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Pumpkin head

If The Nightmare Before Christmas was real, and each festival in the calendar really did have its own little kingdom, then I would belong firmly in Bonfire Night Land. It is my family’s big night of the year and I love it probably as much as I love Christmas, if not a teeny bit more.

Having said that, I might visit Hallowe’en land every now and again. Of course I loathe the tedious commercialisation of it all, the charmless begging and the lack of any discernible tradition, but it is lovely to dress up and be a bit ghoulish once a year.

This year, for a change, I didn’t drizzle myself in stage blood and go to a party, but I did cook a little Hallowe’en banquet. I served pumpkin soup, followed by werewolves’ eyes with grave moss and ectoplasm. Sadly we were too full after that to manage the ghost flesh and rats’ entrails I had planned for pudding. C’est la vie, I suppose.

While I was cooking, E carved the leftover pumpkin shell.

Happy Hallowe’en

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