Tuesday, October 31, 2006


Tonight is of course Hallowee'ee'ee'ee'ee'een.

In the US, wholesome, toothsome, polite children who are like The Osmonds on the Andy Williams Show will gather politely around the front doors of "neighbors" asking politely for confectionery or, as they say across the Adlandic (apparently), "candy". The "neighbor", who looks like Perry Como in one of his Christmas specials, always politely offers them a big ole basket full of sugary treats and the happy, grateful children sing "You Are The Sunshine Of My Life" in a barbershop style as a thank you. Everyone is as merry as can be - well, as merry as anyone can be outside of a Perry Como Christmas Special.

Plus, they are all wearing v-neck jumpers with a cream polo inset.

In Britain, by contrast, gangs of feral brats menace old people, throw stones at windows, splatter eggs and flour all over the place and put lighted paper or dog shit through doors.

The sort of women who give birth to seven children on a beanbag without painkillers and breastfeed all of them (often at the same time) until they are fifteen would put forward the belief that childwen are miwacles of nature, and so full of cweativity, so they should be able to expwess themselves in any way they can.

I say - bollocks to that.

Tonight I will be responding with hand grenades, sniper fire, water cannon, paint bombs, taser guns, nuclear warheads ... anything I can get my hands on, all bought from a dodgy site based in Illinois. A big shout out to "Colonel" Lennie Liebokostowkovochitz who runs the site. Good on yer Lennie - I owe you one big time!

* * * * * * *

In more positive news connected with today, I see that Charlie "The Evils" "That Bloke Out Of Kasabian" Stubbs got into the dunking-for-apples party spirit of the season last night with the appalling David Platt, but didn't manage to drown him in the bath. Pity. Better luck next time, Charlie!

Also, to get you in that all important voodoo mood - look - it's The Witch Queen Of New Orleans. Worra great song!

Happy Halloweee'eee'eee'eee'eee'eee'eeen folks!

On Saturday evening we were driving around Ashford seeking curry. Out of the shadows along Bybrook Rd a figure emerged carrying a machete and wearing a blood soaked butcher's apron. I must admit to momentarily having had the shit very mildly scared out of me.

My one problem with your version of getting into the spirit, Betty is that little Wayne and Beyonce's hulking great mother is usually standing not a few yards away thereby eliminating the potential for some fun. One year we all dressed up and slapped on some theatrical make-up. S was a bit Morticia and I was a Draclia. The bloody doorbell went once all evening and even then they took no notice
There seems to be no festival, Betty my dear, which fails to bring out the love and excitement in you. What a shining example you are.
Tonight I will be knocking on your door hoping to have my bag topped up with sherbet dabs and licorice.
Rock on Betty! You are one awesome dude!

If I knew where you lived I'd muster a team of crack V-Necked barbershop singers and surprise you this evening amidst the mayhem with "You are the Sunshine..." to restore your faith in the human spirit.
Oh no! Not the snotty pre-pubescent hoodies chucking more rotten eggs at my door for me failing to answer the doorbell. Again.

I'm off down the local to watch Barca thrash Chelski instead of staying in. It'll still mean cleaning the yoke from the front door when I get back, but at least I'll have some coherent concentration throughout the game.
'Tis true wot himself wrote about the dressing up time. Bloody disappointment. We didn't bother the next year and then they came in droves!

Kids round here aren't like those you describe, though. Not from either sideha of that big wet thing that stretches from Liverpool to New York. They're quite nice. Are we living in a bad neighbourhood d'ya fink?

Word Verification: Dyson. Are they trying to tell me to go do the hoovering?
ha. we're lucky to get three kids. three tiny kids, all of them crying. and their parents, who always hold out a bag for candy too.
The only response is to give fruit and only fruit to the feral brats. I find they soon stop coming.
Richard - isn't that the normal night on the town attire for persons in Ashford?

The use of nuclear warheads will obliterate the biggest, most hulking mother who is lurking in the shadows. Ha ha ha!

Vicus - as you can imagine, the next few months and the ensuing festivities give me plenty to look forward to in the "Why does she have to stand there sulking? Why can't she just join in and have fun?" stakes. Lots of family birthdays as well. Oh, joy!

The Murphmeister - I think they would scare me, especially if they looked like The Osmonds. Actually, do you know any really hard Rotweilers who do security work? I could do with some back up on the door this evening. You can never be too safe.

Istvanski - an expensive way to avoid Trick Or Treat, but watching Chelski get beaten is probably worth the entrance fee.

Sharon - well, I may, ahem, have exaggerated about the problem a little bit. The ones in the immediate area aren't too bad, and could definitely be worse. Still, I don't want to push my luck. They could turn up with guns tonight or something, who knows?

Realdoc - too right. As a doctor, you're setting a good example after all. I wonder how dentists respond to those kids, particularly if they happen to be their patients?
First Nations - they may be three little kids now but in a few years they may have turned into THE OSMONDS and will start singing BARBERSHOP STYLE at the doorstep.

