VALENTINE’S Day is coming. Don’t worry, it’s not until Tuesday.

I was going to get my big red pen out and write about the hideous commercialisation of romance.

I’ve been saving the many garish marketing e-mails which have been arriving in my inbox since the first week of January from companies trying to hijack the day for pink profits.

Dirty weekends offered at Lake District hotels... animal farms given a romantic theme... heart shaped meat pies to inspire ‘porkie talk’. Shudder.

And then there is the absurd pressure to look desperately doe-eyed and in love for the day. That’s weird. It’s as if the whole nation has contracted some soppy conjunctivitus.

My gut instinct, being as bitter as an industrial lemon farm, was to demand an end to the madness.

Let’s boycott all heart-shaped bakery goods, say no to global floral destruction and prevent the near-total extinction of roses! Let’s get together and bury the Milk Tray man!

However, several of my friends have told me to pipe down. Because, for some, this is a pretty happy day – and not just for all the chocolates.

One told me it was the only time she saw her parents holding hands and another said that every year, on Valentine’s Day, her dad buys her mum, her and her sister flowers as a gift for the whole family.

And my diva told me she spent Valentine’s evening last year together with a group of single ladies, holding a faux romantic meal complete with candles, vin rouge et les beans sur la toast. Haha.

So, okay, it’s not all totally, absolutely hideous.

And yeah, although I don’t agree with all the advertising that comes with Valentine’s Day, I suppose showing affection towards fellow humans on one day a year is better than showing none at all.

It’s definitely in my top ten most-barmy days of the year, but I will withhold the wrath of red pen. Just keep your eye conditions and porkie talk to yourselves.