In a couple of weeks time it'll be Valentine's Day. I'll be buying a card and some flowers for my wife, and maybe even a small gift?

I really don't know what to buy; maybe the two things'll suffice? Heck, I'll be second-guessing myself with that one until the day. And afterwards.

The problem is simple: I peaked in 2006.

We found a bona-fide Scottish castle* to spend a couple of nights of romantic whatever-we-used-to-do-before-the-girls-arrived at. A typical utilitarian design externally, set in extensive grounds, with its own lake.

The Honeymoon Suite. You know?

I rang, booked, sat back looking at my wallet. Easy. Girlfriend-as-was was happy.

Then the phone rang.

"Hello Mr Turner, we made a terrible mistake with your booking…"

Me: "?"

"Well, we completely forgot you booked for a stay including Valentine's Day and, unfortunately, the room rate is double for that one night."

Me, hand over phone, looking over at my girlfriend after a brief summary which ended: "Do you still want to go?"

Her: (big doe eyes, soppy smile)

Me, back on the phone: "Are you ready to take my credit card details again?"

"Yes, and can we say how sorry we are for…“

Me: (sighs)

It was worth it.

*Culcreuch Castle, Fintry, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

My youngest daughter is a Ladybird (a member of the local Rainbows – pre-Brownies.) Every week her mummy takes her down to the church hall, she participates, and then I collect her at the end of the session.

Just like did with her sister, now a Brownie.

She's usually made something, like a hat or a hanging thing, or a paper plate with paper poppies stuck around its periphery – for Remembrance Sunday.

This evening the things on the table at the end of the room defied my attempts to categorise. Unusual.

The leaders explained, for the benefit of the more dim-witted parents, what they were.

Sock monsters!

Not one alike, each the product of a child's imagination, all amazing.

Ah, but glittery glue. Lots of it.

It gets everywhere, no matter how carefully it's applied. I hate slimy sticky viscous things. But the inevitable beckoned so I picked the thing up, and immediately an antenna dropped.

Oops! I never was the most graceful individual. Clumsy, though age is improving me.

I was more circumspect when we left for the car park, not trusting my littlest offspring with the task of moving the monster from hall to car.

Me: "Er… can you please reach into my trouser pocket and get my car keys?"

We chose a safe spot on the back seat for the glue and sock, and waited for her big sister to finish Brownies.

All the while I gave a running commentary, ostensibly for my daughter's benefit but a safety blanket for me. The pressure inherent in such situations is probably beyond the understanding of a non-parent. I'm sure it would have amused any adult within earshot.

We always chat about stuff during lulls between life and life, my daughter's and I. Stars & planets, cars, condensation, school lunches and their friends and creations. Today not much chat, aside from a few words about her new thing. It's got rice and lavender inside it and smells lovely. We'd best not let Ruby dog anywhere near lest…

Daughter 1 emerged a few minutes later, we buckled up and drove home.

Home, tea, change, ready for bed, tidy, teeth, night-night…

Though I know she wants to take it to school tomorrow, I'd forgotten if she'd told me the most important thing, so I just woke daughter 2 to ask her what the sock monster is called.

A frown, obviously. "I haven't named it."

And that was that.

We have a dog. Ruby is lovely. Smelly, eats poo, she's as mad as a box of…

We have a cat. Mollie is lovely. Very ladylike, and even when she's shouting at me for being too slow getting her meals ready, delightful.

We have another cat. Loki is a right royal pain in the arse! He's coming up to 15 years old and, though showing signs of slowing down, is getting better at one thing…

Shouting, caterwauling, making frankly disturbing noises when he finds his soft toy and engages in very focused, er… 'behaviour' with it.

Ok, lots of annoying things. He's the last thing I hear at night and the first in the morning. It's got to the stage I want to launch him somewhere very, very far-away…

But no.

He's family.

To be absolutely fair to her, my wife shouldered the burden of wrapping the presents prior to Christmas. Most at least.

Today she's taking the girls to see her friend; they're off to visit a soft play place for a few hours, and I'm left in peace.

Ahhh…

But, as-ever, a last-minute rush to wrap those gifts, and an 'emergency' trip by my wife to the toy shop for the youngest recipient, left me wrapping the few allocated to those lovely people.

I didn't moan or sulk or internalise, no. I just got on with it and wrapped.

It seems my New Year's Resolutions have just been implemented. Early, too!

I'd best make some for 2016.

I just now had my Christmas Pudding. It was delicious, laced with brandy and, I think, rum, and covered with single cream – and 'twas an individual-sized portion.

Why individual?

My wife doesn't like it and my daughters (8 & 6) don't have alcohol for obvious reasons (and don't like rich fruit cakes anyway.)

Ruby puppy* sat and waited for a while, ever hopeful, but my resolve never weakened.

*She's a lady now, our Ruby; perhaps I should start being consistent and calling her a dog.