There are no flies on me.

BECAUSE MY HOUSE IS FULL OF FUCKING SPIDERS!!!!



I'd like to stress that I'm not usually squeamish about our arachnoid friends at all, honest. There never seemed to be many about the house before, and if I spoted one I'd either let him go on his merry way or scoop him up and pop him outside into the flower bed. Friend O' The Spiders.



But that was before The Invasion.

It started on Saturday. I was bringing my bike through the house from the back yard when I spotted a pretty big eight-legger by the stairs. "No problem", thought I, "he's just bolted in from outside". Got a glass, popped it over him, had a wee look, then took him back outside and we both went about our business.

The night after, I was visiting my parents when I received word from my significant other that our living room was under attack. Not only was there a 'flipping massive' spider on the sofa, but there were two giant ones on the carpet. I had a little 'hah, dumb girls!' laugh to myself. It was only a couple of spiders for fucksake.

Then I got a worried email saying that one of them had just EATEN the other one. That creeped me out a little bit. I'd heard before about baby ones chomping on the mammy when they're born - creepy, gross, but a bit understandable. They're hungry. I get hungry. I can dig it. But this octowanker ate another one just to be a DICK! In our fucking HOME! I'm not one to deny folk their vices, but hedonistic cannibalism under my own roof just ain't cool.

But again I dismissed it. Till we got in from the bar last night.

I went to turn out the lamp in the living room and there he was. This huge fat dickhead sitting in the corner of the room, looking smug. Why was he so smug? Maybe something to do with the TWO SPIDER CORPSES BESIDE HIM. Why was he so FAT? I don't think he had the same pizza problem that I do. The cannibal. A fucking cannibal holocaust, in my living room.

Now, maybe I'm overreacting. There's been a grand total of, what, 4 live spiders and a few dead ones? Hardly a real invasion. Still though, that's a LOT for three days. Or is it? I've recently moved out of the city centre, maybe this is what happens in the suburbs? Have I just gotten too used to inner city life?

So what I do, gentle reader? Does this mean there's a freaking nest somewhere in the garden? I don't like to squish 'em, but if they're going to get on like dicks maybe I should consider mass spidercide.

Or maybe I should just learn to love my new flatmates. We could watch Tarantula and Arachnaphobia and have a good oul' laugh together.



But then again, maybe it would give them ideas! I don't wanna end up like Leo G. Carroll. Any advice welcome!

In other news I'm pleased to be doing some live action real life comedy performing at the rebirth of Marcus Keeley's Voicebox club, at the Pavilion next Monday 28th. If the previous incarnation of VB is anything to go by, it's gonna be a madcap evening. It don't come more alternative than this, and its an absoloutely STORMING lineup.

Also, if you find yourself at home (or anywhere else with a radio) this Sunday night, you can hear me doing some radio-ing as my monthly Hot Rod of Comedy segment will be on BBC Introducing on Radio 1 at midnight. This time around it features some chuckles and chat with the brilliant Lorcan McGrane about his forthcoming Black Box show, as well some brilliant songs that one-man-two-piece band and all round lovely chap Dan and Dan played specially for us.


Dan and Dan

If you like reading things that I write that aren't about spiders, I've written a review of last week's Simon Munnery Black Box gig here, and I also have a piece in this month's Vacuum, under a pen-name. If you pick it up, see if you can guess which one it is.

That's all for now, but truly, lemme know your thoughts about this arachnoid debacle. Is there even a debacle, or am I overreacting? Or do I have to go Jon Goodman on their asses? Do spiders have asses?

HR.