Valentine's Day is almost upon us and lest we forget there isn't a cobweb, crevice or ounce of space unadorned with something red, rosy or heart-shaped. It's total overkill but we love to hate it. Secretly we are all hoping for a piece of the action, no matter how lame. Right?

It used to be that that the only nauseating thing about this time of year was the cheesy Hallmark cards, couples walking down Shop Street, the girl carrying a single red rose, and the rush to the petrol station to buy the last bouquet of flowers. But worse than the 'love' overkill now is the conversations this time of year brings about modern relationships and how difficult it is for women to meet nice men.

We know from research that men do better in relationships. There are lower rates of depression and suicide amongst those that are coupled up. Yet, all the talk, especially at this time of year, falls to women not finding love or settling down. Isn't it our men folk that we should be actively concerned about? Surely a ticking time bomb takes precedence over a ticking biological clock?

There's a great chapter in Will Self's novel 'My idea of fun' that talks about people's currency. Paraphrasing: some times your stocks are high, sometimes they are low. X does or says something wrong, someone says 'That's typical of X. I never liked him. And he's always hanging around…' There's a deluge of likeminded criticisms. X's stock price plummets. Suddenly, he's so low nobody wants a piece of him. It's sell, sell, sell. They wouldn't touch him if he was going free. And then something miraculous happens. Somebody says, 'You know the good thing about X though: because he's always hanging around, he's always there when you need him.' There's a change in the air. X's stock suddenly begins to rise again. People are roaring to get a piece of the action.

Women, by talking incessantly and/or entertaining incessant conversations about their and/or other women's single status have depreciated themselves. Suddenly a problem shared is a problem multiplied and the myth is perpetuated of the thousands of desperate women, thirsty for anything remotely drinkable that will provide them with a brood and, if it's not asking too much, maybe pay half of the mortgage.

Well ladies, it could be time to cease trading at that price. If we want our stock to rise again, stay stum, enjoy your nights out and wait for men to revert to the chase, if not for a bit of action, then for the sake of their mental health.

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