This was actually written last year, November 1st. This year, I am keeping the lights turned off and I am staying at the back of the house.

Let's talk about Halloween.

Halloween.

We don't have Halloween in Australia. We know it's there. We know the date. We just don't do Halloween.

For those Pagans amongst us, it's a lovely time (Samhaine or Beltaine, one of the two, I think it's Beltaine in the Southern Hemisphere, correct me if I'm wrong however) and is celebrated accordingly. There's nothing like lighting fires and dancing nude and getting a good root out in a quiet paddock.

But the Americanised Trick or Treat Halloween just is not done in Australia, and if it is, it's done by a handful of begrudging people who have come to realise that the neighbourhood kids are too stupid and haven't realised the facts about Halloween yet.

Australian Halloween consists of the old Simpson Halloween specials being run for about four hours and then a delightful replay of Disney's "Headless Horseman" on television. A couple shops might even do "Halloween Red-Spot Specials" or something.

But... last night we had not one, not two, not three, but four groups of kids... err... well it was three groups of kids, I'm getting to the fourth in a minute...

The first group was woeful. Three kids, two of those were "in costume" and by "in costume" I mean that they had monster masks on. That's it. One was the Frankenstein monster and the other was just an ugly ghouly dude. Sadly, I had to turn them away. They seemed to understand the predicament and wandered off to the next house.

The second group was marginally better and a little older. One was dressed up as a fairy princess, and looked quite pretty with her little wings and tinsel halo and blonde, bouncey curls and glittery face. The other, obviously her older brother was Superman - red undies included. Again, I had to apologise and tell them that I didn't have any lollies or presents.

And the brother responded: "You're not the only one on the street that's said that. You can't give us anything?"

The nerve. I apologised again, a little tersely and they left. As I shut the door I was fairly certain I heard a grumble.

The third group (a pair) was as bad as the first, a little older than the second (it was getting late at this point and I would expect most young kids are already home) - I'd put them at the 12-14 year-old mark - were in, and I kid you not, sheets with holes cut out out for eyes.

They were floral sheets.

Yes, my house was haunted by floral ghosts.

"Trick or treat!" They called out, proffering their little paper bags expectantly.