A guest has moved into our downstairs toilet. A big one. To paraphrase Woody Allen it's a spider the size of a Buick. Late at night when I turn the light on it darts back behind the cistern where it has taken up residence. On its webs there's enough trapped meat for a family barbecue. This Spring in our house, it's basically been an apocalypse for insects and little spiders. The damned thing is growing by the day.
Now, if I understand the theory of biophilia properly, my fear of spiders and snakes is not the delirium tremens of a soft southern ponce it's always been mistaken for by your average playground bully (and Anne), but a genetically encoded survival mechanism. Come the invasion of the spiders and one of us is ready, that's what I'm saying. I'm basically the Andrew Lincoln of spidergeddon.
And the self-administered cognitive based therapy of the last twenty years has worked. Nearly. I find, if I'm well past a bottle of red wine, I can stumble into the bathroom of an evening, watch him watching me from around the back of the toilet and have a short unsatisfying pee. What's that? Turn my back on him for poo? Are you kidding...?
Now, if I understand the theory of biophilia properly, my fear of spiders and snakes is not the delirium tremens of a soft southern ponce it's always been mistaken for by your average playground bully (and Anne), but a genetically encoded survival mechanism. Come the invasion of the spiders and one of us is ready, that's what I'm saying. I'm basically the Andrew Lincoln of spidergeddon.
And the self-administered cognitive based therapy of the last twenty years has worked. Nearly. I find, if I'm well past a bottle of red wine, I can stumble into the bathroom of an evening, watch him watching me from around the back of the toilet and have a short unsatisfying pee. What's that? Turn my back on him for poo? Are you kidding...?
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