It's that time of year again - instead of spending six hours being
OCD over the Christmas tree I instead take a mere two to carve what in reality is a very small pumpkin. I'm very proud though. I will keep this beautiful thing always as my favourite treasure: I don't care how decayed it becomes. Guests to the flat will be invited to have their photos taken with it, maybe even knit it mittens and booties.
Yes, get out the little black dresses, face paint, nail varnish, the hats, bats, rats and cats: it is officially
Halloween. I'm excited. I'm also freezing cold as the flat is sub-
Arctic, meaning my fingers are too stiff to type so this is going to be short.*
I remember my first ever Halloween party; I'd been invited by bigger children down the road to sit in a damp garage for hours, then I was dragged about, much like a broken doll trailing on the floor, for the trick or treating. A huge haul was accumulated, which was some what shocking in my 80s recession conscious and generally unfriendly neighbourhood. The ill gotten loot was to be shared out the next day, and I'm sure being a small,
blonde, adorable sort of angelic child I went over and above the call to inspire extra sweets by way of sympathy and cuteness. However since the night was freezing, since I was soaked as my bin-bag cloak didn't hold up (ah the days when you made your own costume), I came down with something close to pneumonia (well a very bad cold). All the big children
divied up all my share of the treats. No liquorice bootlaces for little Erika, which I had my heart set on. Since then I've usually had my own parties. Not always by myself. I do have friends. Some friends. Sometimes.
Tonight's plan involves making green pipe-cleaner snakes for my hair (Medusa again - hence picture of instructions on how to tie a peplos, and no it isn't common sense), drinking lots of kirsch, and probably cutting out more bats, which have been
characterised to look like people I
know, or er what's the word -friends.
Oh yes, Halloween is a serious business despite the fact that the days of my mid-twenties are fleeting away from me like adventurous kittens in soggy paper boats. But tonight, who cares?! Soon all my settled, sensible, grownup friends (I do have some) who live in proper places unlike
Aber will start having children with whom I could live vicariously through.... well I could if I liked small
, irritating, incomplete versions of real people that is. I'll probably just get older, buy bigger bottles of kirsch and take to jumping out waving a stick on October 31st, or well, let's face it whenever I damn well feel like it.
* Incidentally I'm hoping if I keep hinting how cold it is someone will send me some fingerless gloves so I too can be Bob Cratchit.
It's that time of year again - instead of spending six hours being OCD over the Christmas tree I instead take a mere two to carve what in reality is a very small pumpkin. I'm very proud though. I will keep this beautiful thing always as my favourite treasure: I don't care how decayed it becomes. Guests to the flat will be invited to have their photos taken with it, maybe even knit it mittens and booties.
Yes, get out the little black dresses, face paint, nail varnish, the hats, bats, rats and cats: it is officially Halloween. I'm excited. I'm also freezing cold as the flat is sub-Arctic, meaning my fingers are too stiff to type so this is going to be short.*
I remember my first ever Halloween party; I'd been invited by bigger children down the road to sit in a damp garage for hours, then I was dragged about, much like a broken doll trailing on the floor, for the trick or treating. A huge haul was accumulated, which was some what shocking in my 80s recession conscious and generally unfriendly neighbourhood. The ill gotten loot was to be shared out the next day, and I'm sure being a small, blonde, adorable sort of angelic child I went over and above the call to inspire extra sweets by way of sympathy and cuteness. However since the night was freezing, since I was soaked as my bin-bag cloak didn't hold up (ah the days when you made your own costume), I came down with something close to pneumonia (well a very bad cold). All the big children divied up all my share of the treats. No liquorice bootlaces for little Erika, which I had my heart set on. Since then I've usually had my own parties. Not always by myself. I do have friends. Some friends. Sometimes.
Tonight's plan involves making green pipe-cleaner snakes for my hair (Medusa again - hence picture of instructions on how to tie a peplos, and no it isn't common sense), drinking lots of kirsch, and probably cutting out more bats, which have been characterised to look like people I
know, or er what's the word -friends.
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