Mischief Night

There are no bite marks on my neck, no grave dust in my hair, no diabolical remnants of any kind. Yet last night's party was a thriller.

Walter drove me to Henry's castle and we were met at the drawbridge by a few freaked out dressed up kids who had to leave immediately to meet up with more friends.
"You all look fantastic darlings" I said as Henry's daughter kindly did up a swinging hook and eye on the back of my skirt.
"Thank you sweetie" I beamed and with that they shot out into the night to collect other young things.

Henry was in the kitchen propped up on his red stool with nothing but a giant plastic skull for company. And so after a few limp jokes about brains and bones I said hello to the incoming cats...
"Want to keep them in the their room Angie for the night, I don't want them frightened" And so I took bowls of chickeny biscuits into the aforementioned room and the cats followed...

The kitchen counters were awash with a lot of green creepy hats and other silly stuff and bags of cheesy nibbles lay unopened by the microwave. I took over and opened up not only cheesy nibbles but bags of nuts as well.

"You look absolutely stunning darling"
"Thank you Henry" I smiled, brushing my black painted nails over the huge grey plastic tombstone which rested by the Slow-Cooker.

Meanwhile Walter sat in his jacket nursing the left side of his face. He'd been to the dentist that very morning and had had two teeth ripped out.
"Can't eat or drink for a little while Ang, and I'm in pain quite a lot". His South African accent somehow making me feel even more sorry for the lanky lad.
"Well Walter, you'll just have to watch as I eat Henry's nuts and drink whatever it is he's dragged up from the cellar."
He attempted a smile.
And so the night went on.

A lot of tall well fed youngsters started enjoying themselves roundabout 8, and by enjoying themselves I mean listening to loud modern music whilst drinking 42% booze. This lethal drink was pink and in a strange square shaped bottle and it was drunk in 'shots' and smelled horrible. "Might do for the drains" I thought as I sipped a good Merlot.

But the young people were decent and in fine form and were no trouble at all, the only extreme noise was when a lad fell up the stairs. "Sort it Walter" barked Henry.
And he did.

I wafted around the kitchen now and again opening bags of sweeties whilst looking out into the eerily beautiful garden. The very late night darkness bringing a meditational quality to the shrubs and pergolas and a heavenly silence to the bird feeders. I wondered where the pigeons, starlings and tits were. Probably nestling with their families in their twig-filled homes.

"Want to watch The X Factor Angie?" asked Henry sipping
"Okay, yes, Let's see how Olly the Essex boy gets on" And with that I hoisted myself up onto the red stool whilst Walter switched on the telly.

The opening credits were interrupted by gals and guys pouring into the kitchen asking for a variety of things. Corkscrew (of course) paper towels (oh no) straws. (ok) and bicycle pump. Right.....
But we, the oldies, just carried on doing what people over 50 do, watching the telly and flicking peanuts at the plasticised skull. Yes that did occur and it kind of took our minds off of the popular television show. Laugh? I nearly fell orf me stool and down onto the quarry tiled floor but luckily Henry's giant hands caught me and so I only suffered humiliation instead of mutilation.
We drank on...

But by now the beautiful young things, who were quite cute in their ghostly get-ups, were getting rather rowdy so we locked the door so no-one could disturb us.
The only thing bothering us was the weather, how the wind roared and boiled, whooshing up banana skins on the lawn, but we were happy and a bit drunk so we didn't give a hoot.


I did though, during one of my not so squiffy moments, take a peek into the cats' room, the sweet cherubs were under the bed with some socks, so that was ok.

Raucous noise was thudding into the olde walls so Henry, Walter and I talked loud utter nonsense, the conversations veering from talk about Henry's hips to why I like hairy men. And from why Folkstone is a good place to go and why Duvets are the worst thing to happen to the proud British Housekeeper.
We all had something worth saying only trouble was it was all silly wine filled gibberish of which I am now thoroughly ashamed. I will not go to a B&B with his Majesty and Walter will not be buying his own sheets.

But by, oh very late o'clock, the nuts and wine were gone and so was I, so a very sober Walter drove me home. And I thanked him profusely as all tipsy girls do and tiptoed up me path to bed.

When I squinted at me merry reflection I saw not one bite mark, nor any sign of extra curricular activity, I just saw a flushed sweet lady with her spider choker a bit awry...