It must be the time of year but our house seems to be invaded with giant spiders.

I have always been scared of them. I say scared but I really mean petrified to the point of hysteria.

I have learnt to control this a little as I have got older.

By control I mean I am now able to stay in the living room perched on the arm of a chair practising deep breathing with beads of sweat on my forehead while "him indoors" re- moves any hairy- legged intruders.

I know this doesn't sound much but it is a lot better than running out of the front door and down the road screaming like I used to do, then refusing to come back in until he'd promised a million times it was gone, and yes he had put it down at the very end of the garden, and yes he had placed it facing away from the house so it couldn't run straight back in.

Daughter has inherited my fear which her dad says is my fault for behaving as I do.

He's probably right but there's not much I can do about it.

His approach is to pick them up very gently, take them to the garden and release them.

My approach is more hitting them at least 20 times with a very large shoe.

I know this is dreadfully wrong and I am ashamed to admit to killing any of God's poor defenceless creatures but I am just so scared of them.

I remember years ago living in a shared student house and being in on my own one night studying, an unusual state of affairs I agree.

At my side was a large glass of lime cordial, something I had a mad passion for in those days.

Suddenly, a large black hairy monster ran right across the page I was reading.

Instinctively I tipped my drink over it.

I was left with an up-ended glass stuck to my book with a few inches of lime cordial sloshing around and held in place by vacuum.

Swimming on top of the lime juice was a horrible hairy spider.

I sat there frozen, watching it, until some hours later the others came home and rescued me.

I don't think I ever finished that essay and I've never drunk lime cordial since.

When our most recent invader was removed, I heaved a sigh of relief and climbed down off daughter, who I had inadvertently squashed as I had leapt on to the chair.

"Honestly love," said her dad as he returned from the garden, "don't you think it's time you grew up a little?"