Weeding and pruning the garden borders at this time of year can be a real pain in the ass. Endeavouring to navigate the plethora of spiders webs without it’s creator ending up on your head or down your collar is a an acquired skill.
Additionally, fall nuisance flies, miniscule of size but maximum of lughole itch, attempt to infiltrate the visage orifices of horticulturists, intent on countering the diminishing outside temperatures. The consequence being regardless of how often the gardener showers, the feeling of tiny insects having an all-inclusive holiday on the back, neck, ear or nose is a constant companion.
I suppose, in my case being so bodily hirsute exacerbates the itchiness, resultant from hundreds of thousands of hair follicles sensitive to intruders on my skin. In fact my back and chest are presently so badly in need of grooming, escaping from spiders web entanglement would possibly be easier.
I don’t suffer from arachnophobia, however I’m not keen on eight-legged arthropods who are too lazy to create a web, using my back hair as an alternative to snare it’s prey. I suppose the only advantage is they are diminutive spiders that hitch a ride on my torso, not a chuffing massive tarantula like the one James Bond was subjected to in the movie Dr No……. Although that may change if mice start becoming entangled in my pelt!
I can’t comment about you when reading this, but I’m even itching as I pen this narrative. I don’t feel a spider or fall nuisance fly on my body, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one residing in the far recesses of my hair, earhole or back fur.
The biggest house spider encountered at chez Strachan was a few years back; a monster arthropod who stood at 6ft 2in in his stocking feet. Despite my wife and daughter’s protests I allowed him to reside in our spare room, a decision heavily influenced by his newly acquired skill of getting me a beer from the fridge, along with the fact he was bigger than me.
So close was our relationship, I even gave him the nickname of Spider ……. Ok it’s not the most creative of pseudonyms for a spider, but he seemed to react more favourably to it than Horrible Eight Legged T**t, the confrontational name my daughter bestowed upon him.
Spider’s tenure at my humble abode was short-lived. His displeasure at his lazily thought out nickname, along with my anger at him starting to drink the beer he was retrieving from the fridge, making our relationship untenable.
My daughter was happy on the day he left chez Strachan. She declared that 16th September will now forever be known as Good Riddance Hairy Eight Legged B*****d Day….. I’m not sure why as Spider left on the 12th September!
I often ponder what my old 6ft 2in arthropod buddy is up to these days. Is he surreptitiously quaffing the beer other people have entrusted with? …… Or has someone with chuffing massive shoes stamped on him after Spider startled his wife!
Whatever his fate, I’d like him to know that he owes my four cans of Stella the thieving get!