IT'S not often I feel I have much in common with Cherie Blair.

A quick look around Clee Towers or a casual glance at my bank statement is usually enough to remind me I am not a high-flying human rights lawyer with a Prime Minister for a husband.

And it's clear from the state of my wardrobe that Carole Caplin hasn't been out negotiating free designer clothes on my behalf.

I have had the odd flutter on eBay, but it's generally been confined to buying concert tickets, CDs and DVDs.

When I read Cherie had shelled out a tenner for second-hand shoes on the net, my reaction was that woman needs her head felt.

I don't care how "gorgeous and retro" those bright red "eighties disco diva heels" were, you still don't know who was cramming her verrucas into them before they were showcased on the world's online marketplace.

So no, I have not much in common with Cherie, yet I found myself welling with sympathy for her when Tony Blair appeared on telly in that yoof politics show the other weekend.

It wasn't because Britain's Premier was so cheesily chummy with the kids, or that he chose to tell the world whom he "fancied" as a teenager (Grace Kelly was the lucky girl).

It was when he confessed that he had never sent his wife flowers that I felt that rush of kindred feeling. "If I sent her flowers, she would be worried," pleaded Tony, insisting he was romantic in other ways.

Now, the issue of trust in the Blair household is a matter between a man and a lady. Who knows, maybe the reason Cherie would fret over flowers is because the blooms didn't match her wallpaper.

But never to have sent flowers to the love of your life? Tony, you've just lost about 50 per cent of your votes.

Floral gifts are as rare as hen's teeth round my house too, as it happens, and asking the women of my acquaintance, it seems I'm not the only one.

What gives? Do men think women will be suspicious if they buy them flowers? Do they think it's old hat and lacks imagination? Or do they think flowers are a waste of money because they end up in the bin after a week?

They couldn't be more wrong. Flowers are not boring. We women love flowers, and we love the men who send them. We quite like the fact that they don't last long; it means we're loved enough to be given something totally impractical.

True, we may get suspicious if you buy us flowers out of the blue on a wet Wednesday in November. Do that, and we may start flicking through the address book on your mobile phone.

Gentlemen, it's Valentine's Day next week. February 14's the big day, for those of you who are less than in touch with your feminine side. Don't rack your brains trying to dream up some exotic treat, and for God's sake don't buy lingerie. Naughty knickers are for you, not us, and we know it. Buy us flowers. The rules are simple: check out our walls and wardrobes if you don't know our favourite colours. Then buy blooms to match.

The only other thing we ask is that you buy them from a decent florist. If you must get them from a garage forecourt, at least take off that nasty plastic wrapping paper before you hand them over. Do this simple thing, and we will be impressed. Do it without prompting, and we'll love you forever.

Updated: 12:11 Wednesday, February 09, 2005