Tag Archives: Spiders

Sep 04 2022
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The Invasion

It’s been a billion degrees for the last month and now it’s raining so of course, the 8-legged population of the North West thinks it can stroll into my living room.

Absolutely cannot cope with spiders. August has been mega hot here, like silly hot. I’ve had a better tan sitting on the front doorstep watching the kids play than after 2 weeks in Benidorm. Silly hot. Then the inevitable happened. The heavens opened and to quote my Geordie dad, it ‘stotted down’, prompting the biggest house spider I’ve ever seen to come racing into the living room at 9:45pm.

It stopped just short of my feet and froze at the sound of me shouting ‘SHHHITTTTTT’. You can scroll, there’s no spider pics here.

Luckily, my eldest daughter bought me a beautiful coffee table book last Christmas. It’s the bright pink Kate Spade book, ‘Things We Love’. It’s packed full of lovely things and it weighs a tonne which is the only way I’m able to still write this blog. It was dropped from a great height and a sense of calm was restored. The other outcome was spending the evening with a giant arachnid who clearly had plans to hop up, watch a bit of Netflix and chill – before devouring me, not in a good way.

I’m not scared of many things as proven here, but I am terrified of spiders. I don’t mind the small ones, just minding their business. It’s the big bastards, full of bravado who’re like ‘what are you doing in my house?’. I once sacrificed my three-year-old son in the hallway to see where a massive house spider had gone. Unfortunately for all involved, it was above the door he had to pass through to get back into the bedroom. Much screaming ensued and now he’s also scared shitless. My parenting bad.

I love Autumn but sod the soggy spider invasion. Invest in coffee table books now and save yourself!

God bless Kate Spade.

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Feb 05 2020
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Blog Post

Rescue Me

I spent some time in hospital this week but it turns out being in the comfort of my home proved more dangerous. 

I’m typing this with a concussion. Sadly there’s zero chance of a ‘No Win No Fee’ payout because the whole Scooby Doo style escapade was entirely my own fault. It all started back in December.

The lovely people at Whirpool recalled my washing machine due to some faulty whatsit or other and my shiny new, non-french speaking replacement (don’t ask), arrived today. It’s rare I move my washing machine to brush or mop behind it because I’ve convinced myself the dark corner of my kitchen resembles the set for Arachnophobia back there.

With the new arrival imminent I decided an act of heroism was required. Move the machine out, detach the overflow and cold water feed, pull out the plug and mop the empty space. Also, potentially run like hell and set fire to the house, should a spider appear.

Steps 1 – 4 went swimmingly. No spiders either which makes me more suspicious than calm. As I finished my Mary Poppins routine, my phone rang on the other side of the room. I leaped into action, forgetting the floor was awash with Zoflora and proceeded to skid, slide and tumble to the floor, hitting my head, knee and hip off the kitchen cabinets and lastly, off the floor, before welcoming swirly patterns on the inside of my eyelids.

Oh my word, it hurt so badly and as expected with any kind of trauma, my nose exploded and bled all over my top too. My poor mum is heading for a heart attack any day now with the stress I’ve caused her this week alone. Paramedics, appendixes, kidneys oh my! And that was just Sunday! Now concussion. It’s been one hell of a week.

I’m bruised and sore. I’m also in awe of the fact I’ve managed to keep three children alive and well for as long as I have considering my personal safety and spacial awareness skills are f&cked.

Here’s to the NHS, incredible front line staff who work their asses off, still manage a smile and a bit of banter throughout grueling shifts. Here’s to the bed managers at Aintree Hospital – I was parked up next to these women on Sunday night while they tried to get me a bed and I’ve genuinely never seen a work ethic like it.

Here’s to the paramedics lining the corridors with their patients, waiting to be transferred before once again going back to fore for those in need. Including the impromptu case of my 14-year-old who collapsed watching a cannula being inserted into my wrist.

Here’s to mums. Bloody superstars.

 

 

 

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