EDitorial ± 31-Oct-2007
Right Witch For Ipswich
Home on Halloween (now there's an apostrophe that nobody will miss) to an eerily deserted house. Into bedroom to select spooky outfit, put light on and boo!, there's G. in bed, out of it with a migraine. Scared me, anyway.
Tonight, Matthew, I'll mostly be dressed as some weird Frankenstein type creature with a quick sale cape from Mr Tesco and a nasty green rubber mask underneath my hoodie top. King of improv, I find a googly eye in our dressing up box -- that'll go nicely behind one of the eye holes, straining to pop out of its socket.
Down a couple of doors to Sarah's traditional scary party. I've asked The Boy to put the word out to the many kids there that he's seen something in the garden. So Dad sneaks round the back and hides behind a bush. When the little kids appear at the back door, very bravely, I play my trump card -- in my hand is my LED front bike light. Holding it at arm's length and pointing it upwards, I put it on flashing mode, highlighting my monstrous visage. Cue high-pitched screams. Even more so when they run back inside, enabling me to sneak up to the house and stare through a window. Aaarrgghh!
Quick mention for a Very Bad Thing from the weekend. Following a nightmare from way back when, The Boy still does not like anything remotely witchy. Won't it be fun, decides Middler, to dress up as a witch, complete with claws and a scarecrow mask from the most recent Dr Who comic, wait until The Boy's upstairs, then creep in to his bedroom? As I say, a Very Bad Thing.