… now meet Blognasties!
To view the horrific image, click on the “friendly” spider cartoon…
If the image caused you to spoil yourself, you were warned!
If you wish to blame someone for your dirty undies, my mum will take responsibility – she was the one who originally sent me this awful photo – without warning!
“Rain”, they said. “Thunderstorms”, they promised. What weather did we get today? Sun. Not just any old sun, but fecking hot sun.
This sun that would gorgeous, should you be on holiday, with an ice cold drink in your hand. I am not on holiday. I am at work all week. My office has no air conditioning, neither does my house.
Instead of a frozen exotic fruity drink, I’ve been making do with a mug of coffee. Normally I enjoy coffee, but in this heat? Naah, you’re alright. No wonder Italians drink espresso. You get the caffeine hit, but in a far smaller dose (or should that be ‘serving’?). Plus espresso normally tastes bloody brilliant.
I am now in bed. I am as good as naked, apart from a pair of underpants and some socks. This is the price that I am paying, in order to prevent my internal organs from cooking from within me, while I sleep.
I generally like to wrap up in lots of clothes and a duvet when going to bed. All this dressing up is partly down to my fear of spiders. If one was to crawl on me at 3am, while I am wearing jammies, chances are I won’t feel it – unless it is some mutant spider, in which case I am as good as dead anyway. By going to sleep practically nude, I am literally exposing myself to all manner of scary creatures, while at my most vulnerable.
As well as spiders, I am also at the mercy of woodlice, earwigs, moths, slugs, snails and puppy dog tails. Actually, can I change that last one to “bunny rabbit tails”?
Even writing those last few paragraphs, I feel like there are spiders on my skin! In that case, I think it’s best that I face my demons and try to get some sleep. Wish me luck, or better still, pray for me!
A few days ago, not long after returning home following the pug incident, I noticed a small woodlouse, crawling along our hallway floor. We often get woodlice in our new house – and no, we don’t live in a garden shed or under a stone.
The woodlouse popped straight into a small gap, under the skirting board. It was at that point, I started to worry about its well-being. I can honestly say, that this was the first time I have ever bothered with the health and safety of a woodlouse, but in this instance, I had good reason to be concerned, for the hideaway in which the creepy crawly had disappeared had previously been occupied by a huge spider.
Now if Sir David Attenborough has taught me anything, it’s that spiders are born small, they grow large, from eating bugs. Apart from the Latvian Leaf Spider, which lives off lettuce.
This woodlouse was not only committing suicide – disproving the theory that humans are the only living creature to purposely take their own life – but it was feeding my most feared of God’s creations… the arachnid.
Miraculously, the woodlouse appeared from under the skirting board. All of its legs appeared to be present and correct, there was no gaping fang wound in its back and it didn’t look at all scared. I am yet to see a woodlouse express any emotion, including fear, but if I was able to see how the woodlouse felt, I am sure he would be grinning from antennae to antennae, while singing “Zippity doo dah”.
Right… if Woody was so happy to go into the wall cavity of MY house, he can do me a favour. Woody can let me know if there really is a spider in there.
By capturing my trusty spy, I was able to attach a micro camera to his head. The camera was secured using super glue from Pound Land. This is totally humane, so you do not need to tweet Ricky Gervais, asking that he call me a c*** on social media. The glue is of such poor quality, that the camera will just fall off Woody’s noggin, painlessly, within 24 hours of it being attached.
Somebody get this brave woodlouse a George Cross
Camera on head, I sent Woody back into the depths of the wall, to see what MI5’s latest recruit and the camera could find.
Woody returned with this photo…
We’ve just got into bed. A little later than planned. About an hour ago and prepared to carry out the final duty of the day, we put Roman back into his cage. Claire was studying a mark on our ceiling. It was then I noticed it. A huge spider on the wall…
What the hell was it doing? I’ve been through this before – spiders of that enormity are only allowed to make themselves known in September and failing that, JRR Tolkien novels.
The spider was so high up the wall, that Claire was unable to remove it using her usual humane technique, involving a coffee jar and small book.
I am an arachnophobic, so was hardly going to act like the brave husband and catch the creature with my bare hands. That’s if I could have even reached above the light switch, let alone to the spider’s high-rise lair.
Our neighbour must have been concerned about the noise, as there was a lot of girly shrieks – mostly from me. These caused our pet rabbit, Roman – helpful as ever – to stop eating his favourite treat of dried mango, to stare at Claire and me, with a look as if to say “Oh my God! You are so embarassing! You are not my bunny parents”. Well, he is a teenager in rabbit years, so that kind of behaviour and disdain towards the hands which feed him, is to be expected.
I told Claire in no uncertain terms, that we had three choices, as to how to deal with the spider – attack it with bug spray – suck it up with the vacuum cleaner – ignore it and go to bed. Granted, the latter wasn’t my preferred option, but I didn’t want force my wife into battle, while shirking my own duties.
Additionally, if we were to take the bug spray or vacuum cleaner option, it would almost certainly result in the demise of the spider, and I didn’t want to solely take responsibility for the death of a living creature.
We decided to use our weapon of choice. Everyone has their favourite – James Bond the Walther PPK, Indiana Jones the lasso, while Donald Trump goes for the big red button. We have a Dyson vacuum cleaner. We have used it in many a battle against spiders, with a 25% success rate. So reliable. Plus, I think its creator, James Dyson, lives in Bath, so if it ever fails, we can send the boys round… and ask him very politely if he would kindly repair the vacuum cleaner for us, as the warranty has expired. If he declines, we will apologise for wasting his valuble time, before promptly vacating his property.
The vacuum cleaner approach failed. Again. Upon spotting the Dyson, the spider made a run for it, back into a hole in the wall. Honestly, it’s pathetic – Henry Hoover eats spiders for breakfast! It was time to go for Plan B – chemical warfare…
Claire sprayed Raid insect killer into the spider’s den. Long-term readers of my blog will know that I swear by the stuff. Mainly something along the lines of, “You f**king spray! You had better kill that spider c**t!”
It was only when Claire started to look for the creature, post-spray, that she saw it on the wall! I’ve seen enough Freddy Kruger movies to know that you NEVER return to the home of the killer, once they’ve apparently been destroyed. I don’t think Claire has seen any of Wes Craven’s work, which would explain her error of judgement.
After some more screaming and shouting, Claire reached for the previously failed Dyson and attacked with all its suction. The spider flew up the tube.
Despite leaving the vacuum cleaner running for a minute, we wanted to satisfy ourselves that the spider had been captured – dead or alive, we weren’t fussy. Once the suction had been turned off, we inspected the Dyson. There was no sign of the spider!
Without wanting to sound gruesome, it was probably smashed into dust, by the force of the vacuum. But just imagine if it hadn’t? Imagine if it was a superhero spider, who hung onto the tube, withstanding the great force of the suction. Tonight, it’ll crawl out and kill the two of us, in our sleep.
If this is my last blog post, it’s been a pleasure, but all good things must come to an end.
It’s November. I don’t expect to see them this close to winter…
Remember the little girl in the film Aliens? She warns Sigourney Weaver that “they mostly come out at night… mostly.”.
Well, in my case, I would advise “they mostly come out between August and October, which is widely considered to be their mating season… mostly.”
If you haven’t realised by now, I am, of course, referring to spiders.
While waiting patiently for my wife to finish in the bathroom, I saw it. A big, black, hairy spider crawl out from under the toilet rolls. I shouted. Claire screamed. I cowered. Claire heroically caught the creature in a plastic cup and threw it out of the window.
Don’t worry – only the spider was chucked out. The plastic cup was not. I’ve seen Blue Planet 2 and don’t want to get into trouble with David Attenborough, for killing a dolphin.
That spider had no business terrorising us. While I hate the things, I have reluctantly learnt to accept that they probably serve a purpose in the eco-system, besides scaring wimps like me.
If nursery rhymes about carnivorous old women have taught us nothing, it’s that spiders catch flies. So without them, we would be overrun with blue bottles and worse still, Jeff Goldblum (kids – this is a 1980s movie reference).
To continue doing their job, they need to breed. I know all about the bird and the bees. Pretty ironic, considering the old woman in the rhyme, swallowed a bird to catch a spider.
While I therefore allow spiders to exist during their mating season, I find it totally unacceptable that they should live, and especially fornicate, outside of their allotted time.
Where the hell am I going with this blog? What the fudge am I even writing about?
This spider may well have been hibernating before today. It certainly looked colder and slower, as it ran towards my wife on the toilet.
We have an excellent cleaner, who visits our house every Tuesday for a couple of hours, to make our home look nice.
Today, it looks like she must have moved my bedside cabinet, to clean behind it. This has left me with a horrific thought…
What if the spider had been hibernating behind my bedside cabinet? My BEDSIDE cabinet? This means that I could have been sleeping next to the beast for ages!
To think, my Mum, Dad, and in recent years, Claire, told me that there are no monsters living under my bed. This was pretty damn close!
About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
