Ah, Valentine's Day.

It has the potential to be my favourite holiday. There are no religious strings attached (I will insert something here as someone pointed out that it is a Saint's day--pretty much every single day on the calendar is a Saint's day. I mean no religious ties as in people are not going on a mass exodus to their respective houses of worship, my life is uninterrupted by the closing of shops or services, and there are no crappy TV specials, etc.), no need to go home and have family rows, I love roses and the colour red, and if you're lucky, you'll have sex at some point that day.

This is the first year in my life that I have had a man in my life on Valentine's Day. This is a person I've known for five years but just started dating in December. So it's relatively new, and also a little scary as it is my first relationship since my last boyfriend committed suicide in September 2003.

My beau and I spent Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day, New Year's Eve, and New Year's Day together. So by now, we're no stranger to holidays.

I'm a hopeless romantic. I made subtle hints regarding that...like me making dinner for the two of us, and pulling out some goodies scored from Agent Provocateur--no cheesy Hallmark crap. Due to drama in his life outside of our relationship, we discussed celebrating the holiday of love on a different day. My best friends (who are single) and I then planned on spending the evening together, as we all love each other (though not romantically) and always have a good time. Fine with me.

Due to unbelievable luck, which usually goes against me, an incredible and massive opportunity fell into my lap: to be a runway model in a show that was part of London Fashion Week, which would take place at 8pm on Valentine's Day, killing any potential plans, and at least I would be too busy to be bummed out that I wasn't seeing my paramour. And my friends, always the greatest, all agreed to come to the show. This would be me making my debut in a career that I did not only not pursue, but am not that bothered about or dependent on--I'm doing well in University, and I'm going to make something of myself in the world of business. But the fact that someone else thinks I'm good-looking enough to do this is a compliment. It's really cool to be paid to have people dress you up, make you up, and have you walk around.

It was only six years ago that I was a fourteen year old girl, too tall and too skinny, with big black-rimmed glasses and a mouth full of braces. I've changed since then but when I look in the mirror I still see that girl.

So then I tell my beau about this and he is very thrilled for me. He knows how I have been depressed about my bad luck for the past few years, losing Matthew, and being unable to do anything. He says he will come to the show, to support me. He knows I have crippling anxiety and that seeing his face in the crowd, or at least knowing he's there, will make me strong.

So I spend a few days before the show working fourteen hour days with the designer, doing fittings and hair and makeup tests and such. And my beau calls to tell me he cannot make it to the show, as the his outside drama was affecting his availability. I was irate but understood. When it comes to his drama, of course I understand, I can do nothing but understand.

The show happens, and I do well. I don't trip, I don't faint, I don't fall, I don't mess up my timings, I walk right, it goes swimmingly. I couldn't believe that I wasn't anxious at all. I really felt confident and good about myself. And I think that showed. At least, that's what my friends said.

The atmosphere backstage was one of stress and bitchiness, but I was so damn grateful to be there that I was Little Miss Happy All-American Girl and actually awarded the title of easiest girl to work with, and nicest girl to work with. Which is funny, because I don't think anyone has ever called me nice before.

The show was a trip. There was one more designer after the one I did and I went to watch. The whole thing was straight out of the film Zoolander. The shows were in a tunnel under London Bridge. The designs of Gareth Pugh, the designer after the show I did, were completely off-the-wall and bizarre. I felt like walking up to someone and saying "Have you ever wondered if there was more to life, other than being really, really, ridiculously good looking?" but then I had such a massive grin on my face after pulling off the show that I couldn't, not without a straight face--with that crowd, I would have been taken seriously...which of course gives me the giggles.

Of course everything ran late so my best friends and I were unable to be each others Valentines dates and go anywhere besides the show, but the fact that they were there to support me was so amazing.

I hadn't felt real support for years before these people came into my life and I love them.

So my beau rings when I get back home and everything is fine, until a few days later when he becomes increasingly more uncommunicative. I feel things are falling apart and there is nothing I can really do about it. I hear about people splitting up over Valentines Day because of "pressure" but there hasn't been any here and I am wondering if this relationship is going to be a casualty of that. I hope not.

But at least I got one souvenir from my Valentine's Day--a pillow that says "I Love You Less Than Moshing" from the giftbags at the show, and my photo on vogue.co.uk.

My heart could use some repairs, but all in all, the day wasn't a total loss.