THE DARK SIDE

..OR how living in the countryside is not a bed of roses

DRIVEN BATTY: imagine this flying around in your lounge

EVER since moving to the Scottish Borders and regaling you with tales of countryside life many have told me how they wish they were here living the dream.
 Admittedly the isolation, getting closer to Nature and studying animal behaviour has been splendid, at times amusing and very spiritually rewarding but if I've over romanticised things then I do apologise. It is only fair to warn that there is also a dark side to countryside living.
 Losing a goose to a badger and then a turkey to a fox was devastating and a brutal reminder that life and death are constant companions here. But there's also the massive spiders lying in wait by the bath plug and if the thought of little furry rodents and creepy crawlies send shivers down your spine then perhaps the countryside is not for you. The dreaded Scottish midgie is also in plague-style proportions at the moment.
 Renovating a 200-year-old coach house has been an unsettling time not just for me but for those who share the same space - wether I like it or not - under our roof.
 Lat year while watching a creepy episode of CSI my viewing in the dark was interrupted by a daft bat which flew through a hole in the ceiling. At first I thought it was part of the program plot and wasn't quite sure why a bat would fly in and out of camera shot until I realised that the creature was zooming in and out of my vision in the living room.

BATH TIME: Spiders love hanging around

plug holes and sinks

 The odd mouse has provided a challenge and then with the arrival of the poultry came the dreaded rat. Hubby has put down poison, in a most inventive way to lure the rodents and not the livestock, but the pests were equally innovative and moved from outside buildings into the attic. The building, like many of that period, has natural air conditioning, secret holes, passages and a second skin to circulate the air.

 One evening there was so much noise coming from the attic I thought the rodents must be line dancing with clogs on their feet.

 In the end I brought in three Geordie moggies, half feral, to try and remedy the situation. The rescue cats came from some stables which were being demolished and a volunteer from the Cats Protection Charity Shop* brought them to the farm when she heard via the RSPCA that I was after some good mousers and ratters and prepared to offer a good home in exchange for their services.

MOUSE: Not so cute in the house

 Being feral, the trio are incredibly elusive, but have obviously discovered the secret passages and warrens which are contained within the building so while they are housed and fed in the stables they must be getting around already.
 I say this because last night, while again viewing TV in the dark, I heard a large scamper overhead, a flurry of activity and then something drop from the hole in the ceiling. It was a mouse and as I leapt in the air running in the opposite direction I'm not sure who was in the greatest flap. Having recovered my composure I followed the mouse to a dark corner and put down a humane trap containing a half eaten chocolate bar.
 Unbelievably it worked as you can see from the picture to my right or, if you prefer, there's a short video clip of the intruder just below. I popped down to the stables this morning to thank the cats but they scattered into dark corners as I