Late Autumn Festivities

So, Halloween. I went to a fantastic party on the Friday night at Friddi and Paulina's house and got quite drunk on red wine and then gin, which was maybe not the best idea in the world. Gin and I have a complicated relationship. I know that I did sing a certain amount of Britpop very loudly, whilst dancing (anyone who's seen me dance will know to replace this word with "jumping") enthusiastically around the living room. I'm pretty sure everyone was really impressed.

In general, I much prefer Guy Fawkes' Night, which has all the fun of eating toffee apples and burning things and none of the hassle of dressing up. The one time I put quite a lot of effort into dressing up for a party (although actually it wasn't Halloween), nobody knew what I was. I was a sans-culottes revolutionary from 1789, but apparently that was not obvious, even though I made a phrygian cap especially. Maybe I could find some middle ground between obscure historical figure and basically-just-my-normal-clothes-but-look-a-funny-hat, but I don't think it's really worth the bother. Guy Fawkes' is no bother, and also has a more interesting historical back-story. I am going to make toffee apples on the 5th November and remember in my heart the torture and execution of a failed seventeenth-century Catholic terrorist, even though there will obviously be no bonfire, guy or fireworks.

For this year's Halloween, sadly deprived of the Soviet officer's hat that is usually my standby, I dressed as a Frenchman. Not a specific historical Frenchman, just an ordinary stereotype. I wore basically my normal clothes, plus a red beret belonging to the four-year-old. Yes, I have a tiny, tiny head. I drew a moustache on my face, strung four onions round my neck, took my bottle of red wine and I was ready to Halloween, minimum hassle. The onions were a problem. I think they looked good, but they did make me smell of raw onion. Some people commented. But whatever, the main thing with them was that they were heavier than I anticipated. The string was kind of digging into me and after a few hours I had a proper red line across the back of my neck. I was reluctant to take them off, but eventually I had to, and Árni took them away and put them in the fridge, I think? Seemed like the best place for them at the time. I hope that by now they have been made into a delicious stew or something.

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