Big fuckoff spider hanging in front of our front window, bold as you please. There are plenty of spiders in the garden too, spinning webs between the washing lines and the small table or chair outside. I don’t mind them there, but they can’t come in. Sandra of course was a dedicated arachnophobeand hated seeing any spider in the house, though not so much outside.
(Dreamed of her incidently, one of those dreams where you know she’s dead, but there’s a perfectly logical explenation for why she’s now alive again. Maudlin, more than upsetting.)