Master of all he Surveys

I popped downstairs into the kitchen to get a cup of tea last night, but patrolling the basement floor was The Biggest Spider in the Universe. He was just sitting there, glaring at me, daring me to walk past him to the kettle without the password. His long legs were bent at careful angles to keep his bloated, furry body suspended, ready to pounce. He actually had horns, which was quite scary. I decided to be brave and do the glass and card trick, but by the time I had got them ready, braced myself for the battle and turned to get him, the floor was empty. I almost fancied that I heard the clatter of eight jack booted feet as he ran to hide. It's all a bit disconcerting as every time I go into the kitchen, I feel like I'm being watched. I make sure I put shoes on now, I wouldn't want to step on anything that big, and I go wriggly down my spine when I think about his spindly, hairy legs interwoven between my toes, with the mush of spider abdomen stuck onto the ball of my foot. It didn't help when I found Son of the Universe in the bath this morning. I think having the bathroom done has sent various wildlife scurrying round the house in search of new abodes. It reminded me of cycling down the towpath of the Thames past a building development once, and rats were dashing across the path as their nests were disturbed. I've gone all yucky thinking about it.

Perhaps if I give the spider a name other than Master of the Universe I won't feel so bad. I'll call him Bob the Spider, which has friendly overtones of tool belts, primary colours and jolly songs. It's a shame he can't hold a paintbrush in each hairy leg - the bathroom would be finished in no time at all.