SORRY, MR. SPIDER

It’s become a bit of a ritual of late. I’ll be merrily (or at least, as close as I can manage to merrily) going about my business and will enter a room only to come face to face with the most enormous house spider. I think it’s the time of year, but there have been some huge ones about the place lately. No sooner do I seem to have successfully dealt with one than another, meaner, larger one shows up to give me yet another fright when I first spot it, because, when you come across them unexpectedly, like when you switch on a light and one is just there on the wall, lurking, and looking for all the world like a new bullet-hole, it really can come as a bit of a shock.

“Look at the size of that thing!” as the old B-movies might have said.

The routine in our house is now fairly precisely worked out. The spider and I will stare at each other for a few moments and, once I have become pretty sure that it’s not planning upon moving any time soon, I will back slowly away before getting the hell out of there and tracking down the receptacle of choice for removing it.

The current favourite is the combination plastic soup carton and A5 envelope containing a pointless letter from the bank. The previous receptacle of choice was a shiny stainless steel snack bowl that is still kept handy for that purpose, but the visibility gained by the transparency of the soup carton has meant that we can be absolutely sure that the spider is enclosed within it before removal, which is always an advantage.

I may leave my compatriot to keep an eye on it as I head off, but this will depend upon whether she’s actually in the vicinity and whether or not I decide to reveal the true horror of what I’ve just seen to her. Nevertheless, once the disposal equipment has been tracked down, the game, as Great Uncle Sherlock might have said, is afoot.

The method is easy. Hope against all hope that the big old beastie decides to stay put, and that it’s on a large enough flat area to give the capturing device a clear shot. The soup carton scores again here as its diameter is slightly smaller than that of the snack bowl, and its greater depth means that a greater distance can be maintained between the hand and the arachnid.

Pause for a moment, take a deep breath and cover the spider with the receptacle as swiftly as you can. Leave the receptacle in place and hope that your spider doesn’t turn out to be the weightlifting champion of the spider world.

Rest.

You can now leave the carton for a moment and plan your next move. Well, you can if you’ve managed to capture your spider on the floor. Naturally, if you are currently holding the carton against a wall, it’s probably for the best if you don’t let go.

With any luck you’ll be able to see the spider moving about, trapped within the upturned carton, or, at the very least sitting there on the floor deciding upon its next move.

Carefully lift the carton as far as you dare and quickly slide the A5 envelope containing the pointless letter from the bank into the gap, making sure that at no time do you make enough of a gap to allow the big beastie to make a getaway because, once they are on the move, they are going to shift, and they’ll find a nice, cosy and utterly inaccessible spot to lurk in, and for the rest of the night, you’ll know that they’re in the house somewhere…

You now hopefully have a bloody great big house spider contained in a small container with a makeshift lid. The next bit is rather tricky and involves getting both the container and the lid into your hands without ever allowing a large enough gap to open up for there to be enough room for Boris to get away and do the scuttling off routine. A little bit of manual dexterity is called for but, hopefully, pretty soon you’ll have the carton in one hand and the envelope in the other, and firmly pressed against the rim of the container holding chummy within.

Now you’re into the endgame and a dash to the front or back door of the house becomes necessary. Hopefully one or other of you will have had the foresight to unlock it and be standing there ready to open it, otherwise a tricky little manoeuvre might become necessary in which you probably need to have at least three hands or feel brave enough to put the containment device down for a sec, hopefully ensuring that the beast cannot get out whilst you do so.

The final part involves heading outdoors, breaking the seal on the container, shaking it for all its worth, checking that the spider has fallen out (the transparency scores again here), and legging it back through the door hopefully slightly faster than the spider can and slamming it firmly shut behind you.

Relax.

Until next time.

Sadly for this particular spider, my efforts to do it no harm were in vain. The “shake and run” procedure seems to have occurred over the paste bucket we left outside and it seems to have been partially filled with rainwater, and that’s where it landed.

Sorry, Mr. Spider.