THAT joyous time is almost again upon us. The day filled with more disappointment than the realisation you are no longer a size 8, and more bitterness than a fat bridesmaid – February the fourteenth.

Scottish men are not exactly renowned for their romantic gestures and proclamations.

Rabbie Burns made a promising start with a red, red rose (but that was just one. I’m gunning for at least two dozen).

Apart from Gerrard Butler’s cheddary smile and steroid induced shoulders in ‘PS. I love you’, we are a nation of women starved of even a decent celluloid hero.

It is testament to the grim endurance of Scottish women that hope springs eternal on Valentines Day. Although women are not entirely selfless romantics, (think of the moment when you’ve opened a handwritten poem wishing it was a Fendi wallet!)

It’s all very well having a penniless, intellectual genius as a boyfriend, but if he thinks more New Look and Nirvana when getting a gift for you and less Rolex and Rihanna then he should be quickly spurned.

Generally the disappointment starts for womankind even before the day itself, when the male turns his gormless features to us and asks: ‘So eh, what we doing for Valentines Day then? ‘ No, you unimaginative, lazy cretin. Stop sitting there cultivating your man breasts and get creative.

What I am looking for is someone to turn up in a large hollowed out pumpkin studded with Swarovskis and sweep me right off my newly clad Sophia Webster feet to a ball. Which is absolutely devoid of ‘Me to You Bears’ merchandise, Esso flowers, phallic shaped liqueur chocolates and L’eau de cheapness.

There is nothing worse than being awkwardly seated on Valentines Day in an overcrowded, overpriced restaurant. As the rosé flows, you realise that the majority of couples in the room look happier than you and your spouse. Cards can also be testing – why has he put just one ‘x’ !?

Also, why do Clintons et al, think all the time, if something is heartfelt it must rhyme? Valentines Day for most will never have as much as a Jackie Collins novel, will never be as dramatic as Gone with the Wind, and will never be as romantic as Big turning up in Paris for Carrie.

Your Scottish man has probably already filed your pedicure to get you closer to the sink. Admit defeat and explore the mini-bites section in M&S with a girlfriend instead.

Then watch the film ‘Closer’ (some Jude Law eye candy there) and realise that all relationships are a mess anyway.