February 14 is a date dreaded by singletons all around the world, and dismissed as nothing more than a sick-bucket, lovey-dovey day by most of my unattached girlfriends.

They will be pretending that they won't be sitting dementedly starring at their letterboxes in the hope their friendly postie will deliver a card from some tall, dark, handsome stranger who looks like Colin Firth emerging from the lake in that white shirt in Pride and Prejudice.

Yes, being single on Valentine's Day can be rather depressing, although it's at times like this that I'm forced to remember some of the horrific dates I've been on over the years, causing me to breathe a sigh of relief at my single status.

For example,

I once went on a date with a guy who within the first 20 minutes had told me he hated all music and had recurring nightmares about killing his own mother.

Needless to say the date was over after 28 minutes.

Or the time I went on a date with a guy who burst out crying half way through our coffee because his goldfish had died that morning!

But my favourite memory is of a guy I met at a friend's party who seemed really rather normal and had asked me out for a drink.

I agreed and a week later I met him in town with high hopes of this being a rather successful night.

Sadly, after about an hour it was clear that there was no real spark between us, certainly not for me anyway, although his chat was pretty decent so I wasn't in a rush to get home.

The pub was closing at 11pm and as I prepared to say my goodbyes, my date suggested that we move on to a club next door for one or two more.

I was a little merry after a few vinos so thought, well why not, and what happened next was truly unbelievable.

The fresh air seemed to hit him like a ton of bricks and all of a sudden he appeared extremely drunk.

As soon as he got into the club he started downing shots of tequila and asking me if I'd ever considered having cosmetic surgery to enhance my assets.

He then went on to ask me if I would like him to take pictures of me in his 'homemade' studio and also if he could book me pole dancing lessons as a present ... for him.

He then asked if I knew Sarah Harding from Girls Aloud, while scribbling down his number, telling me that I was of course his first choice but Sarah was definitely his plan B.

He urged me to take his number and pass it onto her the next time I saw her.

By this point I was scanning the room looking for my nearest escape route to get away from this nutter, who had now decided to breakdance for me while singing the lyrics to Another Level's Freak Me down my earhole. The minute he went to the toilet I grabbed my bag and coat and ran out the door straight into a taxi.

So for me, I've admitted defeat when it comes to Valentine's Day and instead have decided to follow the wise words of one of my favourite fictional character, Bridget Jones: "At times like this, continuing with one's life seems impossible and eating the entire contents of one's fridge seems inevitable.

"I have two choices: to give up and accept a permanent state of spinsterhood and eventually die alone only to be eaten by Alsatians, or not.

"And this time I choose not.

"Instead I choose Vodka and Chaka Chan."

Now that sounds like the perfect Valentine's Day...