Tis the season of….house-spiders. At least in the UK. In Australia I’m led to believe that their house-spiders are essentially bears with eight legs and fangs. Which is why all Australians carry flamethrowers to bed with them. (Disclaimer: may not be entirely accurate.)

They move so fast. That’s the unnerving bloody thing. That thing in ‘Alien’? (Er…the alien?) Yes, that. Basically a spider. A very large spider with extra scary bits attempting to kiss your face at speed. A mutant Ozzy spider.

How much do I dislike them? It is a challenge to swat them given the aforementioned legs lending to the aforementioned speed, not to mention ziggery-zaggery vector changes. However, this challenge was accepted when one fell on my face in the middle of the night in the dark leading to a frenetic chase involving the closest thing to hand. The odds were generally in the house-spider’s favour anyway but add myopic and the fact that the nearest the closest thing to hand had been a junior level pool cue the likelihood of making contact was severely lessened. The outcome (squished spider) was the result of incandescent and misplaced rage.

But in this house…all spiders are welcome. We are friends of Nature. Spiders are (apparently) some kind of affiliate member of Nature and therefore in our pro-Nature campaign Mummy has to be A Brave Parent without actually letting on it’s an act.

For Rowdy, spider-hunting has developed into some kind of passion (yay). They are a thing of wonder and have been since she first saw one. Live encounters (ironically) usually do not have a pro-pydah conclusion.