How the Local Ghoul Celebrated Halloween

Well, this year hasn't been so different to all the others. Another barrage of the most insane and recklessly greedy trick or treaters, another barrage of painfully lost sweets and another barrage of crude reality dumped on childhood illusions. Happy, happy, hip-hop-happity days in other words.

I'd like to stab the people who complain that Halloween is over-commercialised (apologies Callum). As the years go by, it increasingly seems like such a non-event. Nevermind all the skeletons in the closet (one plastic/glow-in-the-dark taken apart and neatly tucked away, one robotic one in a wedding dress, a vast array of masks and gloves, etc.) - no way in hell was I going to dress up like a chav pretending to be a vampire and parade around York bricking windows and generally arseing about at bus shelters. For one as over-exposed to the subject as I, Halloween ought to be a night of quiet reflection over a magnificent passion. Nevertheless, one conversation with some more rambunctious individuals bears repeating:

(James Swanton opens the door. There is one trick or treater.)
HE: Trick or treat!!
(Two more dwarfish, mask-wearing imps pop out from the darkness, showing off their terrible acting skills as they scream in the most tuneless and woefully dull manner available. James Swanton has a small heart attack - yeah, right - and rushes to get the gun.)
ME: Gee. Whizz-pop. Wow. Aren't you terrifying?
(James Swanton reaches for a bowl and kindly selects the smallest lollipops on display.)
ME: There you go. Goodbye...
HE: Wait. Wait a minute. I want to pick my own. Let me put this back...
ME: I'm afraid not. Now kindly piss off, I need my beauty sleep more than this mudpack might suggest.

All frighteningly true! Up till the last sentence at any rate... I may come off as a curmudgeon (I don't think I'd be doing my job properly if I didn't), but I just can't get other the atmosphere of petty thuggery, greed and just plain nastiness that's begun invading Halloween. Children become hideous, candy-driven psychopaths on the 31st, and at times their conduct strikes me as most appalling. In any case, I shall revert the wicked children in question to our dedicated staff of Senior Prefects at once, whereupon they shall be seated comfortably in an innocuous and warm RS classroom for peaceful as punishment. Is there any significant reason (related to the ancient Celtic holiday or otherwise) why I should distribute large amounts of sugar among passing vagrants once a year? Why these peculiar individuals should glower on my doorstep, craning their grubby necks into my home? We have perfectly good soup kitchens somewhere in York! They're probably a helluva lot more nutritious as well.

I got into the swing of All Hallow's Eve by simply viewing a classic horror film (cue sustained groan). Bride of Frankenstein of 1935 - not just a great Frankenstein film, or a great work of the macabre, but one of the greatest pieces of cinema ever. I deny anyone from the most snobby and elitist arthouse circuit (the ruthlessly ludicrous person who raves about films with titles like Madame Da Pompadour's Intergalactic Wishing Well and adores talentless, hack-ish French directors) to deny this simple truth after watching even five seconds of 1947's Scared to Death. And that's a James Swanton promise...!

"Twas at least fifty-five nights before Christmas,

And all through the room,

Echoed laughter from Boris,

And theremins of doom..."

A very, very happy November 1st to you all. May Bonfire Night send us all to a fiery, skin-peeling death!