The parents sound disturbing though ...
Becasue we are cowards, and also becasue it's rough as arseholes round here, Flatmate and I ahve taken the batteries out ot fhe doorbell and turned all the front lights out.

(Don't tell anyone, but I still really fancy David Platt)
Well, I switched the lights off earlier, before Geoff got back from work. He'll be able to frighten them off, what with his martial arts training and all.

Oh God, does David Platt get more do-able the more obnoxious he gets?
i had a row with Deeply Boring Colleague where she was telling me i was a spoilsport and i was telling her trick or treat in this country is just giant fifteen year olds begging and she was all "well, i'll bring my kids round yours then" and before i knew what was happening i was screeching "you can do what you fucking well like but you'll get short shrift from me, lady!!" and then i realised i was channeling rita off of coronation street and did some breathing exercises until it was all okay again.

david platt? at a party after the pub, i probably would. only if richard fleeshman had passed out from too much lambrini though.

*runs away*
Rox doesn't let me drink Lambrini, it gives me a headache.
Surly Girl - well, too right, people always think they can "win you round" with their fifteen children, who are of course really nicely brought up and polite and loveable. Bollocks to that.

Hmm, David Platt? Definitely couldn't, or indeed any of the other blokes in the Coronation Street cast. Pie faced braindead Jamie? Big headed loveable Essex boy Danny? Mother hen Norris? If I was pushed, it would have to be Violet, depending on how my hormones were behaving because of my cycle.


Richard - noo, don't tell Platty. I don't want him visiting the blog. He'll probably put a terrible hex on me.
I was wearing my Ray Langton death mask last night.

Frightened the life out me mam and dad.

Perhaps the best coup for Trick Or Treaters would be to just take David Platt from door to door. If people didn't profer sweets or money, all he would have to do is stare at them and they would be terrified.
Ah, the joys of expat life. No tricky treaties, no penny for the Guy. We do get splashed with water at Songkran, but the inconvenience is ameliorated by the presence of excitable young ladies in wet t-shirts.

When I was in the UK, my tactic was to open the door with a big smile, and when they said "Trick or Treat?" I'd reply "I'll have a treat, please." Being inbred and malnourished, this confused them greatly, and they slunk off.

On the other hand, I also refuse to cough up to door-to-door carol singers. One year the fuckers egged my front door.
Mr Footman has a nice life.

I watched the 'Witch Queen of N'Awlins' video/thingy/whatnot in horror.
For years I managed to forget the memory of performing a Dance-Drama routine to that song, in the school hall, with best friend (that week) Wendy.
It was like the last scene in 'Romy and Michele's High School Reunion' only without the bloke, and the shiny frocks, oh and Mira Sorvino's spectacular legs.
Amazingly I got on fine with the guisers last night (I refuse to say trick or treaters- Americanism bah!) They were all very sweet and extremely polite, and quite confusingly got more excited by me giving them an apple each than the chocolate I also gave them.

My parents tried a different approach and battened down the hatches with the lights off. They got an egg on their front window for their trouble.
Is it safe to come here again, has that nasty doctor chappie gone away? He's worse than any chavs and chavettes on the doorstep.
Tim - that tactic could backfire if you were dealing with particularly hard but stupid kids, in the "are you tryna be clever or wot?" way. Mind you, the ones around here seem to be well behaved enough. Not that I ever open the door to them of course.

As for carol singers, I don't think I've seen them about for years and years, except for one who Geoff answered the door to, who immediately sang a verse of Away In A Manger completely off key.

"I think he was a bit simple" said Geoff.

Heather - I think I'd rather take my chances with eggs being thrown at the house than actually give in to their extortion demands. I mean, next year they might be back demanding cigarettes, booze, drugs.

Krusty - yes, the good doctor has gone back to the Midlands. He has threatened to return at some point and was suggesting that he wants to take over the blog for a year or two to start an "experimental poetry and art collective" but I'll do my best to keep him at bay.
ARABELLA! Why do I keep missing people out of the chronological order thing? My spelling is getting worse as well. My brain must be turning to jelly.

Anyway ... I'm surprised that anyone actually listened to the Redbone song. Sorry for all the unwanted memories. I haven't seen that film and the thought of Mira Sorvino's spectacular legs reminded me of my own unspectacular legs and I feel just as bad now. Sniff.
Happy Halloweenster Betty. I know I'm a bit late, but I was off flying on my broomstick last night.
I spent my evening going round writing apostrophes on every sign or poster with Halloween spelt grammatically wrong. Once an English student, always an English student.

I didn't really.
Molly - greetings. Actually, I spent the evening at the ouija board. Managed to contact me great great uncle Wally, who was a serial killer, so that was nice and atmospheric.

Del - eats shoots and leaves. Actually, if you put Hallowe'en into Google the words "did you mean Halloween" come up. Is nothing sacred? Mind you, real nitpickers would tell you that it's actually All Hallow Even.
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