I’VE decided to go into business making Halloween costumes for grown-ups.

It’s a bit late to launch the company this time around, as October 31 is almost upon us, but that just gives me more time to get stuff right for next year’s celebration of all things fearsome and ghastly.

I had the idea when I realised that children often dress up as things which tend to loom large in the collective subconscious of the young - vampires, werewolves and so on.

That’s why grown-ups sometimes feel or even look a bit self-conscious and out of place when we wear similar costumes.

What we need is a choice of outfits reflecting the things we personally find horrifying, revolting, annoying or some combination of the three, and that’s the itch I intend to scratch.

My list of outfits is a bit limited at the moment, but I think I’m on to something.

There’s the Actor From a PPI Advert, for example. This will consist of a cheap suit to reflect the budget of such commercials and a rubber mask skilfully moulded and coloured to resemble the end of a plank of wood, so as to commemorate the acting skills of the thespians involved.

For an extra fee, customers will be given a Teach Yourself Speaking in a Soul-Sapping Monotone leaflet and schooled in conveying utter despair with their eyes.

A cheap suit, albeit one which is also two or three sizes too small for the customer, will also be a major feature of my Those Shifty Blokes in the Town Centre Who Want To Sign You Up For a Ruinous Credit Card outfit.

Customers choosing this option will be encouraged to hide around corners at parties to which they’re invited, then spring out on the unsuspecting, wave a leaflet offering a massive line of credit and cover up the small print that says they agree to surrender their kidneys and pancreas if they miss a payment.

My Ropey Charity Collector outfit will be even more disquieting.

It will consists of an adult-sized comedy animal-themed onesie, a daft hat and any other accoutrements popular among certain people who want to project a ‘wacky’ image but come across as being about as trustworthy as a peckish puff adder.

They’ll be encouraged to accost fellow revellers, show them a picture of some kittens, puppies, ducklings and baby hedgehogs about to fall into the volcano and say: “Just fifty quid a month will buy a big gate across the pathway up the volcano, otherwise all the kittens, puppies, ducklings and baby hedgehogs will die hideous deaths and it’ll all be your fault.”

In case these outfits are not quite frightening enough, I plan to get hold of some surplus judges’ robes and wigs.

That might not seem so frightening in itself, but wearers will be reminded to go on at anybody who’ll listen about vampires, werewolves, evil witches and the entire dreadful hierarchy of Hades having promised to change their ways and therefore deserving a community service order.

On a related note, my Senior Public Official costume will consist of expensive-looking business attire befitting somebody pulling down a hundred grand or more from the public purse.

Aside from that, there will be subtle clues that my customers are meant to resemble one of the folk who run so many of our public services, utilities and such.

One of those clues will be a great big false forked tongue made out of rubber. The other will be a large tube of a certain ointment used to treat an embarrassing and very itchy medical condition.

Wearers will be encouraged to apply it to their elbows.