I’ve always enjoyed autumn as a season. The cosiness of the darker evenings, the hint of a morning frost and the evocative hint of bonfires in the air would make it almost perfect were it not for one thing…the eight legged home invaders which blight the months from September to November.

No sooner does the sun set on summer - and sometimes before - the house comes alive with the pitter patter of tiny feet as my arachnid nemeses leave their garden lairs bound for the luxury afforded by the many dark corners of our house.

The invasion has started early this year and the first line of advancement caught me unawares as I began my normal going to bed routine.

Having pottered around the bathroom getting myself sorted I was happily waiting for my electric toothbrush to countdown to the end of my oral hygiene routine when I spotted an unusual patch on the outside of the shower tray.

Without the benefit of my contact lenses and horrified it was a patch of mould, which had gone unnoticed I moved closer to check it on…only to notice a huge hairy leg draped over the ledge.

Beating a hasty retreat to the corner of the room I bellowed for the housemate to rescue me.

“What do you want me to do with it,” she asked peering at the interloper.

“Kill it,” I replied with every ounce of animal lover driven out of my soul by sheer terror.

“You know I don’t like killing them,” she replied.

“Well kill me then, because only one of us is staying in this house tonight!” I answered retreating further into the corner.

After what, in retrospect, was a inappropriate pause she reached for the toilet roll and wadding a large amount in her hand made a grab for the invader, who pre-empted her grab by back-back-flipping into the shower.

“Now what am I supposed to do?” she asked as the happy wanderer who could easily have been wearing walking boots and carrying a rucksack did circuits of the shower tray.

“Put the water on him,” I yelled in full serial killer mode.

“I can’t reach the tap without getting in the shower and I am not getting my clothes wet to do that,” snapped back the housemate.

“Then use the roof light pole to squish him,” I replied by now having made a dash for the safety of the landing.

“I can’t do that, he’s going too fast,” he replied. “Besides which I can’t actually kill them like that. At least if I throw them out of the window they stand a chance of survival.”

“Jab him now…he’s slowing down,” I said plucking up the courage for another look.

“He is isn’t he,” said the housemate gazing at the spider which had now slowed to a eight-legged jog.

“Oh no… I sprayed the shower with cleaner this morning. I think I’ve poisoned him,” said the housemate in dismay as she disposed of my now lifeless foe.

“Oh dear…what a pity,” I said, trying my best to be comforting. “What do you mean you don’t like killing them? I asked slowly recognising what she’d said earlier.

“You always tell me you’ve killed them.”

“No…I always tell you they’re gone which is not quite the same,” she said closing the bathroom door firmly in my face.