FUCKING HELL!

Not one, not two, but THREE spider sightings tonight!

I may have to move.

Fair enough, the first one was on my balcony, which I’m not pleased about but at least he’s outside. The other two?

IN THE SHOWER!

Let me just say that if I am naked and wet, I feel NO guilt about killing rather than escorting. The first one was small and I managed to smash him with the shampoo bottle. The second, though, made his appearance as I was drying off.

I don’t actually remember getting out of the shower, but somehow it happened. I got the trusty spider-killing shoe and laid in wait for him, but he was damned fast. DAMNED fast. I’ve had to leave him, which (and Phill agrees with me) means that I can never use that room again. For now, I will leave the mashed corpse up on the wall in an attempt to give the other spider the opportunity to exit through whichever means he entered.

I will leave you with Phill Jupitus’ very accurate description of arachnophobia, although, I have to say that, before the movement in the peripheral vision, I get a feeling that I’m being watched (and, of course, I kill rather than escort – I tried it once but the spider managed to get a web started while he was being transported, so when I flung him away, he just sort of swung out in a gentle arc over the edge of the balcony and then back towards me – much screeching ensued).