The sort of Halloween that 'really' scares me!

There are certain people in this world it is a pleasure to converse with, whether it be friendly banter, witty repertoire or just a good ol' fashioned natter. I was hoping for something along these lines this Halloween.
You see an old friend had invited me to a party. She, being a rather rotund welsh Goth, (an unusual combination in these parts I admit) and living in a house full of like-minded individuals, I expected a decent Halloween party, with inspiring fancy dress and loads of Gothic charm. Or at least copious amounts of booze and loud music, but hopefully not too loud that I couldn't spend some time catching up with the gossip and having a good old chat. Well, there was indeed a raucous soiree to celebrate All Hallows Eve, unfortunately it took place on the Saturday and I had been invited on the Sunday.
I knew something was amiss when I turned up and no one (not even my friend) seemed to be expecting me. I don't think anyone was even in fancy dress, although it was hard to tell as there was a wide array of outrageous outfits, but I suspect this was just their normal apparel. Luckily I had gone quite minimal on my costume (for minimal read "half-arsed") so I didn't feel like too much of a tit. I asked if I had got the right day, pointing out that I had been asked to come today. Yes, they were having a party today as well, but as most people in the house were partied out, so tonight was to be a quiet affair. I was shown to a cushion on the floor, in a living room the size of a matchbox, filled with a good half-dozen or more morose Goths watching tacky Japanese game shows. What conversation there was, was less than inspiring. A young girl next to me with masses of teenage attitude (although she was in her early twenties) told me how she was manhandled by a lesbian the night before,

"...and she head 'er 'ead right by my arse. Almost between my legs!"

"Mmm, er, nice." I rep'lied'.

I managed to grab a few words with my friend, but the atmosphere wasn't really conducive to a good gossip (i.e. I was too sober. Luckily I bought my own booze as no one offered me any!)

You can imagine my relief when some one put on a film, especially as it was 'Shaun of the Dead' which I had yet to see. It proved to be a very funny film, which I greatly enjoyed and nicely took the edge off of what had so far been a dismal evening.
When it came to an end I decided enough was enough and made my excuses and left, promising to meet my friend again but in a pub so we can chat a bit more.

I was glad to be out of there, but it proved to be a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire...

I don't know what it is about me, I'd like to think I have an approachable manner or a friendly looking face, but I suspect I am just a magnet for crazy people (and children and old people and disabled people, which I don't mind so much).
So when, on strolling through town to the bus stop I heard behind me the ramblings of someone blatantly not in their right mind, I knew it was only a matter of time before I would be cornered.

It was a man, in his late forties, grey hair, one tooth half-missing. He was babbling away incomprehensibly, only the occasional word was clear enough to be understood. This manic verbal diarrhoea was punctuated by loud bursts of hysterical laughter. By the time I reached the bus shelter I was his new best friend.
I tried in vain to decipher what he was saying. I managed to discern that he was local which came as somewhat of a surprise considering how completely unintelligible he was. He seemed quite friendly and he didn't smell or anything so I decided that his company was tolerable while I waited for the bus and it was quite amusing listening to him:

"Pshefuckin ex wife slchepadedso I go (punching action) an' they get me frehgtiy an WHACK... HAHAHAHAHA!"
"Hrafeneffeckininkretishalaf police shityahplapple and then they let me out... HAHAHAHAHA!"
"Frafrefshesh on a shoebox crofopledretnelerfh so they tried to shoot me... HAHAHAHAHA!"

From this I gathered his wife left him, went bonkers (or even more bonkers than he already was), got arrested, probably done for drunk and disorderly and then was released. Whether this happened years, months, days or hours ago was impossible to tell. At last a bus came along, not the one I would've liked, but it would do, and at least I would lose the nutter. Well bugger me, if he didn't get on the bus and sit down right next to me. In the confines of a bus the volume of his ranting seemed amplified. He informed me he was going to partake of an illegal substance,

"Fresganarolinnup a spliff... HAHAHAHAHA!"

Whereupon he proceeded to deftly transfer the contents and a Lambert & Butler into a king-sized Rizla and roll it up, without, unless he was a master of slight of hand, adding any intoxicating ingredients!

Eventually the bus got to my stop and I got off, followed, unsurprisingly by my new pal. For a moment I had visions of him following me home, so I took advantage of my clear head and sober state and dashed across the road leaving him to continue his ramblings in the direction of a young woman who was also making a hasty departure. By different routes my self and the girl's path converged a few hundred yards on and I figured here was a perfectly good time to make conversation with someone (hopefully) sane and also a bit pretty. I was pondering on what to say (usually I spend to long thinking about it and never getting round to saying anything), when, unusually in this day and age, the girl spoke first, commenting on my shiny PVC trousers (it was Halloween remember!) She had a delightful Irish accent, but wasn't quite as pretty as I had first thought. We both agreed that the crazy guy was more 'funny' than he was 'scary'. We parted to go our separate ways a little sooner than I would've liked, as, looking back on that evening, she was by far the best conversationalist I had met that night.

Best of all though was getting back home to the sanity of my wife and the comforts of my own home. Although I was a bit peeved to find that while I had been out experiencing the varygies of conversations she and our daughter had been at a neighbour's house who have a child the same age as ours, drinking wine and discussing pumpkin seed recipes. With the benefit of hindsight (Oh hindsight! Why do you always come to me when it is too late?) I know where I would rather have been.

Suddenly I feel kinda old...