The Eldest Son has been begging me for weeks to take them to Spirit, one of these Halloween superstores that crops up for about six weeks every year.

It seemed not unreasonable, so last weekend the Smalls and I went off to buy our Halloween costumes and decorations for the bash we are throwing in a few hours.

It was a FORTUNE. I was shocked, to put it mildly, but didn’t think anything of it, other than we’d better look after these decorations because they’re going to have to last us for years to come.

And then I went in to Michaels and found a bat. Exactly the same bat I had considered in the Halloween superstore, but hadn’t bought because at $49.99, it seemed excessive.

The price in Michaels? $9.99.

Yes, that’s right. A quarter of the price.

It made me realise what an utter rip off these temporary superstores are, so I beg you not to go to them. My best find is CVS - two days before Halloween everything is on sale, and my house is now covered with orange fairy lights, glimmering jack o’ lanterns and spidery plates, and all for a fraction of what I spent at the Superstore.

Wishing a happy and inexpensive Halloween to you all…

I’m not sure you can appreciate the ridiculousness of this from the photos, but the other day Beloved said, ‘what the hell does Biscuit have in her mouth?’

‘Biscuit!’ he commanded, who was busy chewing on something on the floor.

She looked up. With an enormous set of silver flashing teeth.

We almost fell on the floor laughing.

The Eldest Daughter and her friend had bought these ‘Grillz’ - bejewelled teeth with a candy lollipop on the end. Biscuit had somehow got hold of them, and was chewing on the candy part, giving her the appearance of having a large set of gnashers.

So now I present, for your enjoyment, Biscuit Got Grillz

Well folks, I’m on my way to becoming an American citizen. I was approved today, and it occured to me that although the test is terrifically easy, it’s only easy if you know it, and I’m extremely thankful I did.

My last question was what is the basic belief behind the Declaration of Independence.

My answer (correct) was that all men are created equal, with the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Just for the record, that is not the same as all men are created equal, but some men, particularly those who write children’s books about small cheeky feathered birds who insist on jumping into public transportation vehicles, are more equal than others (apologies to George Orwell).

My friend, La Principessa, brought her beautiful Smalls, who are no longer Smalls, but one Medium and one Rather Large, over to my house, armed with goodies, to celebrate.

A Stars and Stripe Victory hat, an apple pie, a US flag, and a bottle of champagne. I am sipping the champagne as I write.

My swearing in is at the end of November, which is only sad because I will not get to vote, and I am not happy about this. I leave you with a picture of someone’s Halloween display. I think it is brilliant, and scarily prescient

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And finally, just because I can’t vote, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. Whoever you are, wherever you are in the US, whatever your political beliefs, please vote. People died for the right to vote. It’s important, perhaps the most important thing you can do, and one person can make a difference.

The champagne is now going to my head and I have to stop writing before I incriminate myself.

Someone once left a comment here saying how dare I criticise Cindy McCain’s vulcan-like qualities, and I’d never  reveal an unflattering picture, or some such guff.

Well, Beloved phoned me yesterday and said, ‘Darling. I love you. And that picture on Westport Now is terrible.’

‘I know,’ I sighed. ‘I look like a deranged chipmunk.’ (I hate candid shots. I’m too animated for candid shots to work. I move my hands all the time, my expression changes every second, and I always look TERRIBLE).

Please feel free to take a look and have a laugh at my expense.

Yesterday I had lunch with the Eskimo, and sitting in our canteen were two of my oldest and dearest friends. They live on the other side of town, and I don’t get to see them nearly as often as I would like, so for a while, the four of us sat together and caught up.

One of them is the Volunteer. The reason I never see her anymore is because she’s turned into a crazy woman, volunteering for everything on the planet. I, being lazy, will never understand people who do this. (The Volunteer is a little bit crazy. I have known her drive her Smalls hours to farmer’s markets in search of the perfect tomato).

Someone mentioned that a children’s author had been to their school recently to give a talk. I will not name names, but if you have small children and you are reading a book to them about a small feathered flying thing, many of which can be found in Trafalgar Square, who steals a public transportation object (wheels, driver, that kind of thing), despite the reader’s objections, you’ll know who I’m talking about.

‘I love those books!’ we all clamored.

‘What’s he like?’ someone asked.

‘Well,’ we were told. ‘He was being filmed for something, so while the cameras were on he was great. Warm, funny, and fantastic with the children. But when the cameras were off he was a total diva who was completely full of himself.’

This, by the way, was from the most down-to-earth girl in the world. Someone who gets on with absolutely everyone, who has no airs and graces whatsoever. So for her to say it, I believe it.

I would like to say three things.

The first is that everyone has bad days. I try and live my life in a way where I am never rude, always respectful, very much treating others how I would like to be treated. I don’t demand, I ask.

But, run across me during a certain couple of days every month, or when I’m stressed and anxious, and it is Jekyll and Hyde.

I have read horror stories about people I know well, celebrities in some instances, who I have only ever known to be kind, gracious, extraordinarily generous, and I have been amazed that others have seen them as rude, arrogant, dismissive.

We all have bad days.

The second is that I presumed the author was suffering from what I call ‘First Novel Syndrome.’ This is when your first novel shoots onto the bestseller list, and you suddenly believe all the hype. You think you are just as wonderful as everyone says, and your head, and ego, grow larger and larger. I remember it firsthand, but ten books in, thankfully, it doesn’t last. Again, I had heard horror stories about authors whose books were HUGE, and I knew they were suffering FNS. I have met a few of these authors over the years, and met them a few books later, and every single one of them comes back to earth after the next books don’t garner quite the same amount of attention.

So I went to the children’s author’s website, presuming he was a newbie. It seems that although he is relatively new, he has won a ton of awards. So my theory may be correct.

The third is this. However big, important or successful you think you are, there will always be someone bigger, more important, and more successful than you.

Asking for a specific type of soda to be at a talk at a school, is faintly ridiculous. You are not Madonna.

Be very careful how you treat people on the way up, And if you think you’re at the top, and you’re staying there, there will be a journey down. There always is.

And arrogance, rudeness, a lack of humility, is not the recipe for a smooth ride down. Humility can make the journey one hell of a lot smoother.

Me? I just hope he was having a bad day.