It’s been dead quite around here regarding fireworks, so whatever legislation the government brought in regarding their sale’s clearly working. In previous years it’s been like WWII. I’m confident of this assertion as Katharine and I were once stopped in the street by an old dear (totally out of the blue) at about this time of year who said: ‘They don’t think about us old ones. I keep thinking the war’s started again…’
But I have to report that about ten minutes ago – around 2.35pm – I got caught out by trick-or-treaters. Little Bast***s. There were three of them so I gave them three 20p coins to share. I’ve no idea whether to feel mean or not, but I shan’t be answering the door again this weekend. This reminds me that earlier in the week we were watching North West Tonight, who’d gone to Pendle, home of witches for a seasonal feature. They went into an old folks home and the old dears fondly reminisced about their naughty childhoods. They talked of a local custom whereby they ‘mummed’ elderly ladies. This involved a gang of kids entering an old dear’s home, by force if necessary. They would then dance around the fire chanting ‘mummmmm… mummmmmm… mummmmmm’. They’d refuse to leave until the elderly lady gave them something.
‘What about kids today,’ asked the reporter. ‘Should they do what you did?’
The old dears’ expressions changed. ‘No,’ they said firmly. ‘It’s not right for kids today… things are different now.’ Miserable old witches.