Incy wincy spider

Far from being manageably incy wincy, the fearsome arachnids which have processed through Bracknell Towers over the last few weeks have been notable for their hefty proportions. Not to mention for their tendency only to make their presence known in the middle of the night when Lady Bracknell is visiting the smallest room, and is thus not in possession of her full mental faculties.

(As a dyed-in-the-wool arachnophobe, Lady Bracknell is convinced that this is a deliberate ploy on their part guaranteeing, as it does, maximum terror and sleep-deprivation.)

A rational person, upon spotting an arachnid the size of a well-fed mouse wandering across the carpet at three in the morning, would no doubt leave it to wend its merry way from room to room until, realising that it had taken a wrong turn at the air brick, it voluntarily departed whence it came.

But Lady Bracknell is not rational in the presence of spiders. Not at all. Her customary sang froid deserts her entirely, and she cannot rest until she is certain that the monster has been evicted. After all, once the beast had exhausted the delights of her carpets, its next move would undoubtedly be to nestle on her pillow and wait for her to leap from her bed shrieking wholly unladylike epithets.

Lady Bracknell has therefore invested in a spider catcher. It is a device which she recommends to those of her readers who share her phobia, with the proviso that this year's crop of brutes are so large and strong that some are able to resist its pull.

Where the spider catching device will not do the trick, Lady Bracknell turns to her long-handled reacher. To her astonishment, the jaws of her own reacher are so finely aligned that they can grasp a large arachnid by one leg securely enough for her ladyship to stride towards the (already opened in readiness) back door; release the monster over the back steps; and - in completion of the spider-eviction ritual - utter the obligatory words, "And don't come back!".


But these tussles with her spidery visitors are taking their toll on Lady Bracknell's nerves. She is convinced that the copious amounts of adrenalin thereby generated cannot be beneficial for an elderly lady in indifferent health. She wonders, therefore, whether Wilf might be persuaded to visit Bracknell Towers for the duration of the threat? Wilf strikes Lady Bracknell as being a sturdy young chap, and one who is unlikely to turn a hair in the presence of even the largest arachnid. As an inducement, Lady Bracknell would be happy to fund her young hero's purchases of sandwiches from the new Subway outlet on a daily basis. She might even be willing to extend the emolument to include the occasional doughnut.