Over the stable door: Who said romance was dead?

As Tris and I have been going out for just a few years the attention we put into gifts to mark the occasion is still relatively thoughtful.

Last year he bought me a box of handmade violet creams – my favourites. I surprised him with a trip to Murrayfield to watch the Six Nations Rugby. I went to considerable lengths to keep our final destination a secret until the train arrived in Edinburgh where crowds of rugby fans made it pretty obvious. It was a Wales v Scotland match and the atmosphere was electric. Tris thinks of Wales as his surrogate home having enjoyed memorable holidays walking its wet hilly lands so he was over the moon.

I kept it light and comical this year so I sent him a personalised card from Johnny the Lamb (who he’d rather see as chops on his plate). It had a blown up photo of Johnny’s cheeky black face staring longingly into the camera, underneath in bold print were the words: ‘You and Me. Always and Forever’.

My boyfriend opened it and laughed. “I will never escape that damn sheep will I?”

I handed him a gift wrapped in a red bow, it was a litre of chainsaw oil, an unromantic offering but I pride myself on its practical value. Every time Tris goes out to cut wood I hear cursing when he finds his stash of oil cans empty.

After the effort I put into last year’s trip I anticipated a memorable return gesture. I’d vaguely hoped he might opt to do something unusual - an overnight stay in the Dales or a trip to the theatre, something we could both enjoy. I was quietly excited to await the surprise.

Before dinner Tris presented me with a glossy Christmas bag I recognised from my kitchen cupboard. Out of it I pulled a box of deluxe strength bungee clips.

“There’s a funny story behind that present,” Tris chuckled. “I was riding Herbie up the old lane last week and I saw something in the middle of the road, it must have fallen off a builder’s van. I jumped off and picked it up, it was like brand new - so I tucked it in my jacket and thought Jo’s Valentine present.”

“How wonderfully thoughtful of you,” I said with more than a hint of sarcasm which he seemed to take as sincerity.

“I didn’t get you a card,” he added. “Waste of money aren’t they?”

Thankfully my nine-year-old son Felix saved the day by vacuuming the sitting room and making me a cup of tea, a uniquely momentous treat in itself. He then asked me if he was allowed a ferret yet.