Itsy-bitsy Spider

Back in days of Yore, when I were but a lad (1988 to be precise), my extended family decided to have The Family Holiday, an event of such importance that it must forever be capitalised. So, that summer we all went to a camp site just outside of Morcambe, where we spent two weeks getting thoroughly soaked by the endless rain. At the end of the holiday we were all miserable, the children of my grandfather had all fallen out with one another, and we'd all had a Jolly Good Time. It would be seven years until many of us would see one another again, at the sequel.

We travelled home over the course of two days, stopping overnight in a little village called Lockerbie, that would very soon be known to everyone. The travel for the first day was largely uneventful.

However, an hour or so into the journey I started to feel a strange tickling sensation in my left foot. Of course, I paid it no mind, merely wiggling my toes to try to stop it. But stop it did not. Eventually, I had to take off said shoe, whereupon I found that the cause of the tickling was none other than a Giant Hideous Spider that had taken up residence in my shoe! Said Spider had spent the past hour sleeping, and when it awoke it had wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside my shoe.

Anyway, I looked around for a bird with which to catch the Spider, but none was to be found. (Besides, then I would have needed a cat, a dog, and so on through the sequence, until I got to a horse, and who has ever heard of horses in shoes?) So, instead I followed the alternative policy of waiting until the next stop, then banging said shoe against the ground until the Spider departed its new home, and continued on its malevolent way. In hindsight, it would have been more humane to seek a waterspout before evicting my arachnid squatter.

Unfortunately, ever since that day I find that, when wearing trainers in a car, I find that my feet spontaneously tickle. And there's always that doubt: has the Spider returned? Is it angry at being evicted, or was that event that finally caused it to shape up its life and make it make something of itself? Who can say?

A few weeks ago, there was a giant Spider in my appartment, at the top of the stairs. I, naturally, completely ignored it. I'm not actually scared of spiders, and it wasn't doing any harm, so I saw no reason not to leave it alone. Over the next couple of days, it made the adventurous trek down to the bottom of the stairs, where our hero keeps his trainers. At this point, I must confess to a little nervousness - no one likes to be ambushed by nursery rhyme characters while driving. Then, the Spider disappeared.

Now, if you've read this far, you may be expecting some sort of conclusion to the tale, or perhaps a moral, or something at least. Sorry, but life doesn't work like that. The Spider was not in my shoes, and I haven't seen it again. I think it might have died in the cold. As for morals, how about this: never blog while unutterably bored at work? (Honestly, if they ever revive He-Man, I must get the gig based on that one alone.)