Big nasty

Don't like spiders, never have done, never will do. I know I'm bigger than them, it doesn't matter.

Bedtime last night and I'm dead tired from sitting down all day, this lock-down stuff is exhausting. Start getting undressed, I remove my shirt, (you might not want to ponder to long on that image), and there, right above me, is the mother and father of all spiders. Tattoos, hobnail boots, the works.

'Big nasty' I call out.

'What' Nicki says.

'Big nasty' I say again.

Nicki, who is standing a few feet from me just wonders what the hell is going on. Only when I start, for some reason, to put my top back on, (god knows why I did that, was I suddenly embarrassed) does she turn and see me pointing at the new wall pattern.

I climb, as manly as I can, onto the bed, being on the bed can save you from a million fears don't you know.

'Don't drop it darling' I plead.

If she does indeed drop it, then its going behind my stuff, and I may need to de-camp to the sofa downstairs for the night (I've done it before).

Being, ahem, a little shorter than me, means she has to stand on the end of the bed and a chest of drawers to reach the goliath.

'Pass me a magazine while I get a jug please'

I pass her a magazine, which by some strange quirk of fate happens to be a Spiderman comic (I kid you not).

'Oh, its waving at you' Nicki informs me, like I flipping care.

'Oh, that's nice, Just don't drop the poxy thing' I repeat.

Well, the girl done good, a quick flick with 'Spiderman' and its in the jug and out the window, probably ready for a further assault tonight.

Why cant this woman just hit the sodding things.