THE DOMESTIC

Being sandwiched together in a marriage isn’t always fun, says Sophie White, especially if you’re trying to mingle at a fancy dress party to celebrate Halloween

Makes Mars Bar-and-Rice Krispies squares

Himself and I are like a long-married couple trapped in the relationship of newlyweds. We, of course, like each other well enough, but we are also inordinately fond of time spent apart.

When socialising, for example, we have no pressing urge to sit together or even really see each other, from one end of the evening to the other. Mostly, we go out with our friends separately. I enjoy a solo catch-up with the Bitchherd, when I can freely vent my grievances against Himself.

Then I return, refreshed, to the bosom of our relationship — until the next time he reads “doing the dishes” as an activity that solely involves the plates, and none of the pots and pans, at which stage the Bitchherd will be convening again just in time to save my marriage.

I have never really understood those couples that like to sit together at a dinner party. We have a healthy love of a bit of gossip in our house, so when Himself and I attend a gathering, our policy is to divide and conquer, the better to gather salacious tidbits about the other attendees. We then have a detailed debrief when we get home.

Last Halloween, however, we made a fatal error that most likely cost us many a juicy gossip nugget. We made the decision to wear a dual-part costume to a friend's party. The theme: your initials. As Himself and I share the same first letter in our names, it was my brainwave to coordinate and go together as a sandwich.

Some years ago, I earned a degree in fine art, specialising in sculpture. My former college tutors would be delighted to note that, 10 years hence, I am still putting the knowledge I gained there to create, annually, ever-more elaborate fancy-dress costumes — the most technically ambitious of these being the martini-glass outfit I constructed for a Bond-themed party.

Anyway, back to that sandwich. Each of us had a giant piece of white sliced pan, made of foam, attached to our backs and different sandwich fillings on our fronts. I had large slices of Swiss cheese and tomato, while Himself, quite appropriately, sported slices of cucumber and luncheon meat.

Initially, on arriving at the party, we completed the sandwich look by standing together, posing for photos and generally lapping up all the kudos for our inspired costume.

Soon, however, we grew weary of each other's company, reasoning that the sole purpose for going out is to escape one another. When we began to mingle separately, however, other revellers were not happy with the open-sandwich look and what they perceived as our compromising the integrity of the costume. We spent the remainder of the party stuck with each other, bemoaning the costume, but happy at least that we hadn't gone as a wrap.

We learned a valuable lesson that night, and have never again collaborated on a costume for fear of missing out on the gossip at a party.

This Halloween, I am going for the traditional ghost-under-a-sheet vibe and will, instead, I hope, get the kudos for my party gift — which is the classic Halloween treat of Rice Krispies squares. Line an 8-inch (20cm) square tin with baking paper.

Put the Mars Bars and the butter in a saucepan and melt over a medium heat. Stir well as they melt so that the mixture combines fully. Add the Rice Krispies and mix thoroughly, ensuring that the Rice Krispies are well coated and mixed in. Press the mixture firmly into the tin and pop it into the freezer for about 15 minutes to allow it to set.

For the topping, put the dark chocolate and the butter into a saucepan and heat them gently.

Stir occasionally until they have melted and the mixture is smooth in consistency. Pour the chocolate mix over the set Rice Krispie base, allow to cool and then put in the fridge to set fully — this usually takes about one hour.

Using a sharp knife, cut into 20 squares. Now devour.

L