Forty years ago, on 14th February 1983, I had just got married; and this would be the first night of my honeymoon.
It was my own romantic notion to get married on St Valentine's Day. At the time it seemed very appropriate. But of course it turned out to be a major mistake, as the 14th February would be forever associated with my wedding, and once my marriage was over, and the association had soured, the day was forever tainted. Doubtless my former spouse feels the same.
My marriage began well. It was a register office affair, at pretty Morden Cottage near Wimbledon in south-west London. The formalities went smoothly. It was chilly for the post-ceremony photos outside in Morden Park, but that went smoothly too. There wasn't much money to throw at the wedding, but a nice function room had been booked at The Plough at New Malden, and I recall a pleasant meal and several speeches welcoming me into another family.
Then, in the setting sun, we set off for a long drive to Shaftesbury in north Dorset, where the wedding night would be spent at The Grosvenor Hotel. It was all rather exciting. Before retiring to a cosy bed, we had a walk around night-time Shaftesbury. It was icy-cold. Snow was forecast for next day. Meanwhile, surely a few flakes fell, whipped by the insistent wind. The starlit streets were only dimly lit by the lamps, but were magical and unforgettable. We clung together for warmth, and looked up at the brilliant constellations. It seemed like the beginning of a lifelong success story. Just us; so special; so memorable.
Then next day, after a big breakfast, we scraped the frost off the car and headed westwards across snowy Dartmoor to Padstow in Cornwall, where The Nook Hotel in Fentonluna Lane awaited us. Days full of sunshine followed. It was however bitterly cold - although that only made our lunches and evening meals all the more enjoyable, because we could huddle close to log fires as well as appreciate the tasty Cornish cuisine on offer.
Then all too soon we had to leave for home, and the realities of ordinary life. And yet I felt no disappointment. I had a new status, and a new point of view. It was good to be part of something. To set to at building a home, once the house purchase went through. Was I doing something that came naturally to me, and was good for me? I didn't ask myself. I was sure I would never regret abandoning the single life for one jointly lived.
It gradually unravelled. Separation came in January 1991. Divorce in June 1996. I stayed in touch with my step-daughter, who represents to this day the only substantial legacy of my essay into matrimony. And yet she is on the other side of the world, a married woman with a family, far away in New Zealand.
I had the opportunity to marry again, but never did. I had become wary of marriage, although not yet averse to sharing my life with someone special. But in time the next long-term relationship also folded.
I could not stomach any further attempt at marriage, nor anything resembling it. I resolved henceforth to keep myself unattached. So I have avoided any entanglements. And after a dozen or more years of independence I am certain that I made the right decision. I would even say that, looking back, I was born to be single, and best suited to making my way through life alone. That hasn't ruled out making several very good friends; but there is nobody in a romantic role, nor will there ever be.
So for me St Valentine's Day is a non-event, and no more than a reminder of relationship failure. That doesn't stop me wishing those who do have flourishing relationships all the happiness in the world.
I have stopped believing in lasting romantic love, at least for myself. But love takes many forms, and some kinds of love do mean a lot to me - even if I haven't yet sorted out in my mind which particular kind of love means the most.
