At the weekend I encountered a spider of hideous size on the landing. This is real world by the way, not World of Warcraft.
It’s not that I’m phobic about spiders or anything, indeed up to a certain size they don’t really both me at all. However as they get bigger I get more and more apprehensive around them.
It could and probably would be argued that fearing spiders in Britain makes no sense, seeing as there are no dangerous one’s around. Even the biggest (that haven’t been imported) are pretty small in the global spider scheme of things. I don’t even have a good fearful childhood memory to justify my fear. Unlike with dogs; my dad got bitten by a dog when I was very small (roughly five if I had to guess).
Anyway, this spider. Huge. I’m talking the size of a grape. With legs that could possibly feel slightly cramped if it were at the bottom of a pint glass. (Well you think of a better way of describing it!)
I took the normal course of action, tried to sweep it up into a dustpan and throw it out the window (if you want to live and thrive and all that). Unfortunately it jumped out of the pan before I got near the window and scuttled behind a chest of draws in Mikes room (who is yet to move in).
I decided that discretion was the better part of valour and left it there, carefully closing the door behind me. It may die of starvation there. Or it may catch some moths.
I hope it catches some moths because they are really annoying. In fact I’m becoming convinced that it’s because of moths that I’ve got a large hold in the elbow of one of my favourite jumpers.
And before you leap to the defence of moths, I know that it’s not the actual moths, but the larvae they lay that eats cloths.