Trickle Treat

Much as I resent the imposition of Halloween (or "Hallo, Ian!" as one of our neighbour's kids used to have it), I have no desire to be known as the grumpy old man who lectures kids on the doorstep about cultural imperialism.  No siree, Bob!

So, today is the day to get out the ceremonial trickle-treat pot, which spends most of the year leering out of the Red Cupboard.  Actually, it is known in our family as the Skanky Sweets Pot, as it has traditionally been our way of disposing of all the disgusting sweets our own kids had, wisely, decided not to eat that year.

This year, my daughter pleaded with me to buy some fresh sweets, as (despite her pose of hip anomie) she is a tender-hearted creature, who was feeling guilty about poisoning the neighbourhood children.  I maintained that this was, in large part, the point of Halloween, but could tell she would prefer not to believe her parents are utterly mad.  I checked the sell-by dates, and concluded that two or more years counted as too far gone, even for Haribos.

So, the Skanky Sweets Pot is somewhat puzzled, finding itself charged with brand new confectionery.  I don't think we'll be renaming it, though: those are some very, very cheap sweets.  Trickle treat!