I sleep beside the banisters of my stairs, so getting out of the wrong side of bed would result in serious injury, if not death. I was therefore pleased just now to land unscathed, on my feet, and to clear blue skies well before the alarm, as it routinely does, scares the bejesus out of me. Fear, I’ve decided, is not a good way to start the day, so with the extra few minutes afforded me I replaced that buzzer sound with the sound of birdsong: not so loud, but no less scary.

My attempts to rid fear from my daily routine were soon proven futile however as my sleepy eyes wandered over to my desk calendar, which read, ‘Monday, February 14’. Has the week since Valentine’s been a loveless dream? No, it turns out. I’ve just been away on business (see The San Also Rises). After joyfully tearing seven sheets from the calendar my confusion nevertheless continued as I found amongst the morning mail, and exactly a week late, a scented pink envelope postmarked February 12 and a card, distinctly resembling a Valentine, signed, “your SY1 admirer” – SY1 being my post code area and, to confuse matters further, the name of my hairdressers.

The clue in the card leads me either to my foxy, but nevertheless married, hairdresser Rachel, or – let’s face it – any one of the 28,000 women in the SY1 catchment area. The walk to work this morning will certainly be interesting. And I’m thinking my hair needs a trim.

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