Bumble

Valentine’s Day is upon us. I’ve never liked it. As an ugly ginger kid with a beautiful – much older – half-Indian sister, it was torture. Helen was a glamorous air stewardess and never short of cards or flowers. While I sat in my room listening to David Bowie and staring at the Starsky & Hutch posters I’d saved up for, Helen would be getting whisked away in a Mercedes to Joanna’s or some other club in Glasgow. In the run-up to Valentine’s Day 1976, age 12 and desperate for a card, I asked 11-year-old George next door if he would be my boyfriend. He said no. I shrugged and