We’ve reached that time of the year when it really does seem that I missed something in choosing to up-sticks and plonk myself here in Ol’ Blighty almost 7 years ago.
Back then, I was inspired by rich history, diverse and opinionated discussions with the locals (granted these were over a pint – them – and a few vinos – me), and being immersed in a centre-of-the-world economy and in-your-face multi-culturalism (would you believe that the catalyst for said move did actually say to me on our second meeting that Australians were really racist because he never saw any black people? He lives…just!)
And I am still charmed by that unique mix of inspiring and dispiriting weather in my new home – who can resist the joyful outdoorsy-ness of the English in celebration of any appearance of the sun or the crisp whiteness of an early morning, untrodden snowfall? And I love being all tucked up inside feel snug and cosy on those grey drizzly days and wrapping myself up against the elements if I really must venture outdoors. But I digress…
Two years ago, we were graced with two batches of little monsters and being completely unprepared for this, were just lucky that the adults in attendance prevented any treat-less consequences being foisted upon us.
Last year I was prepared for the onslaught of local mini-ghouls, thinking that the trek up the hill on little legs would be nothing in the face of prospective treats – only to have no-one show up, forcing me to eat a whole bag of mini-Malteser packs and bemoan my ensuing nausea and mild chocolate headache.
So this year, I’m taking a stand. I have prepared nothing and tonight, shall keep my door firmly closed to all ghostly comers whilst I stay safely inside, watching telly on the couch and eating naughty snacks to appease my guilty conscience.
Mainly because I forgot.
However, my little Christmas countdown widget-thingy has reliably informed me that there are only 56 sleeps to go (just in case you were wondering). So I promise to be better prepared for that…
So we bought Halloween treats yesterday in preparation for the onslaught of trick-or-treaters willing to brave walking up the hill that is Windmill Rise – those that know ‘the hill’ will agree it takes not insignificant fortitude and strong mountain goat tendancies to take it on – so we wanted to be sure that those with these qualities were rewarded at the summit like last year.
But no-one turned up.
Not one tiny knock at the door.
…although this does mean that we have a bulk bag of Haribos and 10 mini bags of Maltesers to get through…
Aha! Who’s having the last laugh (and a mild sugar headache) now?