DID you know that you can save a fortune on Halloween decorations if you refuse to dust the cobwebs from your house all year round?
As a kid, Halloween was one of my favourite holidays because it meant a week off school and dressing up as the wee witch that I truly was for all to see.
Granted, in the nineties, the average witch’s costume consisted of a black bin-bag with holes cut in it for the arms and head (if you were lucky) and a black mole drawn on your nose with your ma’s best eyeliner.
I say “If you were lucky” about the holes in the bin bag rather than the bag itself, as I’m sure there were times my Ma was tempted to just put it over my head and leave it at that, due to my demands for a lantern that would see her poor hands in shreds as she hollowed out a big turnip and put a tea light inside it, only for me to get fed up carrying it after 10 minutes.
Accessories set you apart from the basic witches and one year, Ma Diamond must have got a crisis loan because I actually had the trifecta – a black plastic pointed hat, the broom and a rubber witch’s nose that was held on by an elastic band over the head.
I thought I was the baddest witch in town, that is until every adult unfailingly pulled the rubber nose and let it snap back onto my face when I knocked their door.
I’d be tempted to do the same today only for the fact they’d probably ring the police with their smartphone. Besides, a rubber nose just wouldn’t cut the mustard with today’s young ones as they expect movie-style special effects make-up, which I have attempted to master from watching numerous YouTube tutorials.
I proudly transformed my son into a demon one year and declared that he looked like he was in his natural form. The scowl he gave me only served to emphasise my point.
Alas, he’s 13 now and is therefore too awkward to dress up any more. I love to see teenagers come to the door on Halloween in their haphazard or non-existent costumes looking for sweets, because it means they’re clinging on to the last vestiges of their childhood rather than downing a bottle of White Lightning and setting off fireworks. Granted, they may still do that once I’ve given them a packet of Haribo, but ‘sin é’.
It does well to be patient with our little door-steppers, however, as the kid who takes ages to pick a treat may have a food allergy and the ones who don’t say thank you may have a hidden disability or be non-verbal.
Just smile and give them the sweeties and for the love of God, don’t decorate your house to the hilt and then neglect to buy treats. Nobody cares if you have a 10ft inflatable Dracula outside your door if you don’t bother opening it to even say hello.
Children will understand if you’ve run out of goods but don’t sit in your living room in full view wilfully ignoring wee Spider-Man and Rapunzel as the snotters drip down their bakes in the cold. These memories last a lifetime. For instance, I still think about the drunk woman who came to her door gurning at me and my seven-year-old mates about how she was skint. I think we ended up giving her money.
My boys balked when I bragged that “back in my day we got given money at people’s doors”, although they soon laughed when I told them it was a handful of pennies each time.
When I argued that it all added up and we would buy sweets with it, the middle son retorted: “How is that better than just being given lots of sweets?” And I had to concede, although you could actually get a lot with 50p in the nineties.
I recently spotted about 22p in change lying outside the shop which I gathered up and handed to a kid, only to be told: “No thanks, Mrs, I’m only after throwing that away.”
If you handed pennies to trick or treaters nowadays they’d throw them at your window, which I would never condone, given that it’s the thought that counts.
For those who adorn their houses like Disneyland only to ignore the kids, however, I’ll bring my own change to throw. Serves yis right!