Ahh, Halloween! The night when the dead rise again from their graves and walk the streets.
All except me, of course – I’m going to a party.
It’s the one night of the year when you get to stretch your legs and feel the wind in your ribs – only a brainless numbskull would waste it hanging around the graveyard and moaning like a rusty gate in a gale.
So I’ve found a party and I am totally going to crash it. It’s in Windsor; a town I have known for many years. Ah yes, there’s a very fine castle in Windsor; one of the best.
A lawyer couple have invited their friends and neighbours round for a Halloween bash in the smarter part of town, and I have decided I shall be there as well. It’ll be all silly hired costumes and ridiculous make-up; the kids will be turned out as devils and ghosts and sent out trick-or-treating before being bundled up to bed so the grown-ups can get on with the serious business of pouring alcohol down their necks and behaving badly till the small hours. Just perfect for a skeletal spectre like me to blend in with the crowd and make the most of my Halloween night of freedom.
I get a fix on the party and materialise outside the front door. I have previously taken the precaution of popping into a costume shop and borrowing one of those all-in-one nylon body suits and a cheap plastic skeleton mask. I chose a black suit with a skeleton painted on in white – oh, the irony of it is delicious. [more]