Butterflies without wings...

I was wondering yesterday why so many people are frightened of spiders. It seems to be the commonest of phobias, particularly in women.

I can't say that I like them, but I don't have a fear of them. I regularly move from them out of the bath to the back door in my hand to avoid the screaming of my women.

I don't mind, it seems a shame to kill them.

My first recollection of a spider was when I was a small child of three or four. I used to love turning over the stones on the rockery to find out what was underneath. I remember slugs, and worms, deep red millipedes, yellow centipedes and of course spiders. I'd catch the creatures in a jar and keep them for a while before setting them free - well boys were like that back then.

One day I turned over a big stone and a spider the size of my hand scuttled over it. I remember it gave me quite a start, but I chased after it and managed to get it into my jar. I kept that spider for days, catching flies for it to feed on before I let it go.

I guess that fear of spiders resides deep in our racial memory. An echo from a time when probably all spiders were poisonous and liable to make you sick or even kill you with their venomous bites. In some parts of the world that still applies, so it makes sense to avoid the redback, the black widow, the brown recluse, or the funnel-web. But in this country our spiders are little more than butterflies without wings.

Ink, a crease in the paper - spider to butterfly, butterfly to spider.

Yes, that's all they are - butterflies without wings. Nothing to be scared of. Remember that next time you find one in the bath.