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| || |Having said that, I utterly hate it, but being a mum I have to endure the door to door sugar-fest of shenanigans every year. | |
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Some nondescript evening in Autumn 2009, as a beyond tired and half feverish Helm decides to retire to bed early, someone rings on the door.
I look in the spy hole. Someone wearing what seems like a black ski mask is on the door.
Red-alert mode sets in. I grab the phone. I wait.
A few seconds later, which felt like hours, I ask myself: "why would a robber ring on the door?"
Head throbbing with the raging headache I look again into the spy hole and see what seems to be a home-made ninja outfit going down the stairs.
When the following year the upstairs kids came treat or tricking and caught me unawares again, I made a real impression of hell witch, minus the cat. No child has come bothering ever since.
In my time, children dressed up for Carnival.