THE saga of my more expensive than gold runner beans continues. After having to set up an irrigation system in the garden which would be worthy of a small desert nation I happily marched to my new veg patch only to find an unexpected guest had taken up residence.

After a hair-raising close encounter with a giant spider in the house a week or so ago I’ve managed to spray every room with an organic product made up of a mix of spider deterring herbs which the bottle assured me would rid my property of every pest.

“I don’t know about the spiders but the stink is so bad it’s making me consider leaving,” said the housemate as I headed for the area around her chair.

“ My only worry is what happens if I spray it around the edge of a room which a spider already lives in and he can’t get out so is trapped here for ever,” I asked as she beat a hasty retreat from my spray gun.

With the house dominating my spider phobia I completely overlooked the fact that their natural habitat was the garden so it came as quite a shock to discover a massive eight-legged beastie lurking under a leaf on my thriving bean plant as I began to harvest last week’s supper.

Not only was he glaring at me in a most territorial fashion, he was also fiercely guarding what I had identified as the most succulent and perfect bean on the whole plant.

Leaving it for him I beat a fairly hasty retreat to the kitchen where the housemate gazed at our meagre harvest.

“We need to water them more” I fibbed, rather than admit that I’d left the cream of the crop on the plant.

On Saturday after the housemate had joined her fellow WI members at Abergavenny’s amazing Carnival parade I braved another trip to the bean stalk where I knew the giant would still be waiting.

This time I had the equally arachnophobic Mother in tow.

“Just watch where you’re picking,” I warned her. “He lurks under leaves like something from Jurassic Park just waiting to pounce!”

As she tiptoed her way around the plant with her eyes firmly on the leaves I remembered with a jolt that I’d forgotten to warn her of the other lurking danger…a little gift deposited by one of the many cats which patrol the area, which I had neglected to remove.

“Look out for the cat sh…..oops too late,” I grimaced as she plonked her foot firmly in the considerable pile.

“I think I’ve got it all off,” she announced peering at her sole after several moments of wiping it on anything at hand.

Loading her and her crop of beans into the car I dropped her off at home.

As I followed her through the hallway to the kitchen I noticed a trail of suspicious looking marks on the carpet.

“Did you get all the cat poo off your shoes?” I asked, thinking largely of my car mats.

“Of course I did,” she replied.

“Then what is that?”

Picking her right foot she smugly showed me the spotless sole before raising her other foot to reveal a dollop of the unmentionable.

“Oh bugger,” she cursed… “I wiped the wrong flamin’ foot!!”