We had a late night on Saturday, after a long day in the garden, and what seemed like an even longer evening in front of the Eurovision Song Contest. I picked up a sweatshirt carelessly thrown onto the bed earlier, and was startled when I was confronted by a large spider attempting to leap off of my sweatshirt, presumably going for my throat. I naturally flicked the beastie onto the floor with a enthusiastic shake of the garment, which elicited a query from my wife as to what on earth I was playing about at. I explained that I had survived an arachnophobic attack, but reassured her that the perpetrator was safely under the bed. Chantal expressed a full and frank opinion that an eviction via the open window would have been more appropriate.
All was peaceful for a few seconds, but the then there was a loud shriek and Chantal seemed to be beating herself up. The unfortunate flying spider had apparently flown up, not down, from my sweatshirt, and was residing comfortably on Chantal’s bosom, although not for long, since Chantal’s violent semaphore actions sent it heading back towards its starting point. Gingerly we examined the duvet. No spider. Chantal picked up her Kindle and promptly dropped it when she saw the spider crouching on the screen, ready to pounce. Efforts to encourage it onto a piece of paper were unsuccessful – the spider was enjoying the medieval drama that Chantal is currently reading. However even a spider cannot hang on to a Kindle screen that is being dangled vertically out of a window.
I’m glad Chantal didn’t drop the Kindle. It would have been my fault. And the size of the Beastie? A couple of cm, but it did have fearsome spindly legs.
Technically we live in Oaktree House, but sadly the tree had to go.
We now have a thriving Oakstump at the front of the house.
