Desmond and the Spider Convention.

Where do spiders go to die? My house, I'd say. There are so many of them here it's like I've bumbled none-the-wiser into Ireland during their Annual Spiders' Convention: Charlotte -- Webbed or Webber?

And naturally, the elitist in me feels a great need to mark my boundaries. But spiders don't respond to pee-demarcations as dogs do. And unfortunately for me, my fight or flight instinct varies according to what I'm wearing. You'll never catch me stomping a spider in shorts and slippers. That's like walking into the Cullen house with a paper-cut.

(Yes. I made a Twilight reference. Bite me. --WOH-HO! And I'm on a roll!)

But it's true, spiders are meant to be fought with whilst wearing the right equipment. Because the spiders here are huge asses. No, I mean they actually have large bottoms and long legs. I wonder if they feel pressured by Sunny-island Spiders, to maintain that elusive size 2, or size 0.

What? So they're spiders, but they're not that different than Humans I assure you. Those little buggers have freaking conventions discussing the nature of great literary characters!

Which is why you must never, never underestimate a spider.

Especially when you're wearing shorts and flip-flops.

(Irish fun-fact#3: They have so many many rainbows!)