Charlotte's Ebb

A sorry tale... not for the faint hearted (or remotely hormonal).

So... a couple of weeks ago, the weather started to turn (my favourite time of the year, it has to be said), and the usual parade of spiders started to take shelter in our home. I know that in the UK our spiders are not all that impressive, and in recent years I have a kind of respectful disdain for them, as opposed to the screaming hatred I had for them in my youth. I am still, to my shame, an occasional 'spider vacumer' - and have even been known to shake the hoover afterwards, to ensure that they are properly dead in there (rather than just a bit dizzy). Anyway... I noticed that an oddly shaped spider, of the "Daddy Long Legs" variety, had taken to wandering around my en suite bathroom, in a melancholy manner. If it is indeed possible for a spider to be melancholy. For some reason, I was unwilling to dispatch said spider to the Great Dyson Rollercoaster In The Sky, and congratulated myself on my supreme maturity, making a decision to leave it for a few days longer before hoovering it up at the weekend. My magnanimity knows no limits you see.

After a couple of days of mooching, the spider, aka "Lady Charlotte", settled into a corner and built a very cosy little web. Again, for some reason, I resisted the faint urge to take her to task, and merely contemplated her moody grimaces and fat tummy (whilst brushing my teeth before bed). The next morning I was greeted with a glorious sight. Well, a sight, anyway. At first I thought that her web had been INCREDIBLY successful overnight, and she had managed to catch a trillion greenfly in her neat little web. On closer inspection (by teetering on the loo seat no less), I noticed that the 'greenfly' were in fact, a hundred or so tiny baby spiders! I had also noticed that LC looked a good deal slimmer (although still had a bit of a baggy tummy), and had that slightly shocked look that new mothers normally have. My heart melted.

So then, my mind turned to my holiday in Cornwall. I knew that in two days' time I was going to Cornwall on holiday, and that my parents were house sitting. I couldn't possibly mention to my mother *not* to dust away the spider's web, as that would be insane, right? I contemplated creating my own web with "What A Spider!" woven into it, but knew that my supplies of cotton wool and Prit Stick were limited (plus, how to disguise my handwriting?). So, I had to leave it to the Spidery Stars.

On return, I amazingly found the web still in tact! Since my Mum is to spiders, what Jamie Oliver is to Black Spot Pigs, it is nothing short of a miracle. LC had moved away a little, and the babies had grown quite a bit. (clearly her milk had 'come in'). So I decided to leave them there, until the babies were old enough to flee the nest. A couple of days ago, though, I noticed that Mummy was absent... However, I had read that after 9 days, Mummy spiders tend to abandon all hope of ever having a moment to themselves, and go on a spider retreat, leaving the kids to look after each other.

***THE SAD BIT***
At 08:32 hours this morning, I was in the shower, when I discovered the body of a female spider lodged between the shower sponge, and the pink hair conditioning comb (that I never use). To my horror, I identified said spider as LC; the melancholy look, the saggy tummy and the greasy hair were a dead giveaway.

As I gave her a moving sea burial with the aid of the shower head, I actually found myself looking up at her progeny, which seem to have scattered themselves all over my bathroom, and said out loud "you did it!"

I'm not entirely sure what the point of this story is. Is it an amazing story about fate, life, maternal sacrifice, the Universe and everything. Or is it a cry for help from a grown woman that has decided to document the fact that she is now reduced to having conversations with dead spiders? I will await the men in white coats with anticipitaion.



Anyway... at what age do you think it would be acceptable to hoover up the little buggers that have made webs all over my ceiling?