TWISTED GILDED GHETTO

Straight to Your Heart by Eric Page

For those familiar with the chronicles of early faiths it will come as no surprise that there’s not one St Valentine, the patron saint of lovers, epileptics and beekeepers, but at least a dozen. Including one who was Pope and a female St Valentina. African, Roman, Umbrian or lip-syncing Puerto Rican, none of the Valentines seems to have been a romantic. This might go some way to explain why there are so many relics or ‘holy bits and bobs’ of St Val scattered across Europe. Churches in Madrid, Dublin, Malta, Glasgow, and Lesbos all lay claim to withered body parts, housed in absurdly ornate baroque reliquaries which would cause Antiques Road Show experts to swoon. Touching his remains was said to halt fires, prevent epidemics, and cure demonic possession – how might it affect Fiona Bruce? Certainly useful to have a half-used pot of St Valentine under the kitchen sink for emergencies.

This fertility festival was in honour of the god Faunus and hisWerewoman friend Lupa. During the middle ages the bardic interventionsof poet Geoffrey Chaucer, who was fond of a filthy limerick andlascivious love note, brings us ‘Seynt Volantynys day’.

It’s a short hop from a baker’s dozen of beheaded Christian martyrs to Hallmark cards via Pope Gelasius (raspberry flavour), who dedicated February 14 to the martyr Valentine, replacing the traditional pagan feast Lupercalia, which originated as a ritual in a rural masculine cult, often with dogs and goats being sacrificed. This fertility festival was in honour of the god Faunus and his Werewoman friend Lupa. During the middle ages the bardic interventions of poet Geoffrey Chaucer, who was fond of a filthy limerick and lascivious love note, brings us ‘Seynt Volantynys day’. It seems that, in Chaucer’s day, English birds paired off to produce eggs in February, and this gave him an opportunity to try his luck with any passing ‘wenche’ and invent a new ‘love day’. Add in the rather unpleasant cherub ‘Cupid’, aka Eros, an immortal who played with the emotions, swiping golden arrows right to incite love and leaden ones left to sow aversion and we are almost there.

So, if you really want to authentically celebrate Valentine’s Day in all its truthful glory, then strip down naked with a couple of blokes and tie yourself into a thrupple, wrap a sacrificed goatskin around your shoulder, although as they are pretty hard to come by in lockdown, I’m sure some leftover fake fur from Pride will do. Then, in this updated version of a three-legged race, run the length of St James’ St, whipping ladies as you go and streaking any pregnant ones with thongs cut from the skins of newly killed goats.

These ladies will have helpfully dipped themselves in milk and put sprigs of thyme through their hair, rather a fetching look for New Steine in February one suspects. While this marathon of masculinity is underway we will need the child of a beekeeper (I know, keep up) who will pair couples at random, to live together and be intimate for an entire year in order to fulfil the fertility rite, so far so Channel 4. Phew.

This year, due to Miss Rona’s Rigorous Restrictions we are gonna be spared the annual hetero-worshipping cult, of love so you may want to share some light expressions of platonic devotion with a queer friend instead. I know it’s not as much fun as an edible G-string or a dozen red roses produced unsustainably in an over exploited north African nation, but there we are.

Sadly, a bit like Santa, St Val was struck from the list of proper saints in 1969 because of so little factual proof (a bit like Sherry Pie/Season 12 of Drag Race), so this Valentine’s Day we’ll just have to be exquisite and never explain.