Ah yes, Hallowe'en.
That most dramatic of nights where every thought in my head is bookended by an explosion of light and noise from the outside.
'I wonder if this cheese is safe. Three days gone. I'll risk it.' - WHOOSHHHH!
'These pickles look sad. I think I'll throw them out.' - GRRRRNNNNN-WHEEEE!!!!
'Fuck it, I'll have a Dominos.' - ZZZZZiiiinnnNNNNGGGG!
'Bollix - this book was due back in the library weeks ago.' pop pop pop BAM!
You get the point. I had the offer of two separate fancy dress parties but my cross dressing days are long since over, my one-week run playing the world's gayest hobbit Sam Gamgee - full stage make-up and almost lady garb - putting me off dress up for the remainder of my days.
We won't mention the year of the punk priest and purple hair-dye. That was just deeply wrong and instigated a ten-year sex ban. Disgruntling times, them.