The influx of spiders into my room has been halted. A triumph for the scientific method and squishing the little buggers as hard as you can.
In a mildly related incident yesterday, I came home to find it raining and my new housemate's washing on the line. I called up to ask if she wanted it bringing in, and she called down 'Oh, yes please!' (the echoey effect was probably bathroom induced), and then, in a (later) recognisably worried tone, 'Er, is it raining very hard? Cos if not don't bother'.
It was indeed raining hard so I nipped out to gather it in. I discovered she had her own colony of baby spiders, which I began to shake out of her clothes item by item.
In accordance with the Universe's Law Of Humour in such situations the final item on the line waiting to be taken indoors was a skimpy pair of knickers that were partly constructed from beads. In the place where beads were either to be least or most expected depending on whether or not you have a dirty mind.
I didn't have the guts to stand in the garden, vigorously shaking a pair of...undergarments, so I bundled them into the basket and slung them across the kichen floor.
She was sheepishly grateful.
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