18th November - Routine and risk

One of the routines that has to be performed when returning to this house after being away for a while is clearing the spiders' webs. My sister has done this for the last 3 years and I only witnessed the circus act when coming back after a short break in October. When the front door was opened it was clear that the little critters had had a field day. And, these aren't your usual tiny little inconspicuous variety, that you might actually think 'ahh, how cute'. Oh no, these buggers have fangs and legs that look like they body build four hours a day, every day. Out comes the hoover, and each beam has to be meticulously cleaned, as that unspoken fear of one crawling over you at night was too much to bear.

For the 3 years that Kate (my sister) has stayed here, she has braved this risk and has not befallen to any encounters. She wasn't too pleased about the mice running around and munching on fallen crumbs, and didn't complain much about the Barn Owl in the chimney. But the spiders, no, as much had to be done to avoid the danger.

Now, I am OK with most things. I don't freak at mice, rats, snakes, even boring conversations but in the case of spiders I really can't control myself. The thought of one crawling on me especially of this size just makes me want to pee my pants. It's the reason I can't sleep in the house until the renovation is done, I can't sleep knowing they could be eyeing me up planning their attack. And the way they move? Oh god it's repulsive.

The nights have drawn in now, it's damp and it's not conducive to high output in the form of work. So to console myself, last night I partook in a few glasses of wine and a DVD, the wood burner was finally kicking out some heat and the boys weren't shaking with the cold, which made me feel good. Then I spotted my trouser leg moving. I knew that the wine wasn't that strong and I wasn't moving my leg myself, it must be a foreigner. Wondering became reality and I was up and out of the chair like someone had stamped my arse with a red hot poker. My new Spiderfriend launched into the air and landed in a dark spot. It wasn't possible to leave it, the thought was unconscionable, what if he followed me to the supermarket? This is the thing with paranoia and phobia, there are rules and they must be adhered to. It had to go.

But then remorse set in. He didn't move like the others, he was covered in dust and fluff and didn't seem to tear across the floor braking land speed records as they do. Maybe he was dying? Grabbing the torch and shoving furniture all about I found him and gathered him up carefully in a jar big enough to get all of his muscle bound legs in, and observed him. I never would have done this before, and would have normally jumped up and down like a banshee hoping that someone would come to my aid. But this time, because there was no one to help, no one who would hear me scream I behaved actually quite dolefully.

He was placed outside in the grass, and I talked him through the whole process. Of course, at arms length.

It didn't stop me from taking off all my clothes turning them inside out, shaking and checking them, before putting them back on. Checking the chair, removing the cushions, and looking all around in case he was the first of the whole army.

I settled back down to my film, wondering if maybe, just maybe that myself and these French creepies could co-exist. Just don't ask me to sleep with one in my caravan though. That's just too much!