People say that romance is dead, but it’s just evolving with the times. Candles have been replaced by LEDs, poetry has been replaced by gangster heavy txt spk and long walks on the beach have been replaced by a 100m sprint around a petrol station forecourt. It’s just how things go. Compliments have very nearly been replaced by the Facebook poke. Tell someone their hair looks nice before it’s too late.
One Valentine’s Day, in a bid to recapture the more traditional type of romance, I decided to take a lady for a daytime stroll along a cliff, (the third most romantic generic location behind a hilltop and a frozen lake respectively).
Knowing that hunger could very well be an issue in this isolated location, I prepared a picnic basket filled with the most romantic foods (Toblerones, Mint Aeros and Flakes). To increase the romance tenfold I decided to have the basket already planted there, which meant leaving it unguarded. This thought worried me. Although this was not a popular spot, I could not cope with the idea that some stranger might stumble upon my romance hamper. I did what I had to – I buried it. Precautious is my middle name and also quite a good description of my personality, so I buried it far deeper than I needed to. I also buried the shovel in a separate less deep hole, for fear that someone might find the shovel and decide to go on a random dig and unearth my love basket.
February 14th came and I found myself walking hand in hand with the potential love of my life. The Sun seemed to be burning brighter than ever before and a cool breeze kept the conditions perfect for a romantic stroll, because as you probably know, romance cannot develop at temperatures of more than 25 degrees.
Upon arriving at the cliff top a tiny lamb leapt into my arms and we both stroked it whilst laughing manically at the joy of such a thing. After the novelty of the lamb had passed I tossed it to one side and decided it was time to unveil the picnic basket.
“Look over there!” I yelled as I pointed at a bush. She turned away and I quickly got on my knees and began to dig with my bare hands. “Well, will you look at what I’ve found?” I said, proudly brandishing a shovel. “I bet there’s some treasure around here.”
I set to digging, as my potential wife gazed blissfully out at the sea. “Come see this view.” she said, her voice as soft the lamb I’d stroked a minute before.
“In a moment.” I replied “I think I’ve found something.”
Minutes passed, and I was still far from unearthing the picnic surprise. My date was losing patience. Half an hour had gone and the treasure was still far my grasp. I’d been too cautious with my burying. By this time I’d become quite manic. Her pleas for moving on or for conversation were met by screeches of “Leave me. Let me work. I’m onto something.”
The Sun began to set and the sky became a canvas of purple, violet and peach. “Come and enjoy this sunset with me. Please.” she begged, but I gave no reply. I was no longer a man; I had become a JCB born only to dig.
Night had officially checked in and the temperature was falling fast. It had already fallen below 7 degrees, which is the generally accepted minimum temperature for incubating romance. My offer of a jacket was met with silence. She’d gone. Not wanting the day to be a complete waste of time, I carried on digging.
If you’re expecting a funny twist, like I dug all the way to China or I’d been digging in the wrong place, you’ll be very disappointed. There is nothing funny about what I discovered after eight hours of digging – Someone had stolen my picnic basket. Maybe romance really is dead.
For our other posts in forTop Tips For Romance; Top Tips For Romance: Part One – How To Tell If A Girl Likes You, Top Tips For Romance: Part Two – How To Get A Girl To Like You, Top Tips For Romance: Part Three – How To Ask A Girl Out On A Date, Top Tips For Romance: Part Four – How To Kiss Your Sexy Neighbour