training) whilst my son and I festered in our respective beds, refusing to kick off the covers until forcibly removed.

Eventually I was dressed for work and in a zombie-like state, headed for the front door.

That's when I saw it. A white envelope with Tim's handwriting sticking through the letterbox.

Still I did not twig. I opened it up and was serenaded by a chorus of frogs croaking Sonny and Cher's 'I got you babe'.

Having heard the tune, Tim poked his head round the kitchen door.

"Happy Valentine's Day" he beamed. The kids raced down the stairs to look at my card and enquire as to where theirs are.

All eyes were on me expectantly and I panicked.

Tim's face fell. He knew.

He told me not to worry about it and then hurried off to write a card for each of the children.

Luckily I keep a stash of blank cards for emergencies.

I hung my head in shame. I am a failure in the romance stakes.

After a manic day at work, I arrived at the kid's day-care centre to find my daughter in raptures.

She had received a beautiful Valentine's card, a heart encrusted gift box containing a Thornton's chocolate heart lolly and a lovely heart bracelet cushioned in shredded pink crepe paper and red heart confetti.

I was very impressed!

I never got a Valentine card until I was fourteen years old.

It was then that I realised that I had missed the opportunity to make it up to Tim by buying or even making him a card.

I am a terrible Valentine!

I bundled the kids into the car and dashed home. I had little under an hour before he was due back and a thought had just struck my melon.....candlelit meal.

The children had to forfeit their bath and instead I put them in their pyjamas and set them up with supper and a Playstaion game on the proviso that they play nicely in their room whilst mummy and daddy eat.

They could not believe their luck!

What to cook? Naked fridge and sparse freezer greeted me. A post it note on the fridge door reminding me to go shopping looked down at me disdainfully.

Will just have to make do with what we got! Now, Candles.....who am I kidding?

I'm not one of those candle chicks, erm.......tea lights from a two year old dodgy crimbo pressie will be alright!

Finally, wine.

Depleted supplies over New Year, will have to eke out the final dregs from Saturday night's vodka bottle. Mixer? Oh damn...vodka and vimto it is then!

Half an hour later, I heard Tim's key turn in the front door lock.

I quickly lit the last tea light, fluffed my hair and dashed to welcome him. "Something burning" he asked.

The smoke detector shrilled out the response before I could answer.

The door upstairs slammed with screams of "FIRE" just audible over the alarm.

I ran to the oven while Tim went upstairs to tell the kids that everything was OK and there was no need to lie on the floor with the door shut (we have them well trained now).

A few minutes later and Tim joined me at the table.

He looked round curiously at the candles and then down at his plate of cremated chicken dippers and baked beans.

"Romantic," I shrugged.

His face creased up followed by a bellow of laughter so powerful that it blew out a tea light.

I was relieved. Apparently I was forgiven.

"So where's my flowers?" I asked then ducked a low flying chicken dipper.