Disclaimer: I don't own this, am making no money from it etc. It all belongs to Helen Feilding.

Some thoughts on Valentines Day

February 14th. Calories: Too many to keep track of.

                        Cigarettes: 80

                        Alcohol units: Oh, thousands.

Valentines Day. Wake to find self wallowing in self pity (Also known as vast quantities of Vodka). Am alone. Again. Again. Hate self. Know should not be feeling this, as am woman of the 20th century, and should be at peace with my own self worth. So why do I feel so god awful? Ooh – telephone.

Was Jude, blubbering down phone in sheep's voice, saying how Vile Richard had not bought her anything, and told her she was daft for buying him a rather expensive watch. Apparently Valentine's Day is a pointless waste, and is merely an excuse for blatant commercialism. Was enraged by his attitude. Surely it doesn't matter how commercialised the day is, you should still make a fuss of your loved one on Valentines? However, in this case "Blatant commercialism" means "I haven't bought you anything and I'm not going to, because I don't give a shit." Poor Jude.

Wonder if it is better to have no-one, or to have someone who doesn't care? Hmm.

Sod this, am going to shop to buy more Vodka.

Later. Was probably not the best idea to go to the shop clad only in a vest top and tiny pair of knickers, in February. Had to endure builders, teenage boys and such like shouting at me, as I tried to look at the floor. Oh God. Hate self. Hate men. Love Vodka.

Later. Mmm, Vodka is blurry loverly. Really feel as though should forgive world, for being such a bastard. Mmm. Whoops! Fallen over! Hmm… wonder if Daniel Cleaver is home…

Have called Daniel, and left loverly gooey message, all hearts and flowers. One should admit to one's feelings, and embrace them. Wonder if there's any Cognac left…

15th February.

Oh. My. God. Am going to have to leave country and lives with wolves, in manner of Kevin Costner. Am laughing stock. Am crap at everything. Am never, ever, ever going to drink again for as long as I live. I apparently called Daniel last night and professed my undying love to him, telling him I'd die for him, that love knew no bounds. Oh God. What the hell am I going to say at work today?

A/N: I know this was pants, but please review! It doesn't take very long now does it? Go on review!