Divide and conker: the great spider rescue

It can't be any fun being a spider in our house, at any given moment a mere hairy step away from an unceremonious eviction via an upturned glass into the wilds of the garden, or worse still the ever-present prospect of death by a rolled up Vogue.

I spend much of my time indoors rescuing any spider that has dared break cover and show itself before Lizzie sees it. I have no idea what my success rate is because I am never informed of the amount that Lizzie has despatched to its maker for no other reason than she is terrified of them.

This year Lizzie has resorted to chemical warfare in the shape of the humble conker. These little nuggets of tree are supposed to give off some kind of smell that spiders can' t bare. So we have spent many an afternoon scouring the ground beneath horse chestnuts collecting as many conkers as we can find before the kids arrive to gather them up.

I feel a little guilty about the whole thing really - thanks to myself and Lizzie I can imagine a whole generation of children growing up without knowing the joy of a good conker fight, casting suspicious looks in the direction of the trees that are supposed to be producing the goods.

In our house a conker has been positioned in every corner of every room and on every windowsill, as well as in any other nook and cranny deemed a likely spider access point. There are conkers behind the sofa, in bookshelves. There are now a couple in the hoover. She's even put one in the log basket, which is a bit unfair because they need at least somewhere to retreat to.

This has put Lizzie's mind at rest to a degree. She hasn't spotted a spider since the conkers were deployed.

She doesn't realise it's because I've been secretly putting them outside as soon as I find any.