Katie Holland: Trapped in tangled webs we weave

THERE IT IS: Being just centimetres from a tarantula was a memorable experience.

OKAY, spoilsports, I know that spiders do not roar; nor do they rise up with their arms in the air and go grrrrr with a scary look on their face.

I am not 5 years old, although at times I think the world would be so much more fun if I was.

Besides, everyone knows spiders don't have arms* - eight legs but no arms. That reminds me of the "would you rather?" my hairdresser asked me at my last blowdry.

Would you rather have fingers the length of your legs or legs the length of your fingers?

The fact we spent 10 minutes in fits of giggles discussing the scenarios (she'd have to stand on a stool to do my hair with the latter, whereas I would find typing quite tricky with the first) may suggest we both work too hard. But I digress.

When news broke last week of a venomous female redback spider discovered in a Glenholme garden, I developed an inability to talk about the spider without rearing up out of my chair with a snarl, pretending to be part-dinosaur, part-killer spider; which made for an interesting editorial meeting. It was like I'd been hypnotised, it was out of my control.

Spiders have always had an interesting effect on me. As a child I had a recurring dream I was being bitten by a redback.

In the dream my eyes would go fuzzy and I would wake in terror, sure that this time it was real and I was dying.

Years later, on a caiman-hunting trip down the Amazon River, a gigantic tarantula fell from a tree and landed on the back of the guide in front of me. He casually flicked it off with a machete as I tried not to wet myself.

For some it's daddy longlegs, cockroaches, weta. For me, mice, poisonous spiders and snakes are what make me go eek.

That doesn't bode well for my coming holiday to Australia, the land of the creepy crawlies.

The first time I went there was in 1984, when going on a plane was such a momentous occasion it necessitated a fancy new "plane outfit". My biggest memory of that trip - apart from sitting in a motel watching Mark Todd win gold in LA - is my deadly terror of snakes. I would refuse to get out of the car when we stopped for breaks on those dusty red outback roads.

Even in the cities I remember being constantly on edge.

So as talk centred around nasty Aussie creepy crawlies this week, I decided there can be no letting my guard down on this holiday; no "switching off" or taking my eye off the poolside shrubbery. Any rustle could be a snake. Or any splash - as apparently snakes also crawl up toilets; which would be just my luck, although it would make for a fantastic column.

As for our latest Aussie invader here in Rotorua, I like to think I live far enough away from Glenholme to be safe should she have brought mates and cuzzies across the ditch with her. Barring that, it sounds like a fantastic excuse to give up weeding and hire a gardener.

* Postscript. According to www.spidersarecool.com, spiders have two appendages called pedipalps, which they use much like arms. The 5-year-old in me likes to think, when we're not watching, they really do raise their pedipalps in the air and roar. Listen carefully, Glenholme-ites.