One small Valentine's Day massacre

I was cold-called by a computer software salesman on Friday morning.

Standard salesman practice dictates that, in the first instance, you should engage the potential customer in trivial anodyne conversation, thereby ensuring some form of engagement, before moving on to the business in hand, often referred to as 'the kill'. This salesman's opening gambit was along the lines of 'Doing anything nice for Valentine's Day?' That gave me the best belly laugh I've had this year.

The salesman, let's call him John, even though his real name was Pete, started to swap Valentine's Day notes with me, you know, the sort of you-can't-do-right-for-doing-wrong stuff; of course, I could only empathise. John told me that as he was about to walk out of the house yesterday morning, he heard his partner's voice coming from the bathroom - 'Think on!' she had cried. Just that and nothing else. Think on? What's that supposed to mean? You're immediately transported to that awkward bloke sort of situation from which there's no escape. You want to do the right thing but you're doomed; you may have had your own ideas but all of a sudden you're riddled with doubt - you don't know what to do for the best.

This year, unusually, I was ahead of myself and had managed to procure a reasonable card and thought of a gift all on my own for the first time in over twenty years. So, feeling confident, whilst supping a glass of wine on the Friday evening I told Mrs Tips the salesman story. Next day in town Mrs T spots something, comes up to me and says in that knowing way of hers... 'Think on!'

Needless to say, I did 'a Denman' and messed up, big time. And as if all that wasn't bad enough, Mrs T had told me on Saturday morning that Tricky Trickster was gong to win the Aon 'because it's a good name and I like Ruby Walsh'.

Still, it's a bit too early to totally write off Denman just yet...