Hello everyone, I'm Cruella Despook, and this is the most terrifying day of the year.

November the 2nd, the day filled with ill portent and eerie doings.

For instance, on this day in 1920, the first commercial radio station began in America.

And that might not sound spooky, but what if I told you that the radio DJ was a Frankenstein.

Also on this day, Penguin Books was found not guilty of obscenity in the Lady Chatterasley's

lover's gaze. Maybe they would have been convicted if the author's original version had been published,

in which Lady Chatterley was a big Skellington with tits.

And finally, on this day in 1965, Norman Morrison set fire to himself in front of the Pentagon to protest the use of napalm in the Vietnam War.

But only now have modern cryptologists noticed that Norman Morrison is an anagram of, I died ten years ago, I'm a ghost, what a twist.

Well, hello, hello, Halloween. Logge here, I'm not creweller to spook at all,

although I do think I've just done a voice that sounds a bit like Trigger

out of only fools and horses, but not when he's playing Trigger,

when he's playing in Doctor Who people things.

Yeah, that.

Anyway, I'm afraid it is my sad duty to inform you

that circumstances once again have conspired like a crime gang to keep us boys from meeting face to face, mano-a-mano. Real to real, I like to move it, move it. As I'm talking these very words right now at you, I don't know where any of the regular features

gang are. Least of all myself. I'm just paddling around in this horrific alternate universe,

ankle deep in blood and jaw bones. A mist surrounds me, faces stretching into focus before retreating back into the gas.

Ooh, there's a face now. It's GAV!

Oh, he's gone again.

Maybe if I focus on him and use my terrifying brain powers, I could...

Ooh, woo, you bugger!

...