Ah, Valentines day... a.k.a. *the one we ignore*. Having worked in the hospitality industry for over ten years and served I don't know how many over-priced, thoughtless meals, I am not about to celebrate it now. However, I am not immune to thoughts of lurve, I just dislike condensing them into a cheesy love-fest for 24 hours. How about this for love: having met my gorgeous Chef, I embarked on a fourteen year career in catering to enable our relationship to flourish despite his ungodly working hours. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em very much the logic behind the decision. (Although 'decision' is really too strong a word, it was really just swimming with the tide.) Now I realise that I am not the only one to bend myself to fit our partnership; the self confessed 'art heathen' has gradually reached the point that last night I was greeted by the 'artmag' being poked in my face with suggestion of visiting the Jeff Koons exhibition. (As a side issue, he can now also differentiate between a Galliano and a Gaultier, my witchy witchy work again...) I will never forget our first visit to the Musee Picasso in Paris, watching the scepticism turn to joy and wonder as we walked the rooms; last time we were in the city I was dragged forcibly to the Rodin museum, berated for not having disclosed its location before. Leopards and spots, books and covers... maybe not so clear cut...
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