It’s almost Halloween, guys! The one time of the year we can scare kids to the point of tears without any legal ramifications! I’ve already hatched a plot to leap screaming from their wardrobes wearing a Pennywise mask. I’m sure they’ll find it just as hilarious as I will.

There is a very serious side to Halloween, though (amid the pumpkins, broomsticks and 19-year-olds banging on your door from October 4 onwards demanding money) – and that’s getting a good costume. I’ve already started scoping eBay. Primarily because they say the thing’s coming from somewhere in the UK yet the company is ‘registered’ in Beijing and takes months to arrive (unless I’m a bit dumb and Beijing is in Wales or something. This is entirely possible given my geography skills – I legitimately believed that Peru was a posh suburb in London. My reasoning? Paddington wears a duffle coat and speaks with a British accent).

Anyway, I’m in the middle of finding ANOTHER Halloween costume after I received the one I originally ordered last month. On the picture it looked divine – delicate, satin fabric laced with diamond-helpers and expensive looking velvet trim. “I’m gonna look like a sexy version of… that Frozen lass,” I beamed.

Giddy, I grabbed it from the postman when I heard his rat-a-tat-tat and headed to sofa, furiously unwrapped what was stylized as a “super gorgeous lady witch princess fairytale Halloween gown dress size XXXXS to plus XXXXXLLL”.

“What the….?” I asked as I pulled out an arm. It looked like someone had attacked a white shell suit with some glitter and stapled on some dirty, faded pipe cleaners.

I went full-on Hulk when I saw it. Despite being an XXL it looked barely big enough for my three-year-old to fit into. The “velvet” was clearly something you get in a kid’s craft set and I could see all the way through the holes to Peru in the so called “soft, delicate fabric”. Paddington would have been wetting himself.

In a moment of madness (exacerbated by fury), I decided to see if it looked any better on. Us women will cling onto any tiny speck of hope when it comes to clothes: “Oh yeah… the label says it’s a 12 but it looks stretchy. It’s got a bit of give.” What’s it gonna give us? Give way in my case, or so I hoped.

I managed to get it over my head before the fabric really set in and my arms were pinned in what I can only describe as zombie-esque. My arms dangled near my head, out-stretched and no amount of wiggling was going to dislodge the fabric now cutting into my flesh. In fact, the more I moved the deeper the cheap polyester embedded itself into my skin.

I managed to bend over the bath to grab some scissors but quickly realized that all I could do was hold them as far away from my body as possible, my joints frozen.

Not long after the kids returned from school and my eldest seemed genuinely impressed with my outfit. “It’s good! Just like song!” he smiled.

“I don’t think there’s any blood in my midsection.” I was worried. “My insides are dying. What song?”

He quickly burst into a rendition of Thriller (complete with zombie dance moves). Fitting, as I wouldn’t have been out of place lurking in the dark.

“I like it, it’s retro.” He nodded before heading for some Monster Munch.

I finally persuaded him to cut me loose and eventually the blood started flowing. I hope my Paddington outfit arrives on time – I’d much rather go as a cool, Cockney bear anyway.