rARsh!

Do you know where your daughter is?

Trick or treat is a delightful American custom, a staple of horror films. Where would we be if a group of “actresses” in their late twenties weren’t wandering around pretending to be in their mid-teens and jollily getting butchered for our amusement? Exactly. However, the key word in the first sentence is the seventh one: American. Not “East Anglian”, American.

Ignoring that, though, you’ve clearly seen these films or, at least, innocent versions thereof with only minimal blood and gore and agreed, therefore, that your little girl could go trick or treating tonight. That’s nice of you.

If your little girl was out trick-or-treating tonight in, for the sake of argument, Aaalburgh I do hope that you were accompanying her as she innocently approached the homes of complete strangers down unlit cul-de-sacs demanding sweeties via the medium of the thinly veiled threat of “tricks”.

If, on the other hand, you decided she’d be perfectly safe on her own as she is, after all, at least seven years old (give or take) and is very sensible for her age, then you must be very proud of her maturity. And possibly her costume (I’m assuming she made it herself, because it was, to tell the truth, a bit crap). You should, however, be a little ashamed of yourself.

How do you think children go missing? Do you think that wandering around dark roads all alone is a sensible course of action at that age? Were you, perhaps, a little surprised that little Tiffnay came home at all tonight? You should be, you blithering idiot.