Thursday, 23 August 2012


Because pictures of large spiders hurts me, lots
This is written in light of the non-pregnant Ray's blog post over at Daydreamer.

It is indeed the time of year when Harry K'Nydd roves across the shag, ambles across the textured vinyl or worse still, creeps menacingly across the porcelain cleansing stations. 

The simple fact is, and to echo my mate Ray, I can't bear the things. Not only can I not bear the things, but I can't bear them alive, dead or a century after desiccation. I can't bear pictures of them, and the word itself makes me shudder. 

Why is it that arachnids make late summer the moment? I know that in the next few days, I am going to know before I see and see before I comprehend the presence of a house-spider who is shuffling behind a piece of furniture. Those house spiders, you know, the ones with the knobbly knees and reticulations on their thoraxes, not to mention the tattoos and tastes in hard-rock - they are the worst. They know the places to hide and lay in wait too - at the foot of stair-risers furthest from the step-edge so that you know you have walked past them a dozen times before noticing them. Or just under the settee, less than an inch from your corn-plasters. Or worse still, in the bath after you have locked yourself in and cannot escape without becoming guilty of exposing yourself in front of your mum. 

When I say frightened - I mean it. I see a spider of any dimension larger than sub-atomic and my sight momentarily blurs, I sense myself recoil and step backwards, I know I hear a booming sound in my ears in the same split-second and I am left in a state of turmoil for hours. I will feel nauseous, agitated, and frankly pitiful. I hate bloody spiders.

Which is a problem for a man who frequents churches. Big problem.  In my last ecclesiastical gaff one morning afore a moment of prayerfulness, there was a carcass of  a spider that was both huge and so old that it was pure white. It had fallen from the ancient roof to the floor below and lay their like Caspar the Unfriendly Spider Ghoul. I didn't know what it was to begin with and I was less than delighted when I only realised after I got close. I nearly barfed. I do not like spiders. I am scared of spiders. 

There is hope though. I retain a daddy-long-legs in each room when they appear not because I like them because I certainly do not - but because in a death-match spider-a-spider, the Spindly Spice of the Arachnid world will out gun and kill the hairy freaks that serve only to torment me in September. 


However, as a generous man, I will still show the vile creations in their best light. Enjoy.

Spider mom from Amprods on Vimeo.


  1. Horrid horrid man. You always have to go one better don't you?
    As though one leggy manifestation in a day were not enough.
    My visitor/tenant whatever, is still in residence. The good Lord only knows where, though I fear I shall find out all too soon.
    Shared matey shivers!

  2. I can volunteer to save you from spiders - don't mind them at all.

  3. I thought Pete was one of a kind but it seems both you & the lovely Ray suffer too. I did not know, you both hide it well.
    Like all things we fear I feel it heightens your awareness & senses. Young Pete has always claimed he can hear them walking in their 'hobnailed boots' We used to live in a 170 yr old house so they were common & every time he said he could hear one sure enough they popped out from under the sofa exactly where he was pointing. I am at the stage where believe her truly can hear them.
    How he is going to survive in this house with it's air ducted heating I am not sure as it seems to be a spidey super highway.....I'll let you know.

    p.s. for anyone who is now worried about visiting us
    1) I can removed all of them as I do not share the fear &
    2) the vents can be closed.

  4. You'd never survive Arizona with their abundance of prehistoric, creepy crawlers known as scorpions. They make spiders look rather cuddly.



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