‘Trick or treat!’
‘I’ll have a treat, please.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I’ll have a treat, please,’ I repeated, holding out my hand.
‘But . . . erm . . . we ain’t got any.’ He looked around rather dejectedly at his small cohorts dressed as witches, ghouls and zombies and shook his head. They all shrugged in unison.
‘You didn’t come prepared? You haven’t properly thought this through, have you?’
‘What?’
‘I’m just pulling your leg. When you said “Trick or treat” I thought you were . . . never mind. Let’s just say I never like to miss a comedy open goal when it’s presented to me. Ha ha.’
‘You’re weird. I’m telling my mum.’
I did have a treat in the end: an early night and twenty pages of John O’Farrell’s An Utterly Impartial History of Britain.
Rock ‘n’ roll, eh?
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