I Suppose …

… Hallowe’en is meant to be frightening, but next year I think I’ll avoid any form of public transport during the hours of darkness. Particularly if I’m travelling out to the wilds of North Kent: not so much the garden as the pub patio of England. It wasn’t the assorted ghouls, ghosts and witches on the journey out – the really scary bit was when the train that was supposed to be taking us back to civilisation came in at such a clip we had to sprint down to the very end of the platform to catch it. For a moment I thought it would leave without us and we’d be abandoned in Erith forever. After that, the small riot that seemed to be kicking off as we arrived at London Bridge held no terrors for us – anything was better than the deserted streets and alleyways of the Thames Gateway.

That said, the woman who was otherwise normally dressed but flashed a set of plastic vampire fangs at me at Kennington gave me a bit of a turn. At least, I think they were plastic. I didn’t hang around to find out…


6 responses to “I Suppose …

  1. We have Guisers in the Borders. They may/will do a trick-eg sing a song, stand on their head if asked to do so and get the treat as well. But up a long dark lane past the graveyard is too spooky for these spooks unless in a mob. The mob was having its apple dipping, granny burning etc (yes such simple pleasures in these parts) in Paxton (alternate years with Hutton) so we were not disturbed. One large box of sweeties, unopened, for the next hall raffle.

  2. Curiously our sweeties went untouched as well. I doubt they’ll last long enough for the next raffle though

  3. Being frightening is not the main purpose of this holiday. The main one is to get money. The fact that you were frightened that particular day has nothing to do with that particular holiday. If we were more carefully, we would notice that there is Halloween each and every night in cities’ dark streets.

  4. True – except for the 30 nights of the year which are also bonfire night. Actually, the city doesn’t scare me half as much as suburbs like Erith

  5. That’s nothing. You should try falling asleep on the last train home from the centre of town on a Sunday night and being woken up (along with other mildly squiffy and rumpled passengers) by a sadistically grinning train guard telling you to get off and no, there isn’t another train back that night – and finding yourself in …. I can’t say it …. Sidcup.

    There was tumbleweed blowing down the road.

    I swear.

  6. Oh heck, I’m going to Sidcup on Tuesday. I shall take some pro-plus for the train.

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