Sunday 12 February

4pm. Hurrah! For the first time in adult life am completely calm about Valentine's Day: ridiculous shallow orgy of commercialism. Whether I get cards/dates etc. is matter of supreme indifference to me.

5pm. Why hasn't Daniel called and asked me out for Tuesday? Why? Surely only an inhuman monster would leave the mother of his unborn child to sit in alone on Valentine's... Oh goody telephone!

5.30pm. Was Jude, fuming because Vile Richard (long-standing, on-off fuckwit with whom she has been doing IVF) has not even mentioned Valentine's date issue. Shaz, too, is furious since Valerio Evans - advertising exec she is shagging who used to work with Tom - has not mentioned it either. Upshot is pact that Jude, Shazzer and I are going to spend Valentine's night together and none of us is allowed to cancel. Hurrah! That will show the bastards!

6pm. Oh, though. Just popped out for cheesecake and got back to message from Daniel: "Jones - bring forth the mummy-pants. I've booked us a table at Nobu for Tuesday night - that's the three of us counting part-baked Junior. Try not to throw up in the car, won't you?" Surely the pact doesn't count if you change your mind within the hour? There should at least be some sort of cooling-off period.

6.05pm. Evidently not. Jude just gave me an earful.

Monday 13 February

Shaz just called. "I've completely had it with fucking Jude, two-faced cow. She rang yesterday banging on about you wanting to get out of the pact because Daniel called you." Instantly felt stab of outraged hurt that Jude had been slagging me off to Shaz, even though Shaz was clearly about to slag Jude off to me, which didn't seem bad at all. "So Vile Richard has booked the restaurant where they went on their first date and now she has the cheek to say why don't we forget the whole thing." 

"Oh My God, that's appalling," I shrieked disgustedly whilst wondering if it was too late to call Daniel and resurrect date. Shaz, however, was having none of it. It's the three of us tomorrow night or else.

Tuesday 14 February

6pm. Jude just called. "Guess what. Valerio finally rang Shaz and asked her round to his place tonight for sushi and sake."

"Sushi? Wanker!" - was already reaching for mobile. Maybe Daniel was still free? – "So the pact's off, then?"

"God no! I wasn't going to let her off the hook after the earful she gave me," said Jude, all recent memory, sense of irony etc apparently escaping her. "It'll be fun, won't it, the three of us?!" she tailed off lamely.

"Yes!" I said with a strangled, high-pitched laugh.

Ended up with me, Jude and Shaz awkwardly staring at a) three Domino's pizzas, b) two bottles of warm white wine, c) each other. Jude and Shazzer then proceeded to get plastered, at which Jude became distraught about her failed IVF attempts in the light of current advances in egg-freezing.

"It's so unfair," she sobbed. "In a few years' time it will be absolutely routine to freeze your eggs in your 20s till you've established your career and found a partner, and just by an accident of sociological and scientific timing we're the one generation of women who end up not having children when we wanted to. Well," she added, looking at me accusingly. "Some of us."

"Exactly, Yuk! Plop, plop, plop, saggy boobs and poo everywhere. Speak for yourself," slurred Shazzer, assuming it was all about her as usual and managing to offend both of us at the same time.

"The thing is, though," I said, trying to smooth things over, "If we'd entered our thirties with frozen eggs ready to pop into the microwave, would it really have altered anything?"

"Of course it bloody well would," snarled Shazzer. "You wouldn't have fucking well got mixed up with all those fucking fuckwits. You wouldn't have been desperate and pretending not to be. You wouldn't have lost your confidence. You'd have been far more calm and selective and would probably have ended up finding much better partners sooner and getting pregnant naturally."

"Why are you talking about us. What about you?" I said indignantly.

"Because," purred Shazzer. "I have always made it perfectly clear that I have no desire for a child, and men in their thirties were puffed up fuckwits who were only suitable for shagging and discarding. No: I've found a man in his forties who seems ready to form a mature relationship - everything has worked out perfectly for me."

Just then, the phone rang. Unfortunately, I have the answerphone set on one ring for screening purposes and Tom's voice buzzed camply from San Francisco. "Briiiiidge. Pick up. Is it true that Shazzer's sleeping with Valerio Evans? You've got to stop it because he's..." I dived for it, but it was too late. "... GAY!"

"Shut up, Tom, shut up" I said, through clenched teeth, fumbling ineffectually at the buttons.

"I went on two dates with him four years ago" Tom ploughed on. "Then he did the whole ‘I have something to tell you' thing. I said, ‘Who is he?' and he said, ‘It's a she.' He has separate phone lines - a gay line and a straight line. How creepy is that?"

Moments later, the doorbell rang and Magda, who was supposed to be Smug-Marriedly celebrating at the Sanderson, appeared with a baby in a blanket, swearing about Jeremy coming home too late, stinking of Coco Chanel.

Ended up with a Renaissance-like fireside tableau: Magda holding milk bottle to the the baby's mouth and wine bottle to her own, slurring, "When you've had three kids and hit your forties nobody wants you. You can't make up all that time out of the workplace. My only intellectual challenge is doing Harry's homework" whilst Shazzer slumped with her head on Jude's knee muttering "I'll fucking Brokeback Mountain him..." and Jude threw pages from my Mothercare catalogue into the fire muttering "too late, too late" and morbidly watching the babies' faces burn.

Happy Valentine's Day, everybody!!!!