“Could It Be Magic?” sang Barry, and the answer is “yes”, for one night only it really could. Two plump orange pumpkins are waiting to be carved, and the decorations are out of the cupboard. Ghost lights. A flying bat. Flashing spooky eyes. Asda’s finest glorious cheap tat, lovingly gathered over many years. I can say it loud and proud. I’m an unashamed Halloween fanatic. I completely appreciate the point of view of those who loathe it. It must be horrible having your door endlessly knocked on by crowds of sugar-hyped children. But to stay in behind closed curtains? For misanthropes, frankly, it’s an opportunity missed. I have long embraced a night where I am legitimately allowed to frighten small children. Buying a few bags of sweets is a small price to pay to see their little faces wobble as I cackle maniacally behind a mask and face paint. There’s even some proper academic research (honest) that verifies that it’s psychologically healthy for children to get frightened. Sometimes. So I’m performing a public service. We live in one of those neighbourly Lewes areas where we pretty much know the ‘child friendly’ houses (perhaps ‘child scary’ would be a better way of putting it), and take it in turns to go to each other’s doors. We leave the houses alone that look unwelcoming. But I urge the people who have never tried to get into the spirit of it - give Halloween a go this year. Buy some sweets. Put on a scary mask. Frighten some children and embrace the cackling, warty old witch inside. I know I will.