I find it astounding that although I am someone who
adores the heat, I always get to the point at the end of the Summer when I
suddenly want to keep warm instead of trying to keep cool.
My annual hankering for leek and potato soup, shepherd’s
pie, cosy socks and cashmere jumpers usually occurs in the first week of
September when it is still too warm for any of those things but after a few
weeks the chilly mornings and cool evenings are upon us, giving me the
opportunity to wear my Ugg boots, scarf, pompom hat and wrist warmers.
The happy Summer memories of tiptoeing out of my house
barefoot in my pyjamas every Sunday morning to give my horse some hay, have
long gone. There are silken spider webs over the grass in the mornings, the
Christmas sloe gin is made and the setting sun turns golden-orange before it
slides behind the big Ash tree. There are swirling brown leaves and poor faded
butterflies everywhere, the apples are dropping from the trees in my garden and
the wasp nest that seems to be some sort of catacomb-type arrangement under my
muckheap is less busy and therefore also less problematic.
Wet dishcloth horse (or Winky-Wonky as he is now known
after his time at Equine Champneys last year) has had an upgrade to his
wardrobe and to prolong the irritating clipping experience is wearing a thicker
rug at night to prevent him becoming really hairy and his daily field diet is
being supplemented with spun gold (hay).
The conkers are plummeting from the Horse Chestnut trees and
the log basket in my lounge is constantly needing filled. We haven’t yet
reached the dizzy heights of actually turning on the central heating but that’s
because at the moment the price of a litre of kerosene is similar to that of a
litre of Malt whisky.
So as we rattle on towards the October half term I
thought I would share with you my thoughts on one of the most painful days of
the year:
Halloween.
Prior to becoming Mum to Britney (Not her real name) I
used to quite like Halloween. Living as I did in The Von Trapp Bottle Bank on
Jollity Farm with 3 other houses and being what you might call “off the beaten
track”, we used to have 3 children call to Trick or Treat us by prior
arrangement. We applauded their scary outfits gave them a shiny fifty pence
piece each, some Haribo and offered the accompanying parents a gin and tonic.
My next door neighbours, The Aigle Welly Wearer and the
Feral Pheasant Feeder were also keen that the children enjoyed coming to “frighten”
us at our homes and we used to create our own Halloween lanterns to display on
our doorsteps to welcome the prearranged Trick or Treaters. Being Northumbrian,
we shunned the idea of using pumpkins which are clearly American and used the
traditional turnip to create our candle-lit masterpieces.
Scraping out the innards of a turnip is agony and we found
that several razor-sharp knives, a very old sharp metal spoon, 2 bottles of
Shiraz, a 6 pack of Fosters, a bottle of Southern Comfort and half a bottle of
gin are required to remove the entrails from this stone-like vegetable. On one
occasion after several hours of turnip cutting and scraping, the Feral Pheasant
Feeder returned to the table with a teaspoon attached to a cordless drill and
proceeded to remove the entrails of his turnip at high speed. Despite his wife
protesting that she had just hoovered, this method worked exceptionally well
and the pieces of turnip that didn’t attach themselves to the walls and ceiling
were picked up and spat out by Brian, the Staffordshire Bull Terrier.
This sort of Halloween preparation and the act of Trick
or Treating itself was a lovely thing, so it came as a bit of a shock when I
first had to endure the type of Trick or Treating that the rest of the world is
used to.
Britney attends a Primary school in a village 3 miles
from where we live. As it is on the B-road coastal route through Northumberland
many people drive through this village and must marvel at the pretty houses and
the quaint school, with its own little field dotted with shrubs, wooden play
equipment and basketball hoop.
On Halloween this pretty village with its own church,
shop, pub, garage, hotel and Italian restaurant turns into the Village of the
Damned.
In my day a Halloween costume consisted of either a sheet
(ghost) a bin bag cape (bat) or a black pointy hat made out of black card
(witch). There might even have been some dreadful facepaint crayons purchased
especially for the occasion; the sort that rubbed off on your bin bag within a
few minutes.
These days we have Harlequin Jesters, Voodoo dudes, Zombee
Nurses, Twisted Clowns, Broken Dolls and Sadistic Scarecrows. I’m truly rather
scared of these miniature fiends until I hear them speak and can then recognise
who they are and what they looked like 3 hours earlier at the school gates.
The Trick or Treating begins when we meet at a designated
house in the village and set off together like some enormous and intimidating
religious sect. This manic sugar collection illuminated only by streetlights
and glow sticks is always very organised for the first 20 minutes but then the colossal
swarm of over excited and grievously dressed children cannot agree on whose abode
to target next. From that moment there are quite literally gangs of children roaming
the village with their plastic pumpkin buckets collecting everything from toffee
apples, marshmallows, jelly sweets, packets of crisps, Club biscuits, oranges
with googly eyes glued on to them and Kinder Egg toys.
I have to say this chaotic Trick or Treating can also
have a very positive effect on some of the village residents. Gothic Niece always
answers her door wearing her very best Samhain outfit brandishing a gigantic
bowl of sweets and a smile. And some of the older inhabitants love seeing the
children in costume and instead of keeping their curtains drawn and leaving a
bowl of sweets on their doorstep, willingly open the door to offer confectionary.
I will just add that some of the more mature citizens do recoil in horror after
turning on their outside light and instead of seeing the expected ghost, bat and witch are faced with a baby Frankenstein, a Mad Scientist, a dog wearing a
Beetlejuice costume and a Possessed Zombie Nurse.
Many times I have tried to tell Britney that as this
Trick or Treating occurs in the dark there is no need to wear a different costume
each year. Also as we live in Northumberland, Trick or Treating is always a very
cold experience and a coat is worn over the top of the Halloween outfit. These
words of wisdom always fall on completely deaf ears and the quest for the
perfect Halloween begins as soon as the new school year begins. Britney has in
fact already got her Trick or Treat costume on a hanger on the outside of her
wardrobe so that she can look at it daily and has also started a Halloween
countdown timer in case there is any risk that she misses the big day.
Amazon and Sainsbury’s must make an absolute fortune on
their single use Halloween costumes. All are made from plastic and are clearly
marked “sponge clean only” and everyone knows it is frankly impossible to
remove marshmallow, dribbled chocolate, facepaint and a regurgitated cocktail
of Refreshers and Parma Violets with a sponge.
Perhaps instead of just focusing on using paper straws,
bags for life and shampoo bars, we should encourage our children to be ghosts,
bats or witches as at least the white sheet donated to the Trick or Treat cause
could be recycled as washable dusters and the bin bags could be used a car boot
liners after football and cross country training.
Better still, instead of giving your child a pumpkin from
which to carve their Halloween lantern, give them a turnip.
They’ll still be scraping the bloody thing out at
Christmas.
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