There was an amusing scene in an episode of Coronation Street recently when Ken Barlow, roped in to help out at his daughter Tracy's flower shop, talked a potential customer out of ordering a load of corsages for a school prom.

Ridiculous American import, he harumphed about the latterly adopted penchant for school proms, before segueing into a rant about the growing popularity in Britain of that other American tradition, Thanksgiving.

Ken, I could kiss you (if you weren't currently in Weatherfield General after suffering a stroke - I wouldn't want to be responsible for hastening the demise of such a soapland stalwart). I'm with him all the way on the increasing British habit of hijacking some of the worst traditions of the USA.

Take Halloween. When I were a lass, Halloween was a mere apple-bobbing precursor to the big occasion a few days hence: Bommie Night. As a child, I never went trick-or-treating, simply because no-one else did. A hollowed-out swede with a candle inside was as adventurous as it got. Pumpkins in the late 1960s and early 70s? You must be joking.

These days, Halloween is, for many children, a much bigger (and far more lucrative) deal than Easter. Which surely suggests something has gone sadly wrong. For those of us on the Halloween route, October 31 is an increasingly costly exercise. Last year we had hordes of children ringing the doorbell, hands outstretched in anticipation of treats. It cost us an absolute fortune in Haribos. Because, these days, they don't just politely take one sweet: it's in with both hands for fistfuls of the stuff, the greedy little blighters.

This year, in no small part down to that ridiculous "killer clown" craze which has also come across the Pond, I'm expecting Halloween to take on an even more sinister tone. But any "killer clowns" knocking on my door will get short shrift - and no Haribos. And, frankly, when it comes to scary faces, even the killer clowns have nothing on me. This year, I shall be answering the door wearing absolutely no makeup. We'll soon see who's more scared then.

Proms, Halloween (in its present form) and now Thanksgiving are American traditions we Brits should surely be shunning. The prom thing is ridiculous - and I feel heartily sorry for today's parents having to fork out for expensive gowns, dinner jackets (not "tuxes", thank you very much) and stretch limos - not to mention the cost of dinner at a local hotel. We had a leaving disco at the Coot in Urswick after our A-Levels, to and from which I was ferried in my dad's W-reg brown Datsun Sunny, with cream vinyl roof. I can just imagine what Dad's response would have been should I have donned a ball gown and demanded to be transported via helicopter or shocking pink Humvee.

Now the more gullible among us have even taken Thanksgiving on. Utter madness. It's bad enough having to wrestle with the Christmas turkey, let alone putting oneself through the giblet trauma a month earlier as well. Bonfire night I like: as long as it's nothing too formal. The best Bommie involves a damp bonfire, a rubbish Guy Fawkes, rock-hard baked potatoes in foil, and some inferior sparklers with which to write one's name in the dark. We need to re-embrace our bumbling Britishness and leave the over-the-top stuff to our American friends. Thanksgiving? No thanks.