They say there are half a million people on Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood about now but who are they? The movers and shakers of the film business; bank managers, finance directors, casting directors, bank clerks, politicians and anybody else you could name and most of them are dressed as ladies; apart from the females, of course, as most of them will probably be dressed as Michael Jackson.
They spend thousands of dollars on their costumes and I have seen people standing there in their glory, being adored and being photographed by a lot of people.
An image comes to mind from a couple of years ago of a man standing there in a dress that resembled a peacock; there were feathers, fans, fantastically looking streamers glistening in the evening neon as other people, dressed in their drag, snapped photographs of him; I had my little, then, four year old grandson, modestly dressed as a skeleton, with me and I pushed him gently towards the fella, and the photographers immediately turned their attention to my grandson and, whilst they continued to take photos of the original man, they started composing a two shot of the pair of them.
Big smiles on both of their faces, of course, and the little fella was really enjoying it but I could see a little wince of the green eyed monster from the man in the million dollar dress so we moved on.
The amount of money that people spend on their costumes to wear just once is something that I can't quite get my head around. I mean has Halloween always been that big a celebration here?
Halloween is a thing that started in Ireland – but I can't remember anything about it when I was a child; I can't remember anything about it where we were brought up in Birmingham, UK either, in fact the only thing we celebrated there was November 5th – Guy Fawkes Night or, as it is more generally known – Bonfire Night.
On that night an effigy of Guy Fawkes is burned on a bonfire and people throw fireworks at each other.
Guy Fawkes, as you might know, tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament back in the year dot and he was a Catholic and against the Protestant Government. So when you think about it my parents, newly over from Ireland, and Irish Catholics to boot, joined in with the locals burning of an effigy of England's best known and most famous, or infamous, Catholic!!!
In the preceding weeks to Bonfire Night we would collect wood and anything else that would burn and, together with our neighbours the Jacksons, we would build a big bonfire at the end of our garden each year.
Then we would stand around with the wonderful heat from the blaze on our faces, eating chestnuts and other goodies and look at the fire as if hypnotized by it; at some point, during the evening, the Guy, which is what he was called the effigy, with the definite article in front of his name, was put on top of the fire. On really big fires he would be up there all the time and we would cheer when he started to burn.
People going about their business in the streets would see kids with prams or strollers standing about the street corners with their guy sitting in the pram and when they approached the kids the kids would say 'Penny for the Guy?'
It was a form of begging of course and sometimes there was nobody in the pram! I do realise, of course, that some Americans don't know what a pram is and I'm not sure what they call them here unless they use the full perambulator??
I don't know what the law is in England now, but we would buy loads of fireworks; Bangers, Roman Candles, Squids, Catherine Wheels; Jumping Jacks and the like and the fireworks would be lit whenever anybody wanted to light one.
Of course they were usually the grown ups who lit them and they would give us, the children, sparklers to hold – till they went out. Then if you touched them they would burn your hand really badly – so you didn't touch them.
On lots of fireworks there was tiny writing 'Not to be held in hand' and of course these were the ones you didn't hold. Some fireworks you could hold but the one I was given to hold one day must have had the 'do not hold' warning; but who could see the warning in the dark?
I stood there like a happy idiot holding a firework with a stupid look on my face and as the thing burned in my trembling hand I got the feeling that something was going to happen so I let it go; like a chicken livered little kid I let the bloody thing drop. A nano second or an atom second later – whichever is the shortest – it went bang!!
So I was right to let it go; it burned my hand and my arm all the way up to the elbow. If I hadn't have let it go it would probably have blown my fingers off and how would I have played the guitar then? How do I play it now? Not good.
What does this have to do with Halloween, I hear you asking? Nothing you might say and you would be right – I have digressed again.
So back to the Halloween party on Santa Monica Blvd – I have never been to Brazil or the carnival there or even to the Mardi Gras in New Orleans but that it what is happening at the moment on Santa Monica Blvd. If you open this up you might see a Fire Dancer on Stilts with candle nipples although it is hard to see.
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