Tuesday, Aug. 30, 2005 - 12:01 p.m.

My flat is currently overrun with spiders (well, two). I got home on Sunday night, opened the door to my flat (there�s ten steps as soon as you go in) and there, just at head height was an absolute monster of an English garden spider. I had to climb over the evil beast to get inside and get the chemicals to do away with it.

Now I know English spiders are harmless, but I feel okay about my absolute girlishness (read: squealing) in the face of the eight-legged because I grew up in a country where spiders are out to kill you, so it�s not like I can turn the reaction off just because I�ve moved to the less dangerous northern hemisphere.

On Monday evening I spot the same spider, still fecking alive despite having a drowning dose of insecticide, still wandering, albeit somewhat drunkenly, around the stairs. Cue finding another use for flip-flops.

Then as I was getting ready for bed late last night, I spotted another one, too high up to flip-flop and, as I had already ascertained, unlikely to be quelled by the spray. I had to wait an hour for it to move into a position where I could thwack it. Or face sleeping on the sofa (yes, I am that girly about it). Hopefully I didn�t wake all the neighbours or flatmates in the repeated bludgeoning blows of flip-flop against wall that it took to do the deed.

Other than that, I had a pretty nice long weekend, with lots of food and coffee and knitting (two finished projects and lots of work on the baby blanky) and long chats with The Sherpa. Onward ho working week. Poop.

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