AT this time of year children should neither be seen nor heard. No sooner has the dust settled on the doorbell, from constant streams of nippers muttering "trick or treat" (whatever happened to "happy Hallowe'en?") under their grubby pointy hats than there they are again.

This time it's the same bunch of kids demanding a "penny for the Guy" when what they really mean is: "All major credit cards accepted."

Don't get me wrong, I did my stint of trailing round the neighbourhood wearing a spooky mask and an old sheet as a child, so at this time of year I force myself to tolerate pint-sized seasonal visitors.

But, at the risk of sounding like I was raised during the war or something, at least I made an effort.

At Hallowe'en I'd look vaguely spooky, and on Bonfire Night I'd have some papier mache excuse for a Guy. And I was happy with a handful of sweets, not money.

These days youngsters just mess up their hair a bit and try to pass as a werewolf, or stick out their own teeth and call themselves Dracula.

There's no dressing up - the biggest effort is wearing a tatty mask that's about as scary as Casper the Friendly Ghost.

They don't even bother with a scary laugh or ghoulish shriek. It's just a cynical way of getting you to hand over hard cash.

And if, like me, you dole out fun-size chocolate bars to compensate for your small amount of loose change, you're met with dark looks that suggest you're meaner than Scrooge and your tyres won't be in one piece tomorrow.

That group of tweenies on your doorstep takes on a sinister quality, and suddenly you really are spooked.

I wouldn't mind if it was just a few, but they come in droves.

You have just sat down to watch the rest of Corrie when there are muffled giggles on your doorstep again, and it all gets a bit tiresome after the 18th scrawny kid turns up wearing a shabby mask he probably nicked from some smaller mite down the road.

It's never-ending. Bonfire Night tends to start in late October now, while Christmas carol-singing starts on November 6.

And it all gets a bit daft in Yorkshire because there's also something called Mischief Night - they don't appear to have this anywhere else in the country - which means that as well as handing over vast quantities of money for tricking, treating or plot night conning, you run the risk of getting your windows put in and your pet rabbit covered in treacle in the name of "mischief."

Maybe the answer is to turn off the lights after a while and pretend to be out.

When I shared a house with some friends once we hid behind the settee every time a group of carol singers rang the doorbell.

We listened to several tuneless renditions of Little Donkey then breathed collective sighs of relief as we heard them shuffle on to the next house. All because we couldn't be bothered to answer the door, say "That was lovely kids", and hand over 50p.

All right, I'm ashamed. I'll do my bit this Bonfire Night. But it's fun-size chocolate or nothing at all!

Updated: 11:56 Monday, November 03, 2003