>Just as I was dozing off last night I suddenly caught on to the girls talking warily and in short gasps, and the word “araignée” [spider] made me realise that things were serious.
“bla bla bla bla bla araignée bla bla bla….”
“bla bla bla demander maman bla bla bla maman….maman…”
I got the impression that somebody was standing next to my bed and so grunted.
“Mama…”
“Yes Tatiana?”
“There’s a big spider on the kitchen door.”
“How big?”
“Big.”
“ON the door?”
“Yes….”
“Alright…..” I said, heaving myself up as Tatiana passed me my kimono.
“Not that – can you pass me my dressing gown? That has a belt on,” and I shuffled downstairs.
Coralie was hovering at the end of the living room while Tatiana showed me where the spider was. It wasn’t a spider, it was a fucking tarantula and strangely enough, it was on the kitchen door, but I really wasn’t in the mood to ask the tarantula what it thought it was doing there rather than in the usual places that we find intruders of that size. I stared at it and thought about how I was going to put a cup over it, slide some paper underneath and throw it outside without it jumping out and biting my hand off. There was also the prospect of it jumping down and running off into the garage where it could escape, but the fact that I would know that there was a tarantula in my garage would put me off ever going into it again.
So the tarantula had to die. The second in a week – why are they invading us at this time of year? Are they too hot?
“Tatiana, pass me one of my leather sandals please. Oh, and I may miss – I forgot to put my glasses on.”
Tatiana rushed upstairs, grabbed my glasses and in one swift movement put my glasses on for me at the same time as she put a sandal in my right hand. Coralie continued to hover in the other room as I whacked the monster flat, ran for the front door already opened for me by Tatiana and rubbed the remains of the tarantula from the sole of my sandal and onto the lawn. I went back to bed as the girls sang praises of admiration and gratitude my way.
The next threat to Belgium is a heatwave and a declaration to look out for little old people or people living on their own and to make sure that they have plenty of water. By this, I presume that Belgium means bottled water, as everybody knows how to use a tap. But christ, it’s hot, so I’m making sure that my own family is drinking enough and we are all wishing that the Olympic-sized Swimming Pool (OSSP) hadn’t died. Even my Olympic-sized Bucket (OSB) has cracked and is therefore of absolutely no use for anything. I was very glad to watch as Herman peed all over his roof tile again thus proving that despite looking rather wrinkly and dehydrated – he isn’t.
They do say that things come in three and there is a third threat. If we aren’t eaten by tarantulas or die from the heat, then we’ll come down with Swine Flu and die from that. I don’t know quite what the difference is between Swine Flu and Man Flu apart from the reported deaths from the latter, but my commune, along with a neighbouring one has sent out a paper saying that following a request from the federal authorities, the two communes are cooperating together to combat Oink Flu. I don’t mean to undermine Swine Flu by calling it ‘Oink Flu’, but this is the first time that I’ve seen Belgium get serious about anything, and if this pandemic has reached this part of the world, then anything can happen.
I wish I could help and volunteer but I don’t really qualify for any of the jobs mentioned. I could deliver meals to elderly people stricken with Oink Flu, but that requires a driving license and most likely, a car.
This is beginning to feel like a third-world country.
