Tonight I bought a pint of beer for a better paid man who'd promised me a drink, but received nothing in return. It sums up my day and how I'm feeling now.

For some people out there - many people in fact - 14th February holds a deeply important meaning. Even someone reading this might feel that it's their own special day. One just has to look at the blogs of people like Jen to see that they're sharing their life with someone special - and I couldn't be happier for them or wish them a better day. Mum and Dad, on the other hand, had their plans for this evening ruined because our kid was an hour late getting into London, and the disappointment in mum's voice was almost tangible. That snafu, in turn, probably ruined the plans Thomsk and Jane had. Still, one out of three ain't bad.

But as a colleague of mine observed this evening, as she was missing out on romance with her life partner, Valentine's Day just seems to be there to make those who are single or unhappy (or possibly both) feel even more insignificant than they usually do. The fact that this same colleague is one of three women at work I'd quite happily make great sacrifices for just gave the comment extra emotional weight.

For just once in my life I want one of the people I want to want me too. Apart from the aforementioned colleague (hereafter known as The Fencer), there's also The Elf, and The Woman. The Elf is interesting in that, when it comes down to it, she's probably the one I feel most comfortable with and fancy the most. But even though I don't think she's with anyone, she's got to be way out of my league.

The Woman, on the other hand, is much more complex. While less like my "type" than either of the other two, there's an electricity between us. I'm assured by friends that it's not just my imagination, that they see a connection there much stronger than she has with her boyfriend. Certainly the way she acts towards me in the office does nothing to persuade me otherwise.

But there's that B word. Of course it's a barrier. So long as he's there I can't be the one to make the first move. And that's an obstacle I just can't get over.

Of course, not having asked a woman out since the beginning of The Infatuation doesn't exactly help my technique, let alone confidence. Not only am I not in the game, I don't even understand the sport. Jim joked in one of his comments that he didn't want to cast me as nice. Too late, I replied, women have had me down as the anti-bastard dependable friend for years. I'm the wrong kind of animal to go and contest the spoils when faced with an alpha male - or even an omega one, if they rank them that low.

And here's where that pint of beer comes into play. I worked an extra two hours tonight, just to make sure that a piece of media for the site would be the best it possibly could. Someone else could probably have done the work (necessitated by a very late change of mind by the powers that be) on top of their other duties, but the Assistant Editor on duty asked me as I already had my head round the project whether I'd mind polishing the job off. Of course, I said I'd do it.

Towards the end of the extra hours, while he was swanning off to the bar with other colleagues who'd actually been in the office seven hours fewer than me anyway, he popped his head round the door of our technical area and said he felt duty bound to get me a drink. I said thanks, that I'd be down as soon as I'd finished, which should be no more than 15 minutes off.

Fifteen became 45 (partly due to the slight family drama that was borne out of Joshua's late arrival in town), but I eventually made it to the Club to find the Fencer had already bought me a drink. This first quickly despatched, it was time for the Promised Pint. Scrabbling in his pockets, the man could only sheepishly muster two pounds. He pushed the coin towards me, asking me to take it in lieu. Then the Fencer asked him whether he was staying for another. Yup, of course. And it seemed that with one of the three at the table already having bought drinks, and the other scratching round for coppers, it was down to me. So what had been the offer of a reward for extra hard work and dedication to the cause became an extra six quid out of my pocket.

It's not the money I mind, though. It's the fact that I submitted to a more powerful male at the first hint of a contentious social situation. I can take them on in office politics and matters of journalistic import, so why am I unwilling to fight for a much higher prize? Until I can answer that question, no one will want to share their life with me in the way I need to share it with another.

On the tube on the way home, a man wrapped in blankets was pleading with the other passengers. "Please. Help me, I'm homeless. I've got Aids so I can't work. I just want a cup of tea. It's so cold. I'm HIV positive. I've only got a couple of years left. I just want a cup of tea. Please."

Of course in this cold, hardened city he got no response, just the steely rejection of people too wrapped up in their own worlds to care for those apparently less fortunate than themselves. And for one of very few times in my life, I was one of those people. I felt no sympathy for this man, writing him off as a conman just out to make a quick buck out of gullible commuters. I felt nothing but contempt and resentment that he'd invaded my private self-pity with his far more basic problems. It's not a feeling I enjoyed, and one I'm going to try to fight, but it spoke volumes about this most disillusioning of days.

Although it's almost over, Happy Valentine's everyone. I mean it. Ben.x.