Horrible hunstmen

Spending the week down at Inverloch, Jason's parents beach house. Pretty lucky, I know, but *every* time we come down here there is at least one awful great huntsman that crawls out of the woodwork to get me. I hate hunstmen so much. Their fat fleshy bodies and scurrying legs.

This time I (fool!) thought I’d be safe because Jason’s parents had already spent two weeks down here, and Jason’s mum had even vacuumed under all the sofa cushions. But yesterday when Jason was moving the old telly yesterday to make way for the new digital one, a big fat huntsman crawled right out of one of its vents. Brrughough. This is in fact the second huntsman to crawl out of that TV, the first one two years ago when we were watching ‘Ghostbusters II’. Other spider incidents:

- One was on the ceiling of our bedroom
- one crawled out from between the sofa cushions
- one was inside the wardrobe
- one crawled out from the airconditioner.

The last one ran across the kitchen ceiling whilst our friends were cooking dinner. Everyone became very excited as they hunted it down: someone banged on the bongo drum and everyone did high pitched chanting “wowaw-waw-wow-wow” like a cartoon tribal sacrifice ceremony. Luckily I was in the shower.

Jason and I have developed a routine for scouring the place for spiders at the start of each trip. We enter the house, each armed with a can of bug-killer. After initial reconnaissance , we methodically turn up each chair and couch, inspecting each cushion and the underside of each chair. We are both very nervous and trigger happy- once we both got spooked by a small movement and sprayed each other in the face with bugspray.

When we inevitably find the spider, I leave the house to let Jason kill it. I used to stay to witness the killings but I would become hysterical, shouting things like “We’re all going to die!!” and “I hate this place!” This made Jason too nervous, so now I sit in the car until he gives me the all clear.

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