Spider, man.

I have a fear of spiders.

I don’t care that everyone knows.  I’m a 6ft tall, heavily tattooed man and I’m scared of teeny tiny eight legged beasties.

I can’t bring myself to pick one up if my life depended on it, instead resorting to the old ‘pint glass and envelope’ technique; followed up with moving through the house at great speed screaming “open the door/window quick quick quick QUICK QUICK!!”.

As you can see, I’m very butch and manly about it.

Mind you, in my defence, house spiders are big fuckers.

Anyway, yesterday I decided to attack my front garden which had grown to Jumanji proportions; towering above my kitchen window and plunging it in darkness.  I knew something had to be done when I realised that recently I always seemed to be cooking at night, no matter what time of day it was.

So I donned some heavy duty gardening gloves, hired a local jungle guide called UmBongo*, messaged my family to tell them I love them and ventured out into the leafy unknown.

It’s obvious that as soon as you start to uproot all sorts of flora and fauna the local wildlife will scarper like chavs in Poundland, but never before have I seen so many different sizes and shapes of spiders in such a small area in such a short space of time.

Did I squeal like a girl and cry for my mum?

Nope.

For some reason, because I had heavy duty gloves on, I somehow felt a bit invincible. I even had the little shits crawling over my flip flopped feet and I simply brushed them away like I was channelling Chuck Norris.

This reminded me of those times when I was a kid trying to get to sleep and hearing a noise or creak in the darkness of my bedroom.  I was shit scared and hid under the covers (with a little gap for oxygen of course) because that was somehow enough to protect me from a burglar, a monster or a fuck off massive chainsaw.

As I think back I realise how daft it was to think a duvet would protect me.  How could a little bit of material make an appropriate barrier to the nastiness outside?

And yet here I was, a full grown man, with ‘magic gloves’, providing a lack of fear of anything with more limbs than me.

Except Tarantulas.

Definitely not Tarantulas.

Tarantulas can fuck off.

Seriously.

 Arachnophobia

 * Not true.  As if I’d have a guide named after a popular children’s beverage that’s too orangey for crows….his name was actually Neville**

** Also not true

Caught in a trap…

Ever walked under a tree, or between a couple of houses, and had a spider’s web draped across your face or hair? To me it’s a similar feeling to finding a hair in your food, but only once it’s in your mouth. My ‘go to’ reaction in either circumstance is “Aargh! Bleurgh! Get it away from me! Yuck yuck yuck!”

So as you can see, I handle it like a man.

But it got me thinking about these invisible tickling threads of stress and anguish. Well, actually it got me thinking about a couple of things.

1. What were they trying to achieve?
2. How did they get it across such an expanse?

So lets look at number 1.

I know the purpose of a spider’s web (or cobweb…although I’ve no idea what a cob is) is to catch unwitting flies and bugs for dinner. This in itself must be difficult as a fly’s eyes are huge and therefore they must see the webs…or they’re incredibly dumb in which case they had it coming. A web is usually quite intricately designed with dense patterns and very little room for their bug-eyed prey to fly through them or wriggle free. So why have all these random long strings spanning alleyways and our garden gate?

Then it struck me. They’re trying to catch ME! But why? Am I the arachnid equivalent of matching 6 numbers on a Saturday night? Will there be little spider news reporters talking to my captor asking “so now that you’ll never have to worry about feeding your family again, what will you do?”, to which he’ll reply “it won’t change me”. Is it a revenge thing for evicting his uncle last week or sucking his mate up the Dyson?

Whatever the motive, trying to garrotte me with a thin strand of something as strong as candy floss isn’t the way forward. Whenever I’ve walked through his trap and walk away doing my “Aargh, Bleurgh! etc…” He’s sat there, stroking the spider equivalent of a white cat and saying “next time…next time”. Or maybe he walks away deflated like Wile.E.Coyote after another thwarted plan to catch the road runner, complete with the ‘wah wah waaaaah’ played on a horn.

And what about number 2? (snigger).

The average house spider is about the size of a 50p coin (although they do get bigger…which is just plain wrong), so how the hell do they shoot their web at such a distance? When I was at school many MANY years ago I remember having pissing contests with my friends to see who could get it the furthest. In order to equal what the spiders are doing I would’ve had to produce a stream that would clear the school…and the teacher’s car park (cos I wouldn’t want to get in trouble now would I??). That’s some serious pissing power and no-one could do that, except maybe one of my friends who freakishly was able to get it over the toilet door and into the toilet. Legendary.

But this would be some serious distance! How the hell do they get those arcing white ropes of bum jizz so far? Not even Peter North could do that! (Don’t know who he is? Porn star. Look him up). Are they doing it as a team? Are there arachnid builders complete with scaffolding and blueprints? Did I destroy it before its finished?

I feel a bit guilty now.

I think tomorrow I’ll thrash around a bit and make them feel better. It’s the least I can do for ridding my house of those dumbass flies.

A-vac-naphobia (geddit?)

Massive spider on the landing ceiling. The type that actually has biceps, gold teeth and tattoos. I think it just winked at me with 4 of its eyes It’s so big that I can’t get a pint glass over it to throw it out, so I’m not gonna.

Jus gave me that “you’re not going to throw it out? If you loved me you’d get rid of it for me, but clearly you don’t value our relationship!” look.

Nope. Still not touching it.

She’s just headed upstairs with the Dyson whilst telling her friend on the phone what a useless man I am….

I’m not emptying the Dyson.