Thursday, 18 October 2012

I’m not usually afraid of spiders.

Alright I will admit that is a lie. I am pushed out of my ‘comfort zone’ when in the presence of a spider.

[this is the only image I could cope with]
I hate the damned things.

With their cocksure arrogant lackadaisical attitude. They scamper all over the place as if they are fricken god’s gift. Spittin’ all that stuff out of themselves, setting up camp where ever they please.

Then they look like they are all settled, and they aren’t gonna move. But then the little buggers are gone, they could be anywhere. 

ANYWHERE!

And there are some giant buggers out there, as big as a hand! How did they get that size? Where were they? How long were they there for?

But they aren’t the worst, they aren’t the worst by far, the worst ones are the little ones that seem all calm and sensible and then jump at your face, or run across your back or climb in your ears or live in your nose.

There is one on the stairs. The little git is looking at me with the eyes of hatred. He’s sitting on the handrail as if this is his gaff and he ain’t moving. This is, of course, a difficult situation, because, if he were prepared to wait on a flat surface, like a sensible spider, then we could come to some sort of mutual arrangement involving a small glass, a piece of paper and a window.

As it is, we are at stalemate.

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