Much as I embraced Valentine’s Day at the weekend, I was fully prepared to ignore the heck out of it on the actual day of February 14th, which is why I was pleasantly surprised to find a bright red envelope in my letter box, addressed to a Valentine.
Who could this be? Blondie? Irish? No, surely not – we’d done our Vday shizzle already. And times is ‘ard, one expression of eternal love is enough. So I opened it, and found this:
Followed by this:
Now, you may not recognise the spidery writing, but I do. And besides, the fact that she’d had the decency to cross out the word ‘sex’ was a dead giveaway.
Step forward my secret Valentine… Nana Cortez.
Nana Cortez, you may remember, was the last on the dance floor on New Years Eve. She’s my absolute hero, a bonnie Brummie lass with a dirty cackle that will set anyone off, and has a penchant for being over-generous in the monetary contribution stakes, be it Christmas, or a birthday, or a Tuesday…
This lady is a legend, and if I can manage to be half the nutter she is if my liver lasts until my eighties, I will be very happy.
Nana Cortez and my dearly departed Grandad met a zillion years ago, when she was a cafe girl and he was ‘workin on the roads’. Grandpa Cortez clapped eyes on her, and said in his Geordie voice to his equally Geordie mate;
‘See that lass with the auburn hair? I’m going to marry her,’
But… you know… in whatever words Geordies use instead.
And then they got married, and had one amazing kid (Ma Cortez) and one slightly dodgy one, and (for the most part) lived happily ever after, save for some bloody shitty Alzheimers and the odd burst of general Northern temperament.
So whatever you may tell me, cynical real world, fairytales really DO happen. You really couldn’t write that shit.
Well, okay, you could. But if you put it on the tellybox, I wouldn’t believe you.
Happy day after Valentine’s day!