It’s halloween again, time to unplug the doorbell…..


And so once again halloween rolls around. You didn't see a lot of trick or treaters in the area where I grew up because it was a bit posh and very very Jewish so imagine my surprise when I moved to the decidedly not posh or Jewish estate I'm on now. The first year we were there we anticipated a couple of trick or treaters so had bought a pack of mini chocolate bars. Sweet Jesus, it was like Euston Station at rush hour. By 8pm we were sitting in the dark behind the sofa, having run out of sweets, cash and inexpensive cosmetics which we'd started handing out to miniature witches that arrived at the door. The dog had lost it's voice from shouting at the doorbell.

Last year I was more prepared, the house was groaning with sweets and the dog was at my parents' for the evening. This plan worked well up until about 8pm. 8pm, it seems, is not so much the 'witching hour' as the 'chavving hour'.  This was the point at which the cute little kids in homemade halloween outfits were replaced by 6ft shaven headed youths in pairs or trios who are really not interested in a fun sized Mars Bar. Obviously you can cover more ground if the gang splits up and halloween is the one night of the year that the police don't class knocking on someone's door and intimidating them into handing over money as 'demanding cash with menaces'.  They don't even bother to make an effort either, exactly which horror film featured a bad guy whose outfit consisted of a Kappa tracksuit, Rockport boots and a Tesco carrier bag with eyeholes cut out of it on its head? That's just bloody lazy.

By 9.00pm I only had 2 quid left so when the hairy-palmed lobotomy victim in a tracksuit rang the doorbell and demanded "Trick or fuckin' treat" that's what I gave him. He gave the 2 pound coins an incredulous glance, "Is that it, you tight bitch?" he says. What the fuck were you expecting you ungrateful little scrote? My credit card and pin number? My car keys? A £50 note? Now sod off before I lose my temper and set fire to your polyester trousers. His one functioning brain cell obviously registered my titanic struggle to rein in my fury and he legged it. With my two quid I might add.

So this year I'm trying a new plan. I'll stay in the house until the kids from down my street who chat to me and the dog as we go to and fro have been round. I know they are trick and treating because they collared me yesterday to tell me that I had to be in to see their costumes. I have alerted them that I'll be going to the pub at 7pm so they'll be round by then. Once I've seen them I will sellotape up the letterbox, pack the dog into the car, drop him at my parent's house and head for the pub. No doorbells, no chavs, no handing over all the cash in the house to some ungrateful little bugger who wants to raise the money to buy some cans of Stella and 20 Rothmans, just vodka, chat and a taxi home. And then tomorrow I can clean the eggs off the front windows. Sigh.  


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10 Responses

  1. [esto es genial]

  2. I would have taken the money back from him!

  3. That sounds out of control! The trick or treating thing getting more popular in Australia – not so much in our (largely Muslim) neighbourhood but saw lots of kids (and adults) out dressed up in another part of Sydney we were in on Friday. I think I will have to make a practice of going out for the evening each Halloween.

  4. Mmm. You can try that for one year. It's when they toilet-paper the trees in your garden the second year you do this that you'll give in with a whimper……

  5. I ran out of chocolate by 6.30pm so did a runner. It's slightly sad that I have benen cahsed out of my house by gangs of children but there you go.

  6. We go out every year on halloween. It isn't worth the hassle of staying in and it costs you a fortune in chocolate and small change.Plus by half six the other half is grumbling and bitching every time the damned doorbell goes. It drives you nuts after a bit.

  7. Ah ha! I have them foiled on that one, I have no trees in the front garden. Or the back garden for that matter, it drowned due the appalling drainage problem. Any child venturing into my back garden is likely to be sucked into the bog created at the bottom of the garden by the excess rain. Serves the little sods right. Next stop bonfire night which is a non-stop rollercoaster ride of fun involving dog tranquilisers, missiles, next door's depth charges and what sounds suspiciously like an air strike landing.

  8. Ah, yes. Guy Fawkes Day done the way it really was the first time it happened!

  9. I would find that extremely annoying! Kids in my neighbourhood hyped up enough on sugar and unhealthy crap food. I have been on school canteen duty and had kindergarten students with rotten teeth come up and try and order coke (which we don't sell for health reasons).

  10. I love your sense of humour. You are cracking me up!
    In the states, there is also the "chavving hour" (but it's not called that—I doubt most peopel would know what a chav is—-the US has its equivalent in rough kids, though). The rough kids come around with absolutely no costume and want candy. They are usually taller (and always weigh more) than me. Sometimes their even rougher mom comes with them. For real! One mom had a bandana on her head gangsta style. She was cursing so much she made me frown like an old prude. A cigarette hung from the corner of her mouth, and she able to talk nonstop while smoking without touching it with her fingers. I wanted to say, "I know! Your costume is that you are a skanky alcoholic!"

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