Two years ago I found myself at odds with Valentine's Day, though in hindsight my pen's poison appears to have been directed not at the holiday but at the public display of affection — true enough, today I still prefer modesty.
Funny, though, that last week I should tell my friend Danny O'Brien how unsympathetic I was to John Derbyshire's appreciation for syrupy sonnets for snogging in national publications. No fanfare came of my day but the entire evening I've been under the spell of a buoyant charm. The goofy, lovey-dovey stuff suddenly amuses me. Might I be running a temperature?