It's murder down on the farm

Yes, I knew the real probability of bloodshed in a converted farm hut we'd queued up to enter with other thrill-seekers, set on the B-road between Formby and Ormskirk, was slim (not counting tripping over my own feet).

But we screamed from beginning to end.

Farmageddon is a cross between a haunted house and a ghost train but with real people doing the scaring. Red-paint sloshed plastic cadavers I can calmly contemplate any day of the week. But no matter how much you groan when the pretty young woman chooses to hang out in a maze of corridors in a deserted hospital, or enter a rambling clapboard house with thousands of unlocked doors, there's something primal about claustrophobic corridors and being chased.

Halloween can't get too big as far as I'm concerned. At least we can count on it, unlike our limp lettuce summer.