We don't really *do* Halloween in the UK. Leastways, not in the bit where I live.
The pubs and eateries all make an effort; mutilated pumpkins adorn bars and orange and black balloons cover the ceilings like a teenage acne nightmare. But truly, nothing much happens. One of my local pubs had a halloween theme costume evening. One guy showed up dressed as Death, and that was it.
Astonishingly, he didn't win the prize. That went to the girl who'd written "Halo" on one breast and "ween" on the other. And yes, I have diligently reproduced her spelling mistake (although who am I to talk, I never bother to proof read or spell check these posts - publish and be damned say I. Or rather publish and be corrected by 7 year-olds.)
Trick-or-treating doesn't really happen either. The media have put a terror into the minds of us parents that around every corner lurks a cold-blooded killer, so children get driven around or accompanied. And this year there was a new twist. My father and aunt live in a 'gated' estate, so the kids roam freely. The neighbourhood kids went round all the houses last week sticking a note in everyone's door saying "We will be trick-or-treating on Sunday night. If you would prefer to be left alone, please leave this note where we can see it."
How screwed up is that? When I was a kid in Scotland, I'm pretty sure that eggs, flour or water-bombs were the order of the day for any adult bold enough to fail to fill our cherub-like faces with the finest sweets. I mean, that note has come from the same dead hand as a "We arrived to read your electricity meter, but you were out" letter.
No-one came to my house. I can't say I blame them. I live down an alley so dark and creepy that even the cold-blooded killers mentioned above would hesitate before venturing into it and so narrow that Michael Moore could never come and visit.
