Suzanne Harrington: It's spider romance season — bad news for arachnophobes like me
Suzanne Harrington lives in fear of spiders - even this cutie.
September is Sustainability Month (obviously every month needs to be, but good to sharpen our focus).
September is also Spider Month. Could the two be linked? Short answer is yes, in our house at least.
We are on level-4 terror alert, pulling sofas out from the walls, hoovering on top of wardrobes, lifting beds up to get the nozzle into hidden corners where the eight-legged horrors like to set up home.
In the process, we've been finding loads of stuff for the Free Shop in town.
This is like a charity shop, but better — everything is free, you give what you can and take what you need, and the only things they don’t accept are “drugs, guns and animals.”
I’m off there later with a dehumidifier, a Frida Kahlo jigsaw, three frying pans and a hairdryer. Like the middle aisle of Lidl.
I suppose I should thank the spiders, who each September seem to see the little 'Room Available' signs outside our house with their eight beady eyes.
It's not their fault that September is spider romance season, and it’s only a desire for sweet love with a lady spider that drives them indoors; I get that — unlike them, I am not a monster. No, I am an arachnophobe.
And so are my kids — my son, who regularly gets into MMA cages to kick people in the head, is terrified of spiders.
As is my daughter, now living in Australia, home of the worst spiders on earth.
In terms of aversion therapy, she does not recommend moving to a place where they are the size of dinner plates.
Only my partner is unafraid of them — but we are one of those Living Apart Together couples, and I can’t persuade the spiders to only visit when he does.
What do we do — call the fire brigade? I wish I were exaggerating.
The other day, at half time during the Brighton v Arsenal game, a massive spider, smelling of Lynx and heading out on a date, marched across the sitting room floor and under the sofa on which I was sitting, like Jaws under a swimmer.
I had to watch the second half on my phone, cowering in another room. (The worst bit is we never found him – he’s still in there somewhere, probably having spider sex as we speak).
I am not afraid of any other creatures. I’ve babysat boa constrictors — they love the warmth of your armpit — and have no quarrel with rats, lizards, cockroaches, slugs, toads, worms, or any other crawly slimy beings. I think mice are adorable. It’s just spiders.
I can’t even Google what to do because every spider article is illustrated with — yes — a big fat horrific photo of a spider. I literally can’t look at images of them.
So I’m going around hoovering like a freak, spraying mint and vinegar everywhere so the place smells like a chip shop doused in mouth wash.
And changing my lodger criteria, to include the ability to competently evict a spider, as my son and I hide in the car.
