Spiders,Snakes & Baby-Eating Dingoes

Meet Sara. Sara is from the UK, has just recently moved to Melbourne and is crashing at my place for a few weeks. Sara hates spiders.

Don’t get me wrong, I hate them just as much as the next arachnophobe. It’s not so much the actual spider, as it is their sneakiness. They go all Osama Bin Laden on your ass. “Oooh, ooh I’m over here!” “Ooops, hehehe, no I’m not, now I’m here” “Betcha can’t find me… hehehe one minute I’m over there, next I’m over here…TO EAT YOUR FACE OFF.” Then next minute before you know it- M.I.A. Waiting to resurface when you least expect it. The similarities are astounding.

So what I can gather with my limited knowledge and 5 minute conversation with Sara, our spiders shit all over UK’s. We have ‘Huntsman” because they will hunt you down and disembowel you (Joking! Sorry, Tourism Australia.) All last summer we had ‘Rat Spider”, an extremely large spider who liked to eat small children and hang out at our front door. Last I heard, Rat Spider went to Hawaii as winter was approaching. I’m hopeful he finds a nice hula-girl, takes up surfing and never returns to our house.

But you know what UK has? Get ready for this. Garden Spiders. Do they weed and fertilise your garden for you at an alarming speed? Do they mulch and plough with such vigour, it’s terrifying? Do they attack the roses in the night with aphids? Please.

Rat Spider

VS

The Ominous British Garden Spider

Alis: Yeah, this spider was as big as my hand. Wait, maybe my head. **Enthusiastically demonstrates largeness of Huntsman**

Sara: **Makes incomprehensible sounds that only dogs can hear**

Alis: Relax. I’m 80% sure they don’t like cold weather so you probably won’t see any whilst your here. Same as snakes.

Sara: Snakes?

Alis: Oh yeah, we have 7 out of the world’s top ten deadliest snakes. Don’t worry I’ve never seen one here. Oh except for that one I saw swimming in the river, did you know snakes could swim? Me neither. Anyway, there’s usually some red-blooded male around that’s more than willing to cut its head off with a shovel.

Sara: Right. Well that’s good to know… Holy shitballs! What the hell was that?!

Alis: Oh that’s just a possum, they’re kind of cute right?

Sara: Aww, it has such cute eyes, and it’s fur looks so cuddly…

Alis: Mmm, word of warning. Don’t try to pat the possum, it will gouge your eyes out. And don’t freak out when you’re sleeping, they’ll bang all over the roof but just ignore it. Another thing. Be careful of koalas. Those fuckers look cute, but they’re feisty little balls of fur. Nearly killed my last dog, true story.

Sara: Killer koalas? *white as a sheet, starts grasping for a paperbag to breath into*

Alis: Oh my, I’m sorry sweetie. I didn’t mean to freak you out. Seriously it’s not that bad. The worst animals are up north anyway. Goanna’s, now they scare the shit out of me. They’re pretty much blind and quite often clamber up human’s legs thinking they are a tree. I do not want a metre long lizard with giant claws attached to me, no siree.

Sara: What? Are these blind lizards here? *glances behind her in terror*

Alis: Nah, up in Northern QLD. We went on a roadtrip up there, and I had to carry a frypan every time I went to pee in the bushes. No-one likes a goanna-bitten, you-know-what.

Sara: Well now, I can see your concerns. *mentally and unwillingly envisioning a goanna-bitten you-know-what* How was your roadtrip by the way? No accidents in the Wicked Van?

Alis: It was amazing. No accidents that I can recall… Oh wait. There was one incident with a large kangaroo. God I hate those fuckers. They wait on the side of the road, and then POW! 2 metres high of pure muscle and fur jumps out in front of your car. If you hit one of those puppies, your cars pretty much written off. There’s an urban legend that they kick through your windscreen and box the hell out of you. Evil. Fuckers.

Sara: I quite liked the TV show Skippy the Kangaroo. Until now.

Alis: Doesn’t UK have any scary creatures?

Sara: Not really. Garden spiders freak me out. And foxes and badgers. But that’s about it.

Alis: Ooooh, like Wind in the Willows? I bloody loved that book.

Sara: Errr, yeh kinda.

Alis: Did you know a Dingo once stole a baby here?

Scurvy; an uncertain death

I’ve been eating oranges for days now. Why you ask? Well my liver-bellied bilge rats, I think I have scurvy. I feel like I am on my death-bed and since I have numerous pirate traits – elite sword skills, rum-guzzler, yelling ‘Arghhhh you Scurvy dogs’ at my colleagues – it only seems fitting to die with a pirate disease. Oh wait, scrap that. I just googled Scurvy and it’s not nearly as mysterious and seductive as it sounds. Oozy spots, spongy gums, loss of teeth. Ok, I don’t have Scurvy.

But I probably do have Myxomatosis. It took my best friend’s rabbits life back in 1992, and I never told anyone but I kissed Floppy goodbye. Even after Mum said if I did, I would be infected and die too (just one of the touching moments we’ve had). Now years later, I can no longer outrun my fate. Oh. Only rabbits can carry the infection? Really? Weird.

Remember Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge? I know I’m not exactly a beautiful and seductive dancer called Satine from Paris but well… she did have a cough. And I have a cough. So odds are, I have consumption. What? Have I coughed any blood? Well no, but Satine was just an attention-seeking, glorified whore.

Black death perhaps? It is a respiratory disease. Christ, it also had a 100% mortality rate, things are looking gloomy. Cause? The Black Death was primarily spread through eating fleas and rats. I am so screwed. A medieval death would be a romantic way to die though. And when I finally pass away, my loyal and handsome lord will be overcome with grief and vow to never bed another lady.

My ignorant Doc: Alis, you’re not dying. You simply have the flu. Go home and rest. Drink lots of fluids (not Scotch) . And stop chain-smoking.

Alis: Bollocks! I am dying, I have this overwhelming sense of calm which tells me I am ready for death. Don’t be upset, I’m not scared.

My ignorant Doc: I’m not scared. You’re fine, now go home to bed.

Alis: Oh, so you’ve just given up all hope? I know death looms on my doorstep but you could at least pretend to want to help me.

My ignorant Doc: It’s not even a virus, you don’t need anything except water, rest and a hot cup of tea.

Alis: Call the priest for me, so I can have my final prayers.

My ignorant Doc: Seriously, get out my office.

Alis: No drugs?

My ignorant Doc: (Sigh) Here’s a script for antibiotics, and another one for Valium. Knock yourself out.

Alis: Cheers.