There is the Spider-Woman of Navaho myth, a fairy-godmother, protectress kind of figure. There is Freud's theory that fear of spiders is born of an unconscious identification with the Phallic Woman (such as a witch with a long nose), the phallic mother, (a counterpart to the primitive motif of "toothed vagina", no less). Their ability to spin elaborate traps increases this fear. The figure of the dangerous woman is imprinted around age four, from castration fear.

Just been for a walk with Bessy. She woke me up early. I've been sick with a heavy cold this week, and she's on heat and all the dogs around here are trying to break my front door down 24 hours a day. We walk down the hill with the intent of finding wild asparagus. This, they say, is wonderful for cleaning the blood after a dose of anything. Every year, in the ten that I have lived here, I have done this. God knows why!! I usually only ever find two twiggy broken bits of some false asparagus, whilst locals pass by with handfuls. What must they think of me? I know what they think of me! The English! What a pitiful and awkward race! I’ll buy some in the Co-op later, much tastier if you ask me.

There's a good clear view of San Gimingnano after the cold night rain and yesterday, I noticed that even this soon before Easter the giant German travelnauts are already billowing their way up there, to choke with fumes and tourists what's left of what is really only a tiny town. I remember a time when it was possible to buy a carton of milk or half dozen eggs or even a tin of dog food but now every shop sells trinkets and memorabilia. I imagine locals do their shopping in the hypermarkets around Poggibonsi or Colle or maybe they trade trinkets for salami and sauerkraut.

They keep their heads down as I walk past, and curse and spit in their despicable, ignorant fashion. They talk in their native dialect and I meditate to try and counteract their curses.

In fact it occurs to me that I woke up in a bad mood. Dogs barking most of the night. Hunting season is over and the hunters, who are slightly lower in mentality than my shepherd friends, (these particular local ones I swear are slightly lower in mentality than the sheep they are milking) yes the hunters... they are to be seen everywhere shuffling around like boys without toys, nothing to shoot, maim, kill for a whole year. This makes them ornery and they neglect their penned up dogs, feed them less (it's cheaper) and the poor creatures whine and bark all night all over Tuscany.

But lower in my mind than Sardinian Psychos, German Tourists and gun wielding hunters are the dreaded ex-pats. Why?! Because of their continuous use of the word 'beautiful'. And it's as if they float within this word as they float within a sea of cheap wine, which is beautiful, and Tuscan cuisine, which is also so very beautiful (but actually tarted up survival food). Worst of all, they have beautiful dinner parties and they invite each other to the most perfect evenings of truncated conversation where Italian gets spot welded into English. 'Oh darling, buona sera!! come stai? So lovely you could make it! Cara!!'

Today is grey and the air heavy with smoke from the burn off after the vine pruning. There is absolutely no need to burn this wood at this time because it's green and sends columns of smoke in strips of black and grey vertically across the whole landscape. It's a smoke signal competition. It's something to do on a Saturday morning now that the hunting season is over. It takes at least three hours if you slow it up a bit and... if pasta is at one o'clock... why there's an hour and a half in the bar to talk about non-beautiful things like dogs, sheep, cheese and football.

I’m cold after the walk which was supposed to warm me up but slipping into a hot shower and sipping a hot cup of tea accompanied by a biscuit in front of my smoking fire will cheer me up no end I decide.

Ed and Frances think differently.
Ed and Frances think.
I know because their thoughts have just been transmitted to me.
In the shower
Only this can explain the insights.
The insights?
I’m getting close to articulating them but not far enough.
You ask me if I really do believe that spiders think?
How can I say for sure? All I know is that I’m sure Ed and Frances not only think, but that they pass these thoughts on to me.
All I know is that I come out of the shower feeling inside the way I feel outside.
And I see the World differently
And I’m not too sure about what I’ve just written.
I don’t feel cheered up. Just sort of clear.