Unless, that is, you attend a single-sex boarding school. These institutions live up to their reputations as artificial bubbles of existence by offering an almost entirely romance-free zone during the sickly sentimentalism of Valentine’s Day.
Although not this year, sadly. Here at Eton we break up for long leave tomorrow, which means that for once we will be spending the day at home.
Despite the dread of being exposed to the full horrors of this event, the silver lining for me is that I won’t have to pick out the single, red Valentine's card from my pigeon hole this year. I’d love to say this annual demonstration of love came from my girlfriend, or at least a reasonably fit girl my age, but, very embarrassingly, the individual behind it is my mum. She does this every year, despite my fierce orders to the contrary, believing that I would be upset were it not to arrive. She fails to realise that it is not the sentiment I oppose, but the fact that it is inevitably noticed by all my friends.
This is because in my house our pigeon holes are located directly next to the boys’ entrance, a consequence of which is that when a person has a bright red letter sticking out of his, on a day dedicated to romance no less, it is bound to be spotted by pretty much everyone in the house. There follows a interrogation on the sender's identity, and when I reveal it to be my mum it prompts comments such as ‘eurgh! Incest!’ or ‘I knew it wouldn’t be from a girl!’
Of course, a valentine card from an actual girl your age is an overwhelmingly positive thing. It is already better than what most people will get. Even more impressive is to receive multiple cards (which always happens to one lucky person) which more or less entitles that individual to lecture everyone on the subject of sex and relationships without reproach.
Spending Valentine’s Day at school may be preferable for bachelors like me, but for those with girlfriends it is understandably painful. An extended Skype session can only marginally compensate for the lack of physical intimacy, and even then it is more likely to be sorrowful (‘miss you so much - boohoo’) than celebratory.
As well as being a day for couples, Valentine’s Day is also the perfect occasion to declare one's hidden love for another. In other words, it fills people with an irrational abandon that nine times out of ten leads to extreme awkwardness. Having said this, you may be wondering whether I myself will be sending out any valentines of my own this year. The long and short answer to this is ‘no’.
This is not because I am inhibited by the thought of rejection. In truth, I admire the people who let go of their pride and attempt to escape the innermost circle of a friend zone. Instead, my reason for doing so is that the only girl I like right now (the Princess) has recently been caught in a tricky situation .
This situation, without beating about the bush, is that she has acquired a boyfriend. Not just any old boyfriend; a tall, sporty, clever boyfriend who resembles Tom Hardy and goes to Tonbridge in Kent, one of Eton’s rivals.
To say this news has sickened me is an understatement. When I found out about their relationship through the photo of them kissing on Facebook, I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. I was physically unable to do anything for the rest of the day, except mope around and pray I was dreaming.
The worst thing about it is not that she has a boyfriend, but that I never saw the whole thing coming. I knew that freaks like Jedward were after her, but I always believed the Princess would see through them for the chumps they were. But with Tonbridge boy, I wasn't aware of his existence until I saw the photo. As a result, there was nothing to prepare me for the shock of seeing them together.
Although this happened over two weeks ago, my feelings are still raw. At random points in divs my concentration will go and I see the photo of them together. What is also galling is that, unlike Jedward, there is almost nothing with which to compare myself positively against this guy. By all appearances he is the perfect boyfriend material: not only good-looking and clever, but a nice guy it seems too.
At least this is my conclusion after many hours' analysis of his Facebook profile. Try as I might, I have been unable yet to locate a clear chink in his armour. If this is a hint for me to give up then nothing else could be, yet I still retain belief, driven by the thought that his perfection may well be his greatest weakness.
This is obviously counter-intuitive, but what I mean by it is that it is clear from his demeanour that he is the type of person who can fit into any social group. No-one who knows him will have a bad word to say about him, ever. Yet the nice guy image he has going on comes at a price, and this is that by choosing not to offend anyone or court the merest controversy he inevitably makes himself boring. Speaking generally, it is impossible to get on with everyone you ever come across, and at some moments in life you have no option but to make your dislike of someone known. In part though, this is what makes a person interesting; they have opinions which others disagree with; they like things which others dislike.
I certainly fall into this category. Although I try not to go around alienating people, I will call a spade a spade when the situation demands. It may annoy the people whom I say it to, but it will also endear me to my friends.
Therefore, my theory is that after a period of time, say six months, the Princess will grow tired of Tonbridge boy and inform him politely that it’s her fault, not his. She will actively search for someone more interesting, someone with a personality. At which point I will swoop in, flowers in hand and a witty comment on my lips. We will make out immediately and live happily ever after.
As it happens, one of my friends last year was faced with an almost identical situation to the one I face now. Infatuated with a girl he met at Christmas, he took the spirit of Valentine’s Day to heart and decided to pour out his feelings to her in a very gooey card. All the while ignoring the fact that she had a long-term boyfriend who went to Harrow. I advised him strongly against this course of action, and was unsurprised therefore when his only response back was a Facebook message from a very angry Harrovian telling him to lay off his bird.
We’re often told that History is about learning from the mistakes of the past. As a result I will not be sending any make or break Valentine cards of my own this year. Instead, I will spend Saturday stretched out on the sofa at home, watching telly and scoffing food, whilst laughing at the punters outside falling for the confected romance peddled by opportunistic businesses. Pah, who said love is all you need?
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