Who's the Web Master now Chummy?

I woke up early yesterday and immediately realised all was not well. Being awake at 7.34am on my day off is in itself not a good start but it was more than that - my sinuses were blocked, my throat felt like it contained the innards of a vacuum cleaner and my mouth wasn't very pleasant either. Clearly I blamed Spiderbastard. He had now taken to chemical/germ warfare. Either that or a few days of little to no sleep had left my defenses low.

Either way Spiderbastard was to blame.

I was sick, not in a sleeping with your own sister kind of way but rather in a soup and sympathy sort of way. I'm paranoid at the best of times but why on my day off? I haven't taken a day off sick from work in over 6 years. It's not out of loyalty or greed but I'm just never sick on work days, worse luck. Oh how I must be due the guilty pleasure of a "sick" day, sneaking out to the shop hoping no one I know sees me and what have you. Never done it, maybe I never will, maybe I'll do it this weekend. Who knows?!

I managed to roll over and drift back into a fairly uncomfortable sleep. Too many wacky dreams - horses dancing around trees and the lyrics to "Bridge over Troubled Water" on repeat for it to be considered a decent sleep. I don't even like Simon and his Uncle, not such a big fan of dancing horses either. I eventually gave in and got up about half ten. I cancelled my lunch plans with my chum, The Boy Who Sings Backwards. He wasn't best pleased, "Wank, I'm starvn" came the response via text message.

Charming.

I shuffled round the house wearing appropriate clothing for a day of sickness- dirty t shirt, huge sweater (aren't all your jumpers huge -LMM) and baggy combat pants and socks that didn't match. I looked for sympathy but neither the all knowing Macs nor the TV provided me with the succor I needed. Damn their godless, shiny, souls. I sent a message to the love of my life and picker upper after me, Little Miss Manuel, but alas she was all tapped out of sympathy. Heard it all before apparently, "you won't die from a cold" was the best I got.

I've never been sure whether it's, "feed a cold, starve a fever" or the other way round. It matters not as I just change things to ensure I can eat large quantities without any guilt. Not that I suffer from any eating anxiety, unless the pizza shop is about to close that is. Various foods were removed from the fridge and cupboards, none of which could be considered healthy super foods. Eggs and bacon are still super foods to me, but they rarely make it onto even the most laziest nutritionists approved lists.

Anyway I was sick, not training for the marathon. Scrambled eggs and bacon on pancakes would make me feel much happier than any bowl of seeds, nuts, or goddamned fruit could ever do. As it happens it did not make me feel better or indeed happy. It slithered down my throat in the most unappealing way. This was most disappointing.

So I revisited the kitchen and who should I spy from the corner of my red puffy eyes? That's right my nemesis, my tormentor, the ruiner of sleep and all round pain in the ass - Spiderbastard! I caught him off guard, he was cornered between the wall and the door.

me
but less tall and with a runny nose
and it was a brush not a big stick
but you get the moody point......

No escape. Not this time.

"Oh am I not in the mood for your shenanigans matey. You may be an internet sensation and talk of your own web but your time had come. I am the webmaster in this house."

I giggled at my web pun.

"No time for giggling." I thought as I reached for the floor brush. Being as bald as a coot I have no other brushes in this house. And with one swift stab Spiderbastard was no more. I went for another stab and then another and then another. It was horrific. I felt my imaginary friend pull me back telling me,

"It's over man, it's over, he's gone......it's.......over" as he took the brush from my hand.

I've seen enough horror movies to know it's never really over. I wasn't gonna give the fucker the chance to twitch one of his broken legs in an act of defiance a la every scary movie ever. There would be no Spiderbastard 2 - The Web Masters Revenge. No this would end today. So I scooped him up with a dustpan and took him to the bin outside. The theme tune to Halloween playing in my head.

I paused, briefly, before I dropped him in with the used tea bags and things I should have recycled but couldn't have been arsed to and as the music (in my head) went quiet I said, "There's only room for one Web Master in this house and that ain't you."

It wasn't snappy enough and I felt Spiderbastard deserved a better final line but it was raining and I have the cold so I slammed the bin lid shut and walked back into the house. The lonely man walking away music from The Incredible Hulk accompanied me.

I felt bad for Spiderbastard's family, would they realise what had happened? Would his many many kids spend their lives seeking revenge? Would his wife find love again? Then I remembered it was a spider, admittedly a Spiderbastard, but a still just a spider and not capable of such emotions, despite what PETA might say.

But it's over now......isn't it?