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Candia Comes Clean

~ Candid cultural comments from the Isles of Wonder

Tag Archives: Trick or Treat

Trick or Treat?

23 Sunday Oct 2016

Posted by Candia in Community, Family, Film, Humour, Poetry, Relationships, Suttonford, Writing

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

clown costumes, ducking for apples, Frankenweenie, guising, Guy Fawkes, hallowe'en, Mars Bar, Milton, Paradise Lost, Trick or Treat, trug

Frankenweenie (2012 film) poster.jpg

(A seasonal re-blog, folks- enjoy!)

It was Hallowe’en and Carrie’s children were hyper-excited.  Tiger-Lily was

in charge of her siblings.  She had dressed as a witch and her brother,

Ferdy, was carrying a plastic trident and sported horns.  Ming had a

black plastic cape and his smile was rather disconcerting as he had

managed to retain plastic fangs from a Christmas cracker in his mouth,

in spite of the additional dental obstruction of a brace.  The whole effect

was akin to Frankenweenie.

Bill was a white-faced zombie with fake blood dripping down his jaw.

Edward’s face was green and he had a screw sticking out of his neck.

Rollo was a Ghostbuster.  Dressing up in clown costumes had been

verboten.

All carried pumpkin lanterns and empty, be- ribboned mini-trugs, for

the reception of donated goodies.

Now be polite, children, and only visit the houses on High Street.  Ring the

doorbells once only and say thank you if anyone gives you fruit.  You

mustn’t accept money…

Edward looked disappointed. I’ll wait round the corner in The Peal O’

Bells with the other mummies.  Stay together and when you’ve finished,

knock on the window.

Let’s go to Grandma’s first, said Ferdy. She won’t be scared of us.

Yes, let’s get it over with, said Tiger.

They rang the doorbell and stepped back politely.

Suddenly a white-sheeted figure with two black holes for

eyes opened the door and shouted: Boo!

Little Edward was terrified.  He seized his sister’s hand and

dropped his trug.

It’s only Grandma, silly, said Tiger, annoyed at the naughty

nonagenarian.

Trick or treat, Grandma?

Ginevra pulled the sheet off and smoothed her hair.

We’re not having that American nonsense here, she lectured.  When

your daddy was small he had to do guising properly.  We’re a traditional

family. 

So, who’s going to do the first turn?

Turn? quailed Rollo.

Yes.  A  recitation, dance or song.  You don’t get owt for nowt as

they used to say.

What’s a recitation?  asked Ming.

Come in.  I’ll show you, said Ginevra enthusiastically.  Ola! Have you

put the apples in the basin of water?

But Ola wasn’t there.  She had run off to Bric-a-Brac with Jean-

Paul, the opportunistic widower from the twinning visit.  Ginevra

had forgotten her new carer’s name.

Sorry.  Magda, then.

They all trooped into the sitting room and Ginevra moved her

case of Dewlap Gin for Discerning Grandmothers off the sofa, so that

they could sit down.

She took a deep, somewhat juniper-scented breath and launched

forth:

Of man’s first disobedience and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste

Brought Death into the world and all our woe…

Sing, Heavenly Muse!…

Two hours later Tiger had to shake Edward awake as their

grandmother uttered the final words:

..through Eden took their solitary way.

Ginevra bowed with a huge flourish and pronounced:

Paradise Lost: now that’s poetry!

She then proceeded to help herself to a bag of Mars bars which

Magda had been instructed to purchase for the children.

Now..

Grandma, we’ve got to go.  It’s past Edward’s bed-time, said Tiger-Lily

firmly.

Oh, what a pity.  We didn’t get round to ducking for apples, said Ginevra,

disconsolately.

There’s always next year, replied Tiger, scarcely banishing a rather

un- grand-daughterly thought: If the old bag is still around.

Carrie was frantic:  Where have you been all this time?

Blame Grandma, said Tiger.  Give her any opportunity or a platform and

you’ll be there all night.

You should have taken the crucifix and the garlic, like I told you, said

Carrie, bundling them into the 4×4.  She’s always been a monster.

Even to Daddy? asked an exhausted Ming.

Especially to Daddy.  Never mind.  We’ll have good fun at Clammie

and Tristram’s Guy Fawkes Party.  Burning effigies is so therapeutic!

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Trick or Treat

31 Saturday Oct 2015

Posted by Candia in Family, Film, Humour, Literature, Poetry, Suttonford, Writing

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Frankenweenie, garlic and crucifix, Ghostbuster, guising, Guy Fawkes, hallowe'en, John Milton, Mars Bar, Paradise Lost, pumpkin lantern, Trick or Treat, trug, Zombie

Frankenweenie (2012 film) poster.jpg

(A seasonal re-blog, folks. Enjoy!)

It was Hallowe’en and Carrie’s children were hyper-excited.  Tiger-Lily was in

charge of her siblings.  She had dressed as a witch and her brother, Ferdy, was

carrying a plastic trident and sported horns.

Ming had a black plastic cape and his smile was rather disconcerting as he

had managed to retain plastic fangs from a Christmas cracker in his mouth,

in spite of the additional dental obstruction of a brace.  The whole effect

was akin to Frankenweenie.

Bill was a white-faced zombie with fake blood dripping down his jaw.

Edward’s facewas green and he had a screw sticking out of his neck.

Rollo was a Ghostbuster.

All carried pumpkin lanterns and empty, be-ribboned mini-trugs, for the

reception of donated goodies.

Now be polite, children, and only visit the houses on High Street.  Ring the

doorbells once only and say thank you if anyone gives you fruit.  You

mustn’t accept money…

Edward looked disappointed.

I’ll wait round the corner in The Peal O’ Bells with the other mummies. 

Stay together and when you’ve finished, knock on the window.

Let’s go to Grandma’s first, said Ferdy. She won’t be scared of us.

Yes, let’s get it over with, said Tiger.

They rang the doorbell and stepped back politely.

Suddenly a white-sheeted figure with two black holes for eyes

opened the door and shouted: Boo!

Little Edward was terrified.  He seized his sister’s hand and dropped

his trug.

It’s only Grandma, silly, said Tiger, annoyed at the naughty nonagenarian.

Trick or treat, Grandma?

Ginevra pulled the sheet off and smoothed her hair.

We’re not having that American nonsense here, she lectured.  When your

daddy was small he had to do guising properly.  We’re a traditional family. 

So, who’s going to do the first turn?

Turn? quailed Rollo.

Yes.  A  recitation, dance or song.  You don’t get owt for nowt as they

used to say.

What’s a recitation?  asked Ming.

Come in.  I’ll show you, said Ginevra enthusiastically.  Ola! Have you put

the apples in the basin of water?

But Ola wasn’t there.  She had run off to Bric-a-Brac with Jean-Paul,

the widower from the twinning visit.  Ginevra had forgotten the new

carer’s name.

Sorry.  Magda, then.

They all trooped into the sitting room and Ginevra moved her case of

Dewlap Gin for Discerning Grandmothers off the sofa, so that they could

sit down.

She took a deep, somewhat juniper-scented breath and launched

forth:

Of man’s first disobedience and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste

Brought Death into the world and all our woe…

Sing, Heavenly Muse!…

Two hours later Tiger had to shake Edward awake as her

grandmother uttered the final words:

…through Eden took their solitary way.

Ginevra bowed with a huge flourish and pronounced:

Paradise Lost: now that’s poetry!

She then proceeded to help herself to a bag of Mars bars which

Magda had been instructed to purchase for the children.

Now…

Grandma, we’ve got to go.  It’s past Edward’s bed-time, said Tiger-Lily

firmly.

Oh, what a pity.  We didn’t get round to ducking for apples, said Ginevra,

disconsolately.

There’s always next year, replied Tiger, scarcely banishing a rather un-

grand-daughterly thought: If the old bag is still around.

Carrie was frantic:  Where have you been all this time?

Blame Grandma, said Tiger.  Give her any opportunity or a platform and

you’ll be there all night.

You should have taken the crucifix and the garlic, like I told you, said

Carrie, bundling them into the 4×4.  She’s always been a monster.

Even to Daddy? asked an exhausted Ming.

Especially to Daddy.  Never mind.  We’ll have good fun at Clammie

and Tristram’s Guy Fawkes Party.  Burning effigies is so therapeutic!

 

 

 

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Trick or Treat?

25 Saturday Oct 2014

Posted by Candia in Arts, Family, Film, Humour, Literature, Poetry, Social Comment, Suttonford, Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Frankenweenie, garlic and crucifix, Ghostbuster, guising, Guy Fawkes party, hallowe'en, John Milton, Mars Bar, Paradise Lost, pumpkin lantern, Trick or Treat, trug, Zombie

Frankenweenie (2012 film) poster.jpg

(A seasonal re-blog, folks- enjoy!)

It was Hallowe’en and Carrie’s children were hyper-excited.  Tiger-Lily was

in charge of her siblings.  She had dressed as a witch and her brother, Ferdy,

was carrying a plastic trident and sported horns.  Ming had a black plastic

cape and his smile was rather disconcerting as he had managed to retain

plastic fangs from a Christmas cracker in his mouth, in spite of the

additional dental obstruction of a brace.  The whole effect was akin to

Frankenweenie.

Bill was a white-faced zombie with fake blood dripping down his jaw.

Edward’s face was green and he had a screw sticking out of his neck.

Rollo was a Ghostbuster. All carried pumpkin lanterns and empty, be-

ribboned mini-trugs, for the reception of donated goodies.

Now be polite, children, and only visit the houses on High Street.  Ring the

doorbells once only and say thank you if anyone gives you fruit.  You

mustn’t accept money…

Edward looked disappointed. I’ll wait round the corner in The Peal O’

Bells with the other mummies.  Stay together and when you’ve finished,

knock on the window.

Let’s go to Grandma’s first, said Ferdy. She won’t be scared of us.

Yes, let’s get it over with, said Tiger.

They rang the doorbell and stepped back politely.

Suddenly a white-sheeted figure with two black holes for

eyes opened the door and shouted: Boo!

Little Edward was terrified.  He seized his sister’s hand and

dropped his trug.

It’s only Grandma, silly, said Tiger, annoyed at the naughty

nonagenarian.

Trick or treat, Grandma?

Ginevra pulled the sheet off and smoothed her hair.

We’re not having that American nonsense here, she lectured.  When

your daddy was small he had to do guising properly.  We’re a traditional

family. 

So, who’s going to do the first turn?

Turn? quailed Rollo.

Yes.  A  recitation, dance or song.  You don’t get owt for nowt as

they used to say.

What’s a recitation?  asked Ming.

Come in.  I’ll show you, said Ginevra enthusiastically.  Ola! Have you

put the apples in the basin of water?

But Ola wasn’t there.  She had run off to Bric-a-Brac with Jean-

Paul, the opportunistic widower from the twinning visit.  Ginevra

had forgotten her new carer’s name.

Sorry.  Magda, then.

They all trooped into the sitting room and Ginevra moved her

case of Dewlap Gin for Discerning Grandmothers off the sofa, so that

they could sit down.

She took a deep, somewhat juniper-scented breath and launched

forth:

Of man’s first disobedience and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste

Brought Death into the world and all our woe…

Sing, Heavenly Muse!…

Two hours later Tiger had to shake Edward awake as their

grandmother uttered the final words:

..through Eden took their solitary way.

Ginevra bowed with a huge flourish and pronounced:

Paradise Lost: now that’s poetry!

She then proceeded to help herself to a bag of Mars bars which

Magda had been instructed to purchase for the children.

Now..

Grandma, we’ve got to go.  It’s past Edward’s bed-time, said Tiger-Lily

firmly.

Oh, what a pity.  We didn’t get round to ducking for apples, said Ginevra,

disconsolately.

There’s always next year, replied Tiger, scarcely banishing a rather

un- grand-daughterly thought: If the old bag is still around.

Carrie was frantic:  Where have you been all this time?

Blame Grandma, said Tiger.  Give her any opportunity or a platform and

you’ll be there all night.

You should have taken the crucifix and the garlic, like I told you, said

Carrie, bundling them into the 4×4.  She’s always been a monster.

Even to Daddy? asked an exhausted Ming.

Especially to Daddy.  Never mind.  We’ll have good fun at Clammie

and Tristram’s Guy Fawkes Party.  Burning effigies is so therapeutic!

 

 

 

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Trick or Treat?

20 Saturday Oct 2012

Posted by Candia in Film, Humour, Poetry, Summer 2012, Suttonford

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Carrie, Ferdy, Frankenweenie, Ghostbuster, Ginevra, Grandma, hallowe'en, Magda, Mars Bar, Paradise Lost, Tiger-Lily, Trick or Treat, Zombie

It was Hallowe’en and Carrie’s children were hyper-excited.  Tiger-Lily was in

charge of her siblings.  She had dressed as a witch and her brother, Ferdy, was

carrying a plastic trident and sported horns.  Ming had a black plastic cape and

his smile was rather disconcerting as he had managed to retain plastic fangs

from a Christmas cracker in his mouth, in spite of the additional dental

obstruction of a brace.  The whole effect was akin to Frankenweenie.  Bill was

a white-faced zombie with fake blood dripping down his jaw.  Edward’s face

was green and he had a screw sticking out of his neck.  Rollo was a Ghostbuster.

All carried pumpkin lanterns and empty, be-ribboned mini-trugs, for the reception of

donated goodies.

Now be polite, children, and only visit the houses on High Street.  Ring the doorbells

once only and say thank you if anyone gives you fruit.  You mustn’t accept money…

Edward looked disappointed. I’ll wait round the corner in The Peal O’ Bells with the

other mummies.  Stay together and when you’ve finished, knock on the window.

Let’s go to Grandma’s first, said Ferdy. She won’t be scared of us.

Yes, let’s get it over with, said Tiger.

They rang the doorbell and stepped back politely.

Suddenly a white-sheeted figure with two black holes for eyes opened

the door and shouted: Boo!

Little Edward was terrified.  He seized his sister’s hand and dropped his trug.

It’s only Grandma, silly, said Tiger, annoyed at the naughty nonagenarian.

Trick or treat, Grandma?

Ginevra pulled the sheet off and smoothed her hair.

We’re not having that American nonsense here, she lectured.  When your daddy

was small he had to do guising properly.  We’re a traditional family.  So, who’s

going to do the first turn?

Turn? quailed Rollo.

Yes.  A  recitation, dance or song.  You don’t get owt for nowt as they used to

say.

What’s a recitation?  asked Ming.

Come in.  I’ll show you, said Ginevra enthusiastically.  Ola! Have you put the

apples in the basin of water?

But Ola wasn’t there.  She had run off to Bric-a-Brac with Jean-Paul, the

widower from the twinning visit.  Ginevra had forgotten the new carer’s

name.

Sorry.  Magda, then.

They all trooped into the sitting room and Ginevra moved her case of Dewlap

Gin off the sofa, so that they could sit down.

She took a deep, somewhat juniper-scented breath and launched forth:

Of man’s first disobedience and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste

Brought Death into the world and all our woe…

Sing, Heavenly Muse!…

Two hours later Tiger had to shake Edward awake as her grandmother

uttered the final words:

..through Eden took their solitary way.

Ginevra bowed with a huge flourish and pronounced:

Paradise Lost: now that’s poetry!

She then proceeded to help herself to a bag of Mars bars which Magda

had been instructed to purchase for the children.

Now..

Grandma, we’ve got to go.  It’s past Edward’s bed-time, said Tiger-Lily firmly.

Oh, what a pity.  We didn’t get round to ducking for apples, said Ginevra,

disconsolately.

There’s always next year, replied Tiger, scarcely banishing a rather un-

grand-daughterly thought: If the old bag is still around.

Carrie was frantic:  Where have you been all this time?

Blame Grandma, said Tiger.  Give her any opportunity or a platform and you’ll

be there all night.

You should have taken the crucifix and the garlic, like I told you, said Carrie,

bundling them into the 4×4.  She’s always been a  monster.

Even to Daddy? asked an exhausted Ming.

Especially to Daddy.  Never mind.  We’ll have good fun at Clammie

and Tristram’s Guy Fawkes Party.

 

 

 

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My name is Candia. Its initial consonant alliterates with “cow” and there are connotations with the adjective “candid.” I started writing this blog in the summer of 2012 and focused on satire at the start.

Interspersed was ironic news comment, reviews and poetry.

Over the years I have won some international poetry competitions and have published in reputable small presses, as well as reviewing and reading alongside well- established poets. I wrote under my own name then, but Candia has taken me over as an online persona. Having brought out a serious anthology last year called 'Its Own Place' which features poetry of an epiphanal nature, I was able to take part in an Arts and Spirituality series of lectures in Winchester in 2016.

Lately I have been experimenting with boussekusekeika, sestinas, rhyme royale, villanelles and other forms. I am exploring Japanese themes at the moment, my interest having been re-ignited by the recent re-evaluations of Hokusai.

Thank you to all my committed followers whose loyalty has encouraged me to keep writing. It has been exciting to meet some of you in the flesh- in venues as far flung as Melbourne and Sydney!

Copyright Notice

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Candia Dixon Stuart and candiacomesclean.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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