I'm not sure if it is the slushy love song compilation CDs, the tacky singing cards or the fake roses that rile me the most, but it's fair to say that Cupid's arrow has consistently sailed past my shoulder on February 14.

It just seems a tad shabby that we've become so passionless that we have to timetable romance.

Then there's the memories of unrequited playground crushes and awkward adolescent envy when my best mate got more cards than me.

But this year, I've felt a bit of a change.

Maybe I'm just getting mushy.

I caught myself laughing at a cheesy roses-are-red card yesterday. Careful now.

I'm begrudgingly realising that just like any celebration, Valentine's is purely what you make of it.

I still don't like the stigma Valentine's attaches to being single, or all the gift shop schmaltz.

But why not take a gamble and use the excuse to give that person you secretly admire a hint?

And I'm beginning to think that, particularly with the pressures and time constraints of work, perhaps it's not a bad thing at all to get a little reminder to devote a bit of time to our loved ones.

Corporate money-spinner or not, it does give us a gentle kick in the right direction.

Every Christmas we hear the same old messages about the true meaning of Christmas.

And campaigners are trying their best to claim back St George's Day from the far right.

Valentine's Day has been hijacked, but only because grumbling cynics like me have let it happen.

Maybe this year it's time to claim it back.