Aside from that time I chased guisers down the street, I’ve not done anything Halloweeny since I moved to Scotland. But this year it was totally spooktastic.
Then Hippo played a Halloween gig at a local pub. As mentioned before, Hippo already had a bass player so Gareth got lumped with the keyboards. At least this give you a great excuse to put on a flowing blonde wig and dress up as the legendary prog-meister Rick Wakeman.
It was bloody hilarious seeing G with hair. He didn’t stop fussing with it all night, tossing it over his shoulders; stroking it with tender absentmindedness; tutting when a rowdy reveller sloshed it with Guinness.
Aside from Rick Wakeman the band featured a pirate, a scarecrow, a terrorist and Australia’s favourite serial killer, Chopper Read. Here’s some footage of the noisy lads at work; they were ace.
The next night we went to a Halloween party. Gareth’s cape and wig were totally destroyed by the night of rock so he hastily assembled a new costume from his bike leathers and a grungy mask and club from the pound shop. He seemed to enjoy the raven locks even more than the Wakeman tresses. I bought a 50p pitchfork and £1 stupid hat that claimed to be devilish but just looked like a demented pilgrim.
Do you remember that shitty, sinking feeling you got at school when you had an assignment that you did at the last moment in a half-arsed manner thinking that everyone else would have the same crappy attitude, but then you get to class and realise everyone has gone all out and used glitter and stuff? That was My First Halloween Party. Everyone put in so much effort; I felt totally budget. There were geishas, zombies, hippies; a disturbing Josef Fritzl and an Optimus Prime. One couple had handmade Rabid Care Bear costumes – they fashioned the heads out of coathangers and cushions and furry fabric then splashed the whole ensemble with fake blood.
Still, I learned a lot from observing the locals this year and will be sure to do things properly next time.
“I don’t really get this Halloween stuff,” I’d told one of my Scottish pals a few weeks ago, “We don’t really do it in Australia.”
“Do you come fae Australia!?” she said, “Ohh. I always thought you talked a bit funny.”