Brownie roulette

There is sometimes a need to clarify what a statement does not mean, as occasionally even a careful and thorough explanation as to what it does mean will not cancel out the fantastical and oddly-fascinating imaginings that were sparked initially. But I won't do it in this post.

Last night was Hallow e'en, and gangs of miniature witches, ghouls, ghosts, and serial killers roamed the streets of Bishopston in search of free sugary snacks. Normally we don't like to participate in the 'celebrations' of Hallow e'en but, Bishopston being Bishopston, you'll never meet more polite or well-groomed creatures of the underworld than can be found in our neighbourhood. Growls and snarls were clearly and crisply enunciated, threats were followed by 'please' and booty carried off with 'thank-you-very-much-have-a-nice-Hallowe'en' and I'd venture to say that even the dirt under their fake fingernails was clean.

Mrs Hope prepared a tin of chocolate brownies for the marauding hoarders, and made a tiny pumpkin into a lantern to indicate that we were open to receiving visitors. To spice each visitation up (but more likely a feeble attempt restore some sort of balance in the power struggle that I experience when held to ransom by kids on a sugar-high), we decided to trick our 'trick-or-treaters'. Each time the tin of brownies was raided, we gave a warning that one brownie had been laced with pepper. Without fail, the once-eager hands became more wary, and one or two of the smaller nightmarish visitors flat-out refused (until they gently reassured that there was nothing to worry about).

But on one occasion, a ghastly warlock gagged and choked that his brownie was indeed peppery; shortly afterwards we heard a gentle thump of a 'peppered brownie' being thrown back against our front door in disgust. Such is the power of suggestion.