As you all know, last Tuesday was Valentine’s Day, and for some people their romantic gestures were well received, but for others, well………. perhaps not so much.

“She did nothing but complaint about the bouquet of roses I gave her,” I overheard one disgruntled commuter moan to his pal.

“Apparently plastic roses are a big no no,” he shrugged his shoulders as he continued to justify his purchase to his friend.

“I just thought plastic flowers would last longer.”

“My Julie wasn’t happy either,” his pal shook his head.

“They were real flowers, but according to her six roses weren’t enough.”

“What happened to the other six?,” she moaned.

I reckoned that when people try and cut corners it usually only ends in disaster, and my good friend Lorraine (not her real name) confirmed my theory.

There seemed to be a huge build up to Lorraine’s weekend city break with her fiancé Tom, because every day for three weeks he text her counting down the days, and every day for three weeks she texted her friends to remind us about the big event.

And even although Lorraine had no idea where on the planet her surprise city break was, she foolishly assumed she would be whisked off to Rome or Paris or somewhere of that ilk.

But no……oh no.

Tom knew that Lorraine expected to be taken on a foreign city break abroad and naively thought he would surprise her with something completely different.

“Different?,” she ranted at our weekly catch up.

“It was certainly bloody different.”

Apparently the fact that they were dropped off at Glasgow airport confirmed to Lorraine that she was indeed going somewhere hot and sunny with shops galore.

“I couldn’t hide my disappointment when we stood at the airport check-in and discovered we were going to Barra.”

“Where’s Barra?,” Mae dared to ask.

“Up north in the middle of bloody nowhere,” she screeched.

Before any of us could speak she added.

“I expected candles, petals and a spa bath, and I got a freezing draughty bathroom with the shower curtain hanging off the rail.”

She barely drew breath as she added.

“The room had a 14in black and white telly with no remote control.”

We all remained silent as she added.

“And a twin bed, which was not a bad thing as it turned out.”

Seemingly she couldn’t stand the sight of Tom anymore as she scanned her drab surroundings.

“And to top it all, there was no mobile signal and I couldn’t check Facebook, text or phone any of my friends.”

“I was completely isolated,” she puffed.

Evidently there was no cashline in the village either, but as Tom naively pointed out, there was nothing to spend her money on anyway!

“I know the cheapskate thought if he took me somewhere remote I would spend less money.” Lorraine spat out the words, but I think she might have been right.

Relaying the story to my son Ross, he told me a story about a work colleague of his, who we shall call Andrew who always seemed unlucky in love.

Apparently Andrew had been holidaying in Spain over the festive period when he met a local lass called Juanita, and not long after his return to Scotland he invited her for a romantic break (not to Barra thankfully).

According to Andrew, the Spaniard was very enthusiastic about her trip to the Highlands with him.

However, not long into their car journey Andrew happened to point out a black Ford Mondeo behind them.

“I hope you don’t mind Juanita, but my mum and dad are coming too.”

“No way,” I thought Ross was pulling my leg.

“Ross, are you telling me that Juanita travelled from Spain for a romantic getaway with her new boyfriend and he decided to invite his mum and dad?”

“Yep, but seemingly Juanita eventually came round to the idea of his parents being in tow and reckoned that perhaps he must think a lot of her as not everyone would introduced their mum and dad so soon into a new relationship.”

Perhaps that was one way to look at it but……..and there’s always a but.

“We asked Andrew if he took Juanita to a posh hotel and did it have a swimming pool and a spa.” Ross added.

“And he said that everything was great and that his date seemed to be going rather well until he unpacked his toaster.”

“Did you say a toaster?,” I asked Ross to confirm.

“Yep, he said that there was no way he was paying £12.50 per head for breakfast so he took his own toaster.”

“Even if he had taken a lovely picnic basket,” I suggested.

“No mum, it was a toaster and a box of Strawberry pop tarts.”

According to Ross, as far as Andrew was aware, the beautiful Spaniard has never set foot in Scotland since!