It's Halloween. Oh, joy. Some teenagers might be tucked up with hot chocolate and bedsocks. But most of them will be roaming the streets.
Personally I think there should be an age limit on trick and treating. It's quite sweet when your neighbour's five-year-old knocks on the door and you pretend to be terrified of their Dracula mask and give them a packet of Haribos.
But last year I answered the door to an enormously tall teenager who must have been at least 14. He wasn't dressed up – no fangs or fake blood. He said, 'Trick or treat?' in a bored kind of way and I offered him a KitKat.
He looked at me. He said, "Have you got anything else?"
It was like one of those stand-offs in gangster movies.
I said, "No."
There was a moment when I thought I was going to get flour-bombed, or perhaps an egg thrown at the front door.
He said, "I don't eat chocolate."
I said, "I've got an apple. Or a Hobnob."
He narrowed his eyes. Luckily for me, he decided I was insane, gave up and loped off.
This year, I think I'm going to pretend we're out. Even if it means hiding in the kitchen with the lights off.
Meanwhile, my daughter is getting anxious. She's been thinking up Halloween costumes since she was six and is running out of ideas.
"But what shall I wear?" she said at the weekend.
"Why not be a witch?" I said.
There was a pause.
"But what shall I wear?" she said.
I thought dressing up as a witch was a good idea. After all, we've got a black cat. And the temporary black hair dye she put in six weeks ago hasn't washed out yet.
Maybe she's got an aversion to brooms.