We spend years teaching our children not to talk to strangers, not to take things from them, and not to be horrible little shits. So, welcome to the one night of the year when we teach them:

What the hell. You take that rancid out-of-date lolly off the creepy man at number 47. Don’t forget the homemade cupcakes from the skank in the muffin top at number 8. Or the crisps with the dubious stain on the packet from Purple Acki.

Oh, and if any of them don’t answer the door to you, you’re allowed to be horrid little shits to them. Egg their house, terrify their cats with your fireworks, whatever takes your fancy. All in the name of fun, you understand. And it’s all okay, ‘because it’s Halloween’. Of course, if you attempt any of this tomorrow, if you talk to the drug addict in flat 3 or the prostitute in the alleyway, I’ll spank your arse and have stern words with you about ‘stranger danger’, but not tonight, tonight you’re fine. Go ahead. You just wait for it to be dark, don a costume that would make it hard for you to run away if anything did happen. I recommend a mummy outfit, made with real DIY toilet roll, and pester the fuck out of that disabled old lady quivering in her living room. Pester away, chat to any old stranger you can find. Take any old crap they give to you. Just don’t come crying to me if there’s rat poison in that eyeball shaped sweety because I’ll be too busy cleaning the splattered egg off my window pane.