Last night we had a great time at our favourite pub, where Sid, the landlord, held another of his Saint Valentine evenings.
Tony and me even managed to attract the attention of a couple of high-flying career-girls, who work for an investment bank, in the city.
Melinda and Becky are two of the sweetest Americans you would ever want to meet, and after wooing them with our witty humour, and selling them the last of our half-dead roses, the girls were soon looking to have a good time with Tony and me.
We left the pub just after eleven o'clock, allowing the girls to take us to a trendy wine bar, which they said they frequent on a regular basis.
Sadly, once inside, we wished we had stayed back in the pub, where the ambiace was a hell of a lot better than that of the wine bar.
Tony reckons that we would have been better off going to the local morgue, where he says the atmosphere would have been merrier, and the conversation probably better.
Even the beer was shit - and expensive - although because I like to try anything once, I decided to sample a glass of Bordeaux, which the very gay barman said was oozing with the taste of south-west France.
I told Toby, the barman, that the wine was fucking awful, and I would have preferred something that was oozing with the taste of lager.
But if the lack of decent drink wasn't enough to depress the two of us, when we saw Melinda and Becky kissing passionately, we soon realised that our two friends not only had a shit choice in drinking establishments, but that they were also of the lesbian variety.
C'est La Vie, as they say in France - or Fuck This, We're Off, as Tony and me said, as we slipped out of the bar, leaving Melinda, Becky, and the barman from hell.