I WILL not hide that the absence of a Valentine’s Day card on the welcoming doormat left me disappointed.

An invitation from the Air Ambulance to donate clothes was no consolation.

Perhaps a day in Oxford, the city where romance dwells in every ancient stone, would provide balm for this damaged romantic.

Sadly the Westgate Centre is short of ancient stones. A woman called Mandy was buying men’s gloves and a woollen hat in the fashion temple that is Primark.

“Someone’s lucky,” I said as she dug into her bag for that all-important debit card.

“There’d better be at least a big bunch of roses when he comes around tonight, otherwise I’ll keep them for my dad’s birthday,” she warned.

* ROSES made an appearance in the hands of an elegantly dressed yet worried-looking man, probably in his forties, as he waited for a bus in High Street.

“A peace offering,” he explained. “I’m taking time out from work to get these home. I just forgot. Which idiot decided Valentine’s Day should be on a Tuesday!”

It seemed futile to discuss calendar rotation.

* HAYLEY has a guaranteed smile so I headed to the greetings card shop where she works. For once she looked tired. It had been a hectic morning.

Would there be a pleasant romantic evening? Perhaps, but she would be working until 8pm.

“We have to remove all those,” she said pointing to shelves and shelves of unsold Valentine’s Day cards, “and stock them with Mother’s Day cards!”

Time and the retail trade pause for nobody.

* MYSTERY has always had a place in the Valentine’s Day scene. Perhaps that’s what the young woman had in mind.

She wore a cream-coloured, full-length dress, a short coat and flat red shoes; all fairly straightforward in the thoroughfare of many surprises that is Cowley Road.

But it was the Phantom of the Opera-style mask, pushed into the hairline, that begged the question. I didn’t ask.

* I DIDN’T find the spirit of romance in the city. Not even a lady in distress could change matters. Louise, an 18-year-old Oxford girl, studying at St Martin’s Art School in Hackney, found it difficult to persuade men in Cornmarket Street to pose for photographs she needed for a project.

It was a simple request, no strings attached. All it needed was acceptance – and a smile. She even offered sweets to the willing. Perhaps those she approached had shared my fate of no card.