Valentine’s Day? Pah.

I Wouldn’t Thank You for a Valentine
By Liz Lochhead

I wouldn’t thank you for a Valentine.
I won’t wake up early wondering if the postman’s been.
Should 10 red-padded satin hearts arrive with sticky
sickly saccharine
Sentiments in very vulgar verses I wouldn’t wonder if
you meant them.
Two dozen anonymous Interflora red roses?
I’d not bother to swither over who sent them!
I wouldn’t thank you for a Valentine.

Scrawl SWALK across the envelope
I’d just say ‘ Same Auld story
I canny be bothered deciphering it –
I’m up to hear with Amore!
The whole Valentine’s Day Thing is trivial and
commercial,
A cue for unleashing clichés and candyheart motifs to
which I personally am not partial.’
Take more than singing Telegrams, or pints of
Chanel Five, or sweets,
To get me ordering oysters or ironing my black satin sheets.
I wouldn’t thank you for a Valentine.

If you sent me a solitaire and promises solemn,
Took out an ad in the Guardian Personal Column
Saying something very soppy such as ‘Who Loves Ya,
Poo?
I’ll tell you, I do, Fozzy bear, that’s who!’
You’d entirely fail to charm me, in fact I’d detest it
I wouldn’t be eighteen again for anything, I’m glad I’m
past it.
I wouldn’t thank you for a Valentine.

If you sent me a single orchid, or a pair of Janet Reger’s
in a heart-shaped box and declared your Love Eternal
I’d say I’d rather not be caught dead in them; they were
politically suspect and I’d rather something thermal.
If you hired a plane and blazed our love in a banner
across the skies;
If you bought me something flimsy in a flatteringly
wrong size;
If you sent me a postcard with three Xs and told me
how you felt

I wouldn’t thank you, I’d melt.

It’s The Pelvic Thrust That Really Drives You Insane.

Today, at approximately 1:20pm, the strangest and most beautiful thing I have ever seen took place in the sixth-form centre of Slemish College.

You see, us sixth-form students quite enjoy having a laugh now and again. Most weekends there will be a sixth-form gathering somewhere, be it in a bar, a restaurant or a Go-Karting place. It’s all very enjoyable. Most people get along together well; I myself know only one person in the whole of the sixth-form who I would like to behead. It’s not unheard of for us to work, either, but this usually involves fun things like big group projects or psychoanalysis experiments. We are very communal creatures.

Another thing you should know is that sixth-formers like to sing. Amongst the sixth-form centre favourites are “The Tractor Song”, “I’ll Make Love To You In The Henhouse If You’ll Only Egg Me On” (it’s really not as bad as it sounds!!), “Horse It Into You, Cynthia” and Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer”. It only takes one person to hum a line from one of these songs for the entire room to explode into gleeful song. It’s really quite heart-warming. There have also been occasions in the sixth-form centre where a large group of residents take it upon themselves to engage in what is known as the “Hokey Cokey “, a primitive mating dance. This always confuses a certain stalker of mine, as he believes this dance to be called the Hokey Pokey. He is wrong, as usual.

Today, a few sixth-formers were performing the YMCA, and a smaller group were dancing the Macarena. I have, however, grown tired of these conventional dances, and anyway, they’ve never brought me much luck with the fellas. Swallowing my pride (ALL of it…I nearly choked), I jumped up, right between the two groups of dancers, and yelled “LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN!!”.

The reaction was instant and predictable. Every pair of eyes in the room was focused on me. Then, suddenly, in one great movement, everyone in the room got to their feet, and every voice sang out, “LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN!”, just as I had, only seconds before. “It’s just a jump to the left!”, screamed someone. “And a step to the right!” we all replied. Somehow, we all seemed to instinctively know the dance from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. When the whole room started doing pelvic thrusts, I knew I’d done the right thing.

I just need to think of a new dance for tomorrow.