Run! Run!
It’s the time of year when the garden is cobwebbed by…well, cobwebs and spiders make themselves known. If anything, the things are even bigger than last year. The webs are like the catch-nets of a Russian factory trawler, anything up to the size of a crow had better be worried about being snagged.
As for the spiders themselves, imagine a tennis ball with fangs and legs and you’re getting there.
Okay, it’s not quite that bad, but I can’t believe that anything that large hasn’t been eaten by something larger yet. What’s the problem, venom? Actually, that probably is the problem.
Certainly it makes clearing the garden a bit more exciting if, like me, you’re a great big girl. It is entertaining though, so I’m told, to watch me realise that the spider I was near is now missing from its web and so leap about like a loon, smacking myself like a flagilent and screaming ‘get it off me, get it off me’. Apparently my ‘dance of the spider’ is akin to somebody neglecting their medication and fitting on the dance floor.
Naturally, the spider itself is watching from the guttering of the shed thinking ‘what the hell?’
Still, garden is now cleared and sacks of plant material now await transportation to local recycling area for composting into Tesco value salad. The problem with the smaller garden is that you can’t have a really good raging bonfire, comprising equal parts wet leaves and old tyres, to really get a fug up and stink out the entire neighbourhood. What’s the matter with the neighbours, don’t they have tumble dryers? If they insist on hanging their washing out on a line to dry then it’s going to end up smelling of barbeque in the summer (result, chased down street by foxes thinking you’re a large slab of chicken in Cajun marinade) and traditional bonfire (wet leaves) in the winter.
Those scented candle people should get their act together and produce some sort of scented log you can fling into the blaze to give it an authentic scent of 'autumn mist' or something. Or conkers.
As for the spiders themselves, imagine a tennis ball with fangs and legs and you’re getting there.
Okay, it’s not quite that bad, but I can’t believe that anything that large hasn’t been eaten by something larger yet. What’s the problem, venom? Actually, that probably is the problem.
Certainly it makes clearing the garden a bit more exciting if, like me, you’re a great big girl. It is entertaining though, so I’m told, to watch me realise that the spider I was near is now missing from its web and so leap about like a loon, smacking myself like a flagilent and screaming ‘get it off me, get it off me’. Apparently my ‘dance of the spider’ is akin to somebody neglecting their medication and fitting on the dance floor.
Naturally, the spider itself is watching from the guttering of the shed thinking ‘what the hell?’
Still, garden is now cleared and sacks of plant material now await transportation to local recycling area for composting into Tesco value salad. The problem with the smaller garden is that you can’t have a really good raging bonfire, comprising equal parts wet leaves and old tyres, to really get a fug up and stink out the entire neighbourhood. What’s the matter with the neighbours, don’t they have tumble dryers? If they insist on hanging their washing out on a line to dry then it’s going to end up smelling of barbeque in the summer (result, chased down street by foxes thinking you’re a large slab of chicken in Cajun marinade) and traditional bonfire (wet leaves) in the winter.
Those scented candle people should get their act together and produce some sort of scented log you can fling into the blaze to give it an authentic scent of 'autumn mist' or something. Or conkers.
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