MY first Valentine's card arrived at the house when I was only 12.

Sent unsigned by Debbie Crosby, from my class at St Peter's in South Bank, I was too shy to do anything other than shove it in the back of the toy cupboard even though my little heart was secretly pounding.

That was nearly 30 years ago and I've long since come out of my shell. These days, determined to keep the flame of romance burning, I never hide my Valentines away. I yearn for them, shout about them, and even write about them in this column.

So what will the records show that I got from my wife for Valentine's Day 2003? A fried egg. Yes, a fried egg. OK, so it was a heart-shaped fried egg, but it was still a fried egg.

In the old days, when the flame of romance was like a Bunsen burner turned up full blast at St Peter's, I used to get nice things: soppy cards; expensive chocolates; love song compilations; romantic weekends away; silky lingerie, if I was really lucky.

After 15 years of marriage, it's a fried egg.

Kicked out of the marital bed at three in the morning to make way for a wakeful five-year-old, I was finally sleeping soundly in his room on Valentine's morning.

"Daddy, it's Valentine's Day - here's your present," shouted the aforementioned five-year-old, who will be extremely lucky to make it to six next month. He walked in carrying the fried egg on a tray. To be fair, there were a lot of beans on the plate too.

"It's heart-shaped," said Mum, who had followed him up the stairs to ensure my gift of love arrived safely.

"How on earth did you do that?" I asked, wiping the sleep from my eyes and focusing on my heart-shaped egg.

"I bought a little heart-shaped frying pan," she explained.

"Of course you did," I acknowledged as I started on the beans.

As I've said on a number of occasions, my wife will buy anything that's a waste of money. (Who could ever forget the Boiled Egg Lifter and Sausage Turner which came as a surprise present after one of her shopping trips last year?)

I know what you're going to say - it's the thought that counts - and I suppose you're right. That's why I didn't say anything about the egg not quite being cooked properly.

No sooner had my runny, heart-shaped egg gone down than my daughter arrived with a Valentine meringue she'd lovingly made herself. It had a perfect chocolate heart on the top.

"Oh that's lovely," I said. "It must have been hard making that heart so perfect."

"It smudged a bit but I just wet my finger and ran it along the edges to clean it up," she smiled.

"Lovely."

As usual, I got stuck into the washing up as soon as I'd finished my breakfast, having presented my wife with a rather expensive box of Thorntons best.

There it was in the sink: the heart-shaped frying pan - big enough for just a single egg. I gave it one stroke with the washing-up brush and the handle fell off.

I couldn't help wondering if it was an ovum omen.

"The handle's broken," I exclaimed.

"Oh well," she said. "It was only cheap."

THE THINGS THEY SAY

BRIAN Carter's Y-fronts were a hot topic of conversation when the Dad At Large Roadshow gatecrashed Staindrop WI's third birthday party at Scarth Hall last week.

Brian, well-known in Barnard Castle, has a granddaughter called Kate who likes to sleep over with him and her Grandma Vera. She has a little bed made up in her grandparents' room.

One night, thinking the little girl was fast asleep, Brian came up from watching TV, undressed to his Y-fronts and got in next to his wife.

The next day, Kate asked her Grandma: "Why has Grandad got a pocket in his underpants?"

"I was dreading her asking what he kept in his pocket," laughed Vera.

A FEW days later, with a visit to the Rheumatism Support Group at Middlesbrough General Hospital sandwiched in between, we were off over the Tank Road from Richmond. A wrong turning to Leyburn (when it should have been straight on to Redmire) and the roadshow finally made it to Bainbridge in the Yorkshire Dales, where the delightful ladies of the WI were waiting patiently...

MARY Curry, a former nursery teacher, recalled how spare knickers were always kept in a drawer at school in case of little accidents.

A little girl, who needed a pair, was told to make sure they were brought back washed.

The next day, she caught the bus to school with her dad, and spotted her teacher sitting up the front.

"Don't worry Miss - my Daddy's got your knickers in his pocket," she shouted.

Quite how the driver kept his eyes on the road is anyone's guess.

Published: 27/02/2003