Octoberfest
Is it just me? Or has Hallowe’en suddenly become nearly as big as Christmas? It was pretty low-key affair when I was a kid, growing up in North Yorkshire. Instead, we had an evening of mild naughtiness and monkey-business called Mischief Night on the eve of Bonfire Night. Hours of fun we had, ringing doorbells and running away, smothering door handles in treacle and tying up gates. The tradition was all about marking the slightly darker intentions of the Gunpowder Plotters back in 1605 when Guy Fawkes’s mischief was to plant 36 barrels of explosive under the House of Lords. This prelude to Bonfire Night didn’t seem to be indulged much outside God’s Own County. As I discovered at college, not long after leaving home when trying to involve some bemused would-be conspirators in some tyre-deflating tomfoolery, or some such. ‘What is this Mischief Night of which you speak? Imbecile!” The tradition had quite clearly had not made the journey from the broad acres of my youth to the Potteries o...