The witching hour

I am not a fan of Hallowe'en. Mainly because I hate the forced festive feel of dressing up as, well, basically whatever you feel like but with blood on and rips so you look dead/zombie, the bad press it gives to the real goths, rockers and hardcore people who get ridiculed for their dress sense every other day of the year except tomorrow, and the fact that it lasts for days, weeks. I generally get annoyed by having my sleep disrupted, my tube route clogged, and any part of my day invaded by teenagers with fake blood on their faces on their way to another party.
It also promotes vandalism in exchange for E-numbers.
I am Scrooge about Hallowe'en. But it appeals nicely to my sensibilties - where we are supposed to respond to the fear of dead spirits coming back to haunt us, and hope desperately for good to prevail and for new beginnings.
I also find Hallowe'en a bit of a strange time because at some point between the night of Hallowe'en and the morning of All Souls Day, my grandma died. So it's a strange inbetween time, between the bad and the good, the holy and what's supposedly wicked, and life and death.
So tomorrow night I will probably be listening to some slightly weird witchy music, in my room, probably burning a candle, and remembering the past, while hoping it stays there.
Oh, and here's a photo. I had my hair cut yesterday (I'm addicted to haircuts) and the stylist put some much product in it I had to wash it when I got home for fear of being glued to the pillow. The grey fleece jacket is a recent acquisition from Warehouse, courtesy of a Grazia discount voucher.
And yes, this is a photo taken in a toilet. I was on my way to see The Social Network. I thought it fitting to go and see a film about a loner with 500 million virtual friends on my own.


  1. Happy you didn't color your hair purple. We need more fabulous reds in the blogosphere. The jacket is fabulous.

  2. Great hair, you're a little punk rocker!


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