The Scariest Halloween Costume?

It is almost Halloween. Already children are out on the streets after dark, knocking on the doors of complete strangers and threatening them with sardines in the central heating vent or urine through the letter box if sweets are not handed over.

I like to get into the spirit of the occasion so I always put on a Halloween costume to give the kiddywinks a fright when I open the door.

This year I have something special planned. I will be the sacariest Halloween monster ever in my Jimmy Savile costume.


(for my American readers Jimmy Savile was a TV presenter who worked a lot with children and now, after his death a huge conspiracy to cover up his paedophile activities has been exposed.

Can Your Body Sense Future Events Without Any External Clue?
Three scary poems for hallowe’en

Trick or Teat

Who are these babies rininging our doorbell and lisping “twick or tweat”.

Around here, where we live in the shadow of Pendle Hill with all its sinister associations, Halloween used to be for grown ups. Off up Pendle the lads and lasses would go on this night to pay their respects to Mother Demdike and celebrate the rites the old Gods (if you know what I mean).

Few drinks in the Wellsprings, the Swan with Two Necks or the Excorcists Arms and off you’d go, climing towards the dark summit. Chances are you would meet a young lady and ask her if she was up for it.

Chances are she would reply, “I was hoping to mate with the Devil and bear his hellish brood but there’s a lot of competition about so OK, you’ll do.”

And because we northerers are well hard (or totally stupid) it would be off with kit for a quick roll in the heather. Now you have to be very stupid or very drunk to get your kit off of a mindight in Lancashire at this time of year but rolling in heather takes a special kind of bravery.

So having celebrated the rite and earned bragging rights it was off back to your local to compare notes with your mates.

And no sweeties or little kiddywinks in sight. Well they had Guy Fawkes night, that was for children, fireworks, treacle toffee, baked potatoes and all that. Fireworks are not politically correct now of course and burning an effigy of a 400 year old conspirator might send out the wrong message about the acceptability of setting fire to tramps.

But I say to hell with political correctness, brink back Guy Fawkes for the kids and let us grown ups have Halloween.

Bloodaxe Corner (halloween fiction)

No humourous or satirical post today, just a shameless plug for my latest short fiction:

Bloodaxe Corner

This is a very short piece of fiction by my standards (although at 1100 words it is by web standards almost on a par with War and Peace) but I have never considered a 150 word anecdote “fiction”.

It is also lightweight, a bagatelle for halloween so I shal promote it here, get a few readers and then it will be forgotten.

The story cobbles together several legends including the story of a Viking warrior who haunted a road in northern England and the legend of Erik Bloodaxe’s curse, that if anybosy disturbed his grave he would rise up and kill them.

Mr Wilde’s Farewell
Beloved Succubus

Happy Health And Safety Halloween

Once upon ye tyme in daze of yore (bit of nostalgic atmosphere creation there) Halloween was just an American substitute for bonfire night. America could not have Guy Fawkes night you see on account of not having a King for conspirators to plot to blow up. Halloween was as American as Pecan Pie and Hot Dogs, a party night when children could dress up and eat sweets until their eyes bulged. (Guy Fawkes Night tradition )

As in most things Britain has been railroaded by capitalism’s pursuit of ever increasing profits and world domination. Bonfire night was too cheap, there was not enough money to be made from people lighting fires to burn old rubbish and standing around eating baked potatoes, roast chestnuts and home made treacle toffee. Chestnuts could be had for free if you knew where to look, ingredients for treacle toffee were a few basics and a tin of molasses and Potatoes were cheap as chips. That was back in the days when elephants were sevenpence for twenty of course. The only money spinner was the annual sale of fireworks and that was small beer compared with sales of costumes, masks, make up and sweets across the Atlantic. Perhaps we could start a new bonfire night and burn an effigy of globalisation?

Trick or treat was not in the same league for fun opportunities as Guy Fawkes night, preparations for which started in the long summer holiday. First job was forming a conspiracy as the neighbourhood children split into groups and planned their strategy to build the biggest bonfire of “bonnie.”

Soon on selected sites piles of rubbish started to grow, scrap wood, old furniture, cardboard packaging, anything that would burn. As the day neared and competition became more intense the conspiratorial element of bonfire building emerged. Raiding rival piles was common so guards had to be mounted while raids on rival fires were planned and organised. It was not uncommon the see and entire ten or fifteen foot high pile of rubbish moving along a street propelled by a multitude of little legs that protruded from the bottom.

In the final week before the night of conflagration, in addition to guarding the fire and final frenetic efforts to enlarge it there was a Penny-For-The-Guy effort to be considered.

In order to be successful at raising money for fireworks by begging “penny for the guy please” from people passing your pitch the first requisite was a Guy – the effigy of Guy Fawkes to be burned on the fire. Most Guys were fairly simple, an old shirt or sweater and a pair of trousers stuffed with newspaper, straw or old clothes created a vaguely human form. This was topped by a pumpkin, mangol wurzel or burst football adorned with a Guy Fawkes mask as a head.

One year my friends and I were particularly creative. We took the smallest boy in our gang, a skinny little lad called Alan Jones put him in an adult’s sweater and trousers stuffed with paper to get the shapelessness right, made up his face with talc, greened by adding the kind of paint used in kindergarten, drew bright red blobs on the cheeks with lipstick and added a moustache and goatee beard with eyeliner begged from somebody’s elder sister, stuck him in an old pram and set up our pitch on a busy shopping street.

It was going well, people were highly amused by our lifelike guy who winked at them and said Thank You for contributions of sixpences and shillings. Unfortunately the scheme came unstuck when one mean and humourless, literally minded old man actually gave us a penny.

“Tight fisted old bugger,” said our guy. Not long after a police officer moved us along after we had been given a lecturing on respecting our elders. how unfair was that? I am sure to this day the old man was not told off for not respecting his juniors.

In recent years the whole bonfire thing has been killed by health and Safety fascists.

Naked flames, can’t allow that say the Politically Correct police, people can be burned by flames. Big piles of burnable junk, absolutely not , they could collapse injuring people. The mere mention of fireworks is enough to give these hand wringing do-gooders an apoplectic fit. Put all these things together with simple pleasures like potatoes baked in their skins (WHAAAAAAT? Potato skins have been exposed to soil bacteria and may contain potentially dangerous pesticide residues.

The Politically Correct police and the forces of Corporate Darkness joined in one of those silent cabals. No agreements were ever made, no plots were ever plotted but they found their interests lay in the direction of downgrading bonfire night a) so that is could be properly supervised by bureaucrats and all the fun squeezed out of it because fun is bad for people and b) so that something more commercialised and profitable could take its place.

Well now that bonfires have to be licensed and firework sales are restricted naturally Halloween must come under scrutiny. It is not as much fun as Bonfire Night but it is fun and so must be properly monitored and controlled. The rot has already set in.

Going round ASDA which being Wal Mart owned has a very extensive range of American Halloween goodies, I noticed on goods in the section for stick on wounds and scars a warning on the packaging. THIS PRODUCT IS MADE OF LATEX AND MAY CAUSE ALLERGIC REACTION.

I imagine that if any parent picks p one of these novelties a health and Safety Inspector will leap out from behind the display and shout “SSSSTTTTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPP! Do you know that product is made from latex which some people are allergic to. Put that on your child’s skin and you may trigger an allergic reaction which could cause a mass of suppurating sores. Should these then become infected with an MRSA type flesh eating bacteria your child could DIE because you are a bad parent who did not heed health and safety warnings.”

So when you are shopping for the kid’s treats remember the Politically Correct Mantra: Safety first – fun nowhere.

This years superspooky halloween poem
Halloween fortnight by fatsally

Life saving is a risky business

Fear And Panic And HP Sauce

At Last! America Catches On To Halloween’s Pagan Origins.

In the wake of some televised footage from Hollywood Celebrity Halloween parties which paid close attention to the costumes outfits paraded by some female celebs, religious fundamentalists have found something new to get worked up about. Instead of ranting about the Satanic nature of Halloween and its corrosive effect on children’s souls or as you and me would put it, a dressing up party for kids, the fundies are now up in arms about the “sexualisation of Halloween.” Oh well sex is a million times worse than Satan.

The problem is Halloween, originally the pagan festival of Samhuinn was always sexy, long before Christianity invented Satan the pagans were celebrating the end of the agricultural year with five days of boozing, over – eating, games, music, dance and unrestrained shagging and throwing miserable buggers on bonfires.
All pagan festivals, Winter Solstice, Imbolc, Spring Equinox, Beltane, Summer Solstice, Lammas, Autumn Equinox and Samhuinn or Halloween tended to focus on boozing, over –eating, games, music, dance and unrestrained shagging (throwing miserable buggers on bonfires was optional at the other seven.)
When Christianity gained the ascendancy the dancing and shagging were right out, apparently God cannot tell the difference between the two so both offend him equally. Worse, only the priests got to booze and over eat, so the ordinary people were left with games (communal praying) and music (communal hymn singing.)

No wonder paganism is resurgent, because whatever else the pagans may be, you have to admit that each and every one of them knows one of the great necessities in life. They know how to throw a party.

Celebs Dressed Up
Sexy? Looks like a bunch of people getting rat arsed in fancy dress to me.

More great humour every day from Boggart Blog

Halloween Poems

Its scarey night.

Though pagan I don not really do Halloween being far more attuned to the solar than the agricultural calendar ( the pagans had two New Years. You have to hand it to them, they knew how to throw a party.)

I am hover a huge fan of Gothic Horror and its been my habit to post a spooky poem themed on the supernatural Authorsden for the past few years.

This yeards is Sceadugengan, based on the Anglo Saxon myth of the shadow walker and the very modern menace of stalking.

You might also enjoy Beloved Succubus, a mini verse drama for two voices, the story of a lover haunted by guilt.

The Headless Horseman is another audio presentation. This ballad written in the style of William McGonagall and read in the style of Private Frazer from Dad’s Army is just plain daft.

Days Upon The Year is a warning to the south of Watford brigade of what they might encounter should they stray north at this time of year. The ghost of a wronged woman takes revenge on any passing traveller.

Irish influence is prominent in The Hounds Of The Morrigan, a story of the goddess of retribution.

Strictly for fun but a bit creepy too.

Bonfire Month, Halloween Fortnight

Bonfire month is upon us once again. Wasn’t Tony supposed to have done something about this? The local hoodies have been letting off fireworks for over two weeks now. Funny how the police never seem to notice the noise or the rockets lighting up the sky.
Then Mr. Fuckwit up the road has a firework party on Saturday for his daughter’s 10th birthday. Of course he doesn’t start letting off his fireworks until about 11pm, which is, as I’m sure you’ll all agree, an appropriate time for a 10 year old girl’s party.
Organised bonfires will be taking place on Friday 2nd, Saturday 3rd, Sunday 4th and Monday 5th November.
Then, of course, there will be some people who were away at the weekend as it is half term so they’ll probably have fireworks the weekend after.
It’s no wonder the gunpowder plot was discovered if poor old Guy was going down to the cellars and setting off a bit of gunpowder every night for a month.
Of course it’s not just the fireworks. Practically since the little darlings went back to school shops have been stocking up on witch, costumes, broomsticks and pumpkins. There were some children out trick or treating last weekend. The fact they didn’t have costumes and didn’t want a treat suggested to me that they were effectively demanding money with menaces, presumably to go and spend on fireworks which they can then let off on the rec or the slag heaps any day except November 5th.
Boggartblog readers I call on you to join us in reclaiming these traditional British celebrations, anybody caught with a firework on any day but Nov. 5th should have it shoved where the sun don’t shine and when the little bastards ring that doorbell and threaten you with the crazy string just shower them with flour and eggs, then dunk their heads in a bucket of cold water and explain that it’s called apple bobbing.

New humour every day from Boggart Blog

Update on Ian’s absence

Hi everyone.
Thanks to those of you who have mailed and messaged me, its nice to know I am missed.

Another physiotherapy session tomorrow will mean another quiet weekend unfortunately but walking without a limp is so great it is worth the inconvenience. If only I did not get so tired after a short distance….

I will be back doing boggartblog soon, probably around two weeks from now (26th October)meanwhile there are plenty my stories and poems to go at if you visit my page at Authors Den
Anyone who likes Gothic horror (or spooky silliness)should enjoy the halloween poem Hounds of The Morrigan and also my “Hammer House of Horrors” poem Beloved Succubus. The short stories r5ange across many subjects so there is something for everyone.
Don’t bother with my articles there though, they are only what you would find here.