I hate this time of year. Why? Spiders. All of them seem to decide to go inside my house. “F*ck this cold, we’re going in! Where… where… wheeeere… I know, let’s try George’s house!”
The other day I was on the couch and this HUGE (and I mean HUGE!)(It easily had an inch thick body!)(add the legs!) spider crawled up in front of my face. I nearly had a heartattack, screamed out loud, and Kenny came running downstairs to see who had died. When I said, standing on the table, “a spider, a spider, a spider!!!” and pointing at the huge beast, he laughed out loud. Until he saw It! Then he said something like, “Holy sh*t!” and joined me on the table.
We had a couple of rounds of paper, scissor, stone and I won, so Kenny had to sneak off the table and find something to knock the f*cker dead with. He found the phonebook, dropped it on the creature and waited. I contemplated getting off the safe island, until we saw the book moving. Moving! And out came the spider! It shrugged, looked up at me (I swear to God!) and ran insanely quickly towards me. Our eyes met (I said it was huge, didn’t I!) and I looked up, considering jumping up to the lamp, when Kenny came out of the kitchen, holding an empty glass, sneaking up on It. And there, finally, it was trapped.
Now the problem was, how to get rid of it. It seemed quite calm underneath the redwine glass, and we decided to keep it under there for a while, given neither of us really wanted to throw It out and risking It getting loose. So we decided to wait until a strong-willed, brave man came to the rescue. Which, let’s face it, was highly likely.
Of course, this particular week had to be a slow one, and the only bloke paying us a visit just looked at it and said, “I ain’t touchin’ that!” Four days after the original capture of It, I came downstairs in the morning (2pm) and saw – to my absolute horror – that the glass was, get this, PUSHED OVER!!! The spider had made a nice little web inside the glass, shed Its skin and moved on. I was petrified. The next three days I couldn’t sit still anywhere without breaking into a nervous sweat and insisted on sleeping in the Range Rover. As Kenny felt particularly nervous about sleeping alone in what now felt like a scene out of Arachnaphobia, so he slept in the BMW. Sadly, though “Fastlove” states differently, there’s no f*cking room in a BMW.
After doing this a few days we decided to go spider hunting. Equipped with a full raincoat, slippery pants, wellies and gloves, we searched the whole house. Eventually we found It underneath a chair in the livingroom with three others, probably having a community meeting on “how to deal with annoying Greek bloke and blonde American who keep putting us under glasses”. All of them ended up under four individual glasses and – cause of protective equipment – we could take them all out.
So to all you spiders out there: “FREEZE TO DEATH, MOTHERF*CKERS!”
George xx
