THIS year my St Valentine's Day gift to my husband is a toaster. In fact, half a toaster. He's paying for the other half. That's his gift to me.

Iknow this doesn't sound terribly romantic, but we've done roses, we've done meals out and we've done Paris (not as a couple but we both have personal memories of the Eiffel Tower).

Now all we need to seal our bond of love is to be able to make breakfast without setting off the smoke alarm every time.

Of course, it's not going to be just any old toaster. We've set our hearts on a Dualit two-slicer. Very attractive, very expensive and just the sort of classic kitchen appliance any modern couple would covet.

I'm already drooling at the thought of an evenly-browned round of toast sagging with crunchy peanut butter.

And I wouldn't be a bit surprised if my husband is having a similar fantasy right now, although his preferred topping is honey.

As I've said before, I find useful presents far more touching than useless ones.

Last year my husband secured his place in my affections by giving me oven gloves on St Valentine's Day and I was almost overcome with emotion when his Christmas gifts to me included a potato peeler and a garlic crusher.

It's true to say I become quite dewy-eyed every time I open the cutlery drawer.

In case you're a marriage counsellor and you're concerned for our future happiness, let me assure you that there's plenty of spiritual depth to our relationship. But I won't go into it here. That's between me and my Wonderbunnyfluffypoodlewoodle.

TOMORROW we've got carpet fitters in and, after previous experiences with workmen, I've taken the wise precaution of stocking up with PG Tips and instant coffee.

The last plumber we had was a cheerful, efficient chap who came to install our new lavatory. But his geniality soon went down the pan, as it were, when I served him a mug of Earl Grey.

"Haven't you got anything else?" he said, returning his steaming brew to the kitchen. "I don't like smelly tea."

"I've got some Darjeeling."

"Darjeeling!" he spluttered. "I can't dunk my biscuits in that."

"Well... how about coffee?" I said, hesitantly.

"Instant?"

"Err..." I wondered if it was worth doing the TV advert in reverse and pretending that the real coffee I was making was actually the instant sort. But it was too late. He'd spotted the cafetiere.

"You take my advice. You wanna get some PG Tips Pyramids, otherwise I won't be coming back."

We need him back to finish the bathroom, so I've taken his advice. The only trouble is, I'm in danger of running out of supplies before he returns. This is because after years of sipping delicate, fragrant teas, I've rediscovered the pleasures of a heavy-duty cuppa myself. Darjeeling? Bah!

Going back to the subject of carpet fitters, a friend has just made me laugh long and loud on the phone by asking: "Ooh, are you going to be felt on the stairs?"

What a fine example of the great British innuendo.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.