Valentine - the truth - Part II

'So, do you fancy a drink?' Valentine asked, all doughy eyed and weak kneed.

'Aye, I do petal. Pint a stout would do wonders!'

Valentine's mouth fell open as he heard a new and exciting dialect.

'Are you from these parts?' he asked, excitement making his ears flap.

'No I'm not, me old mucker. I'm from a working class town called Shirebrook in Ingerland, but me Dad made a mint out of coal and now we live here, wadded.'

Well our dear hero Valentine realised he had landed on his feet. Butterfly's sang in his belly as they skipped to the local, The Nags Head, just off the Bridge of Sighs. Ahhhhh.

As they sat there, Valentine sipping on this new drink to him called stout, and his beloved on her fourth pint, he suddenly realised he did not know her name!

'Tell me, fair maiden, from Ingerland, what is your name?'

'Hortenstance!' our princess declared, wiping the froth from her mouth with the back of her hand and releasing an almighty belch across the tavern.

Valentine nearly choked on the wonder of the name.

'Well my darling, would you hold it there one moment?'

Hortenstance nodded with happiness, the bug taking over her and rendering her once again speechless.

Valentine jumped toward the tavern door, a lightness of spirit covorting with his senses, as he left to buy some roses but there, in his way, was Luciano, guitar in hand and rose clenched in his teeth.

'I have come for her!' he said, nodding towards the now totally inebriated Hortenstance who was swaying back and forward in her chair. Immediately Luciano struck up the chords for an old Venentian classic called 'Dont you want me baby?'

Hortenstance suddenly saw her ex and fear grabbed her as she wailed,

'Valentine, save me from this beast!'

Our hero seized the moment and seized the guitar, smashing it over the big thugs head.

'Run my love!' he shouted as together they ran to the door, skipped over the moaning Luciano, and jumped out of the door, once again reenacting that now famous Olympic event of the triple jump.

Later, much later, Hortenstance lay in her lovers arms, dribble falling down his hairy chest and satisfaction let loose with gay abandon.

Before them a bunch of roses signalled a token of the love they had formed and the journey that awaited.

Valentine, St Valentine, we salute you.