Early Guisers

I have just released three children from my home. They called round during Watchdog with Nicky Campbell (that is, Nicky Campbell was on Watchdog - the three children were alone). I opened the door and was faced with the unearthly sight of a vampire, a zombie, and some form of warlock.

"The sky is blue, the grass is green, may we have our Hallowe'en?" they squeaked at me.

This immediately clued me into the situation: these were no demons, but rather youngsters disguised as such in order to earn sweetmeats and candied apples. I made an unfortunate error last year and administered a sound thrashing to what I believed was a diminutive pirate attempting to steal my doubloons. Of course, it later transpired that the pirate was a seven-year-old girl wearing a costume in the name of fun, and I was left feeling very foolish. I would not make the same mistake again.

"I know you to be younglings," I stated candidly, "And what is more, I know you want money or sweeties from me. Although you are premature, as there is still a week until the witching day, I will supply you with treats but you must first perform a trick for me in accordance with tradition."

They agreed to my terms and entered my home.

"I bid you sing or dance or whatever damn thing you intend," I said, already wearying of their presence.

The vampire stepped up and told a joke, to which the punchline was "Fang you very much".

"Well," quipped I, "You won't be winning any Perrier Awards with material like that. Don't give up your day job, sonny."

The zombie then enthusiastically but tunelessly sang a brief Hallowe'en-themed ditty to the tune of 'Sing a Song of Sixpence', which went as follows:

When I'm trick-or-treating I know what to do,
I walk on the sidewalk and bring my flashlight too!
I don't eat my candy until I'm home at last...
I check it with an adult first and then I eat it fast!

Needless to say, I berated him until he broke down in tears. Americanisms sure do bug the crap outta me. I insisted he translate it into a sensible version that included the words 'guising', 'pavement', 'torch', and 'sweets'. I offered him encouragement throughout by flicking his knees with a wet dishcloth. Though he bubbled and wept until snotters flowed freely from his nose and his eyes were red and inflamed, he eventually managed it.

The last candidate then took the makeshift stage - the one dressed as either a warlock or Weird Al Yankovic. He did a handstand followed by an inept forward roll.

"Feeble!" I concluded. "Well pipsqueaks, your act is abysmal. I have missed It's Me or the Dog now thanks to your tawdry and offensive set. You will receive no treats from me this night! Get out of my home!"

With that, they trudged out, weeping with renewed vigour. I feel marvellous, dear readers! I have found something I am good at and greatly enjoy - I shall become a critic!