Something is sitting a little uneasily with me.
It’s not the state of the economy, the Eurozone crisis, or indeed the hottest topic in the PR world – whether PR agencies should pay their interns! (We do by the way). No, the thing that’s worrying me is Halloween.
Yes, yes I know it’s not the biggest thing in the universe but you see I’ve succumbed. Having seen all about Halloween on Peppa Pig (or some such programme), my nearly-three year old wanted a pumpkin. This was fine and provided a fun activity for her to do with granddad at the weekend. Then it was a costume and then a lantern and then a mask and then a party – yes, a Halloween party! It’s not her birthday, I can’t merge the two things together. No, this required an independent party.
So, that is how I found myself knee deep in Haribo sweets and two year olds dressed as ghosts.
“I will never let a child of mine celebrate Halloween” I had said.
I also promised I wouldn’t use sweets as bribery to quash a tantrum in the supermarket, I wouldn’t use the TV as a babysitter, I’d never lose my temper and instead offer reasoned argument to tame my two year old. I’d always cook everything fresh and from scratch (and preferably organic); I’d certainly never take her to fast food restaurants and never, but never would I let her sleep when she should be awake just so I could sit down with a nice cup of tea for a quiet five minutes.
I’m fairly sure that the PR industry will somehow be to blame for the fact that we now celebrate everything from Halloween to sausages.
I am even certain that at some point in my career I have made up a celebration day or week to provide the material for a desperately needed media campaign or product launch. So, I have to take my share of the blame for the exhausting round of celebrations we now find ourselves a part of.
But I need to make a stand. I am declaring the 1st November every year ‘Celebrate Nothing’ day – there’ll be no bringing daughters, grannies or bikes to work for the day. There’ll be no appreciating potatoes or sausages required. There’ll be no fancy dress and no crackers and I promise you will not be required to throw a party.
Now, where’s my broomstick?