NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD

Hallowe'en, or All Souls' Eve, the first example of Irish marketing before replica pubs, Riverdance, St Patrick's Day and planet-saving rock stars. There is something ironic about one of the most Catholic nations in the world snatching the rights to a religious festival out of the Church's hands and turning it into a worldwide moneyspinner. I bet every 31st October the Pope slaps his thigh and says "Verdammt! I vish ve'd zought of zis!".

The real significance of Hallowe'en is to mark the beginning of winter, the symbolic death of the earth before it's resurrection around Eastertime. Did you see what they did there? The bible was just a very complicated calendar, with pictures. The earth's temporary retreat is symbolized by celebrating death, decay and everything associated with it, notably ghosts, since All Hallows' Eve was, according to the church, the night when all the departed come back for one night only. Which is where the pumpkins come in. With the flesh of this seasonal and cheap vegetable used as a warming soup to keep out the cold, their empty shells were used as lanterns to welcome the souls back home. In Polish cemeteries hundreds of votive candles flicker on the graves, making the place look a bit like a nightclub. A late late show, you could say.

If it were true that the dead return to earth on Hallowe'en, you could have the dinner party of your dreams. You'd have to book well in advance, as I imagine lots of people would try to bag P.G. Wodehouse, Douglas Adams, or Sherlock Holmes. The Beatles could finally do that reunion concert with John and George present – for one night only – and Las Vegas would charge astronomical fees for the annual Elvis extravaganza. And when they said at the end « Elvis has left the building », they really mean it, folks.

I do hope it's not true. I would hardly want Harold back. And who knows in what guise he might return – he was such a fantasist when he was alive, he could come back as one of his favourite personae, such as Che Guevara, and you wouldn't know if the shade was the real Che or Harold messing about. Although there were always a few telltale signs. I don't think the real Che ever wore a beige cardigan, for example, or whistled the theme from Match of the Day. Or he might come back as Darth Vader. Or Sven, the nordic ski champion. Honestly, sometimes it was like living with the Village People.

Harold always enjoyed Hallowe'en immensely, as there was something of the night about him at the best of times. His Hallowe'en dinner always kicked off with a Bloody Mary, followed by a saignant steak (no garlic) and a bottle of Graves. And a Dame Blanche for dessert. And for some reason I always woke up the next day with a sore neck.

Please don't come back tonight Harold dear. I'm having Oscar Wilde, Spike Milligan and Jimi Hendrix round for dinner.