Halloweeners.

Halloweeners! They’re everywhere. Swarming the streets like a plague of miniature zombies with glow-in-the-dark teeth and plastic pitchforks. I opened my front door last night and was greeted by a six-year-old Dracula demanding Haribo like he was collecting protection money. I said, “Do I look like Willy Wonka!?” He just snarled and pointed at his bucket. A bucket! Not even a polite paper bag. A reinforced, industrial-grade cauldron with cobweb detailing. What happened to a modest pillowcase and a shy ‘Trick or treat, mister’? Now it’s full-blown extortion with themed accessories.

And the costumes!? In my day, you’d put a sheet over your head and hope for the best. Now it’s latex wounds, animatronic eyeballs, and voice-modulated masks that sound like Darth Vader gargling gravel. I saw a toddler dressed as a severed limb. A limb! With ketchup oozing from the stump. I said to his mother, “Isn’t he a bit young to be impersonating a crime scene?” She told me it was ‘creative expression’. Creative expression! He’s three! He should be expressing himself with crayons, not trauma prosthetics!

Then there’s the pumpkins. Oh, the pumpkins. Used to be you’d carve a triangle for each eye, a jagged mouth, and call it a day. Now it’s full-scale sculpting with LED inserts and mood lighting. I saw one that looked like Boris Johnson. I said, “Is that a political statement or just poor carving?” The owner said it was ‘satirical’. Satirical! It’s a vegetable, not Private Eye.

And the sweets! I bought a modest selection some chewy things, a few chocolate buttons, and a packet of those fizzy sherbets that make your tongue feel like it’s been tasered. But no, apparently that’s ‘outdated’. One child turned his nose up and said, “Do you have anything gluten-free?” Gluten-free! I said, “This is Halloween, not a Waitrose tasting counter!” He looked at me like I’d just offered him asbestos.

Even the pets aren’t safe. I saw a Labrador dressed as a spider. Eight legs, googly eyes, the lot. The poor thing looked like it was auditioning for a low-budget horror film. I said to the owner, “Isn’t that a bit cruel?” She said, “He loves it.” Loves it! He was trying to chew his own costume off while simultaneously relieving himself on my hardy perennials!

And don’t think you can escape it indoors. I turned on the TV and every channel was either a haunted bake-off or a documentary about haunted sheds. Haunted sheds! I’ve got one of those. It’s haunted by the ghost of my missing rake.

Halloweeners. They’ve taken over. It’s no longer a charming evening of apple bobbing and mild mischief. It’s a full-blown theatrical production with budget demands and dietary requirements. I don’t believe it! I just don’t believe it!