Now, where was I? Oh yeah...

It's Halloween, also known as All Hallows Eve.

The word itself, "Halloween," has been reported as having its origins in the Catholic Church. It comes from a contracted corruption of All Hallows Eve. November 1, "All Hallows Day" (or "All Saints Day") just happens to be a Catholic day of Observance in honor of the Saints. But, in the 5th century BC, in Celtic Ireland, summer officially ended on October 31. The holiday was called Samhain (sow-en), the Celtic New year. So Halloween is one of the oldest holidays with origins going back thousands of years. But the Day we know as Halloween has had loads of influences from lots cultures over those centuries. From the Roman's Pomona Day, to the Celtic festival of Samhain, to the Christian holidays of All Saints and All Souls Days.

So, on October 31st after the crops were all harvested and in, the cooking fires in the homes would be put out and the Druids, the Celtic priests, would meet on the hilltop in the dark oak forest ( because oak trees were considered sacred). The Druids would light new fires and offer sacrifices of crops and animals. As they danced around the the fires, the season of the sun passed and the season of darkness would begin.

There is also a story that says that on that day the disembodied spirits of all those who had died during the preceding year would come back looking for a nice warm body to inhabit for the coming year. It was considered to be their only hope for the afterlife. Of course, the not-yet-dead peeps did not want to be possessed, so on the night of October 31, the superstitious old villagers would kill the fires in their homes, to make them cold and nasty, dress up in all kinds of scary and ghoulish costumes and parade around their local neighbourhood, being as rotten and destructive as possible to frighten away spirits looking for bodies to possess.

The Americans took that, in the 20th Century, to new heights (or depths) when they embraced the most overtly fearsome aspects of Halloween, the bits most likely to appeal to juveniles and turned it into a commercial bonanza with which they have slowly but surely managed to infect much of the English speaking world, this disease that Halloween has become. I walked into the Red Shed today and was met with what seemed like wall-to-wall lollies and treats, ghouls and ghosts, witches and wigs, fairies, plastic pumpkins and synthetic spiderwebs, Batman and Robin, capes and make-up, teeth and fake blood. Ok, so I made up Batman and Robin, but hey, they could have been there. I was just blinded by the size of Superman's umm, telephone box. Mind you, Dr Who had a bigger one, but only on the inside.

They didn't have any Dr Who costumes at the Red Shed. I looked.

But there is no way in Hell ('scuse the pun) that I will be buying my kids this commercial caricature of what Halloween once meant, the sacred belief system that spawned it just to let them break some of the most fundamental of this family's rules - banging on doors, talking to strangers and taking lollies from them.

One Halloween, a few years ago, Ian and I dressed up and went to school in costume for the day - he was Dracula, complete with teeth and cape and I was Morticia (what else lol) with "Thing" riding shotgun on my shoulder. People looked at us like we were nuts and one tutor went so far as to comment about observing a traditional American day of celebration, but was pretty quickly educated in the ancient history of the celebration of Halloween, of the venerated Samhain. Mind you, he was raised in Australia...

Besides, it can't be half as much fun as celebrating an infamous act of anarchy in English history - the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, when a group of disgruntled conspirators hatched the stupendous idea to blow up the Houses of Parliament in London. Unfortunately, some had bigger mouths than they had balls and leaked the details to the wrong people. Subsequently, one unlucky chap, Guy Fawkes, was in the cellar of parliament with the gunpowder (all 36 barrels of it) when the authorities burst in, and was caught, tortured and executed.

Bugger.

So now, as Good and True Commonwealth citizens, we still celebrate this infamy by spending large amounts of money at the Red Shed each November to purchase Chinese facsimiles (which were always better than anything the Poms could have come up with anyway) with an extraordinay attrition rate to pay this sacred homage. I'm just not sure whether we are celebrating the sacrifice made by Guy Fawkes or the act of trying to send a bunch of politicians into the Hereafter by giving them the ultimate blow job.

I kinda like the idea of the latter, really.

Maybe I will go light a candle.

Light a candle, pray for me
To whoever is your Deity
Who blows the wind and stirs the sea
And holds us in their hand.

Celebration without Belief is a farce. Belief is not a cape and wig for $19.95.

Belief is committment. And committment is a whole other topic... isn't it?

~~ 'Nil illegittemi carborundum' - Don't let the bastards grind you down ~~

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Now, where was I? Oh yeah...

Two dwarfs go into a bar, where they pick up two prostitutes and take them to their separate hotel rooms.

The first dwarf, however, is unable to get an erection. His depression is made worse by the fact that, from the next room, he hears his little friend shouting out cries of "Here I come again... ONE, TWO, THREE...UUH!" all night long.

In the morning, the second dwarf asks the first, "How did it go?" The first mutters, "It was so embarrassing. I simply couldn't get an erection." The second dwarf shook his head. "You think that's embarrassing? I couldn't even get on the bed!!"

:-P

~~ Isn't it funny how the mood can be ruined so quickly by just one busted condom ~~

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Now, where was I? Oh yeah...

I was going to give you another piece of Roald Dahl while I find something witty to say...

but I couldn't be bothered.

Sorry 'bout that.

You will have to suffer one of mine instead.

Ode to a wrinkled dog
We have this funny looking dog
Her face is full of wrinkles
Two cats own her, heart and soul
And paws and tail and crinkles
Her bed of preference is the couch
She commands the car's back seat
Pushes open every door she can
With her dainty doggy feet
She forgoes to fetch the paper in
Eschews chasing silly sticks
And can't obey to save her life
I think her head is full of bricks.

~~ The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese ~~

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Now, where was I? Oh yeah...

I want it. Lots of it and I want it now.

I had some last night and it was just wonderful.

But now I want some more and there isn't anyone here to give it to me.

I want some chocolate. Actually, I want lots of chocolate. I want to have a chocolate frenzy. I think it would help me get over the shock of being invited to enter that special place, that Inner Sanctum - a bloke's kitchen.

Not only did I have permission to enter the Hallowed area, I was allowed to touch the tackle, grasp a gadget... I was allowed to use the Sacred Slicer! But wait, there's still more! I was also allowed to stir the onions AND wash the dishes.

And I did it all without cutting myself.

Damn, I am good.

I was gonna say something else but I've forgotten it now...

That's right... mashed potatoes. I quite like nice fluffy mashed potatoes but I hardly ever make them. By the time you peel the spuds and cook the spuds and mash the spuds... hardly seems worth the effort to me. But in a bloke's kitchen, waiting is a thing of the past. The genuine Kitchen Bitch2003 has a bit of monkey cunning built in and knows all about things like instant mashed potatoes AND how to prepare them. Just 30 seconds and a bit of a stir (the stirring part comes in a sachet marked "Raw Talent", just add a splash of water and give a little wind up), and voila - fluffy, squishy taties (reprise: "Boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew...")

Yum. Nice with a fat pork chop, veg and garlic bread.

You know, blokes are starting to rise in my estimation, they're not just good only for sex and lifting heavy stuff after all. Some can be trusted with root vegetables.

Shagadelic, Baby.

~~ I don't mind a hairy back, it's the knuckles dragging on the ground that turns me off. ~~

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