Surprise Halloween, haunted houses, and pumpkin soup

After failing at Halloween last year, this year I'm ready. Got soup. Got Haribo. Got a pumpkin lantern. All the essentials.

Ever since we moved to this busy, confident village just over a year ago, I’ve learned to accept I barely know what’s going on. I will be going about my business, unpacking a box, washing a wall, scrubbing a floor, and suddenly there’s a parade. Because of where we are, on a small square that sits between the port and the village, these parades usually start or finish in front of our house. Because life is more exciting when you guess, many of these events don’t trouble the local tourism’s office website with their presence. People just seem to know.

Last year this is how, quite by surprise, I learned that the French are really into Halloween. I was minding my own business in the fading light of the afternoon, when dozens of tiny sprites, goblins, princesses, Mini Mouses and Spidermen, their faces embellished with supermarket paint and sparkles assembled in front of the house. There might have been a band. There usually is. The carousel to the left of the square whirled around, its teacups, giraffe, pony and elephant loaded with small people.

The evening was punctuated by rings on the doorbell. I was found wanting, with not a sweet or a toffee apple in the house. I had missed a trick, as last year our house – having not been properly lived in for a good decade or two – had the makings of the perfect haunted house. It even came with its own magnificent cobwebs and layers of organic, biodynamic dust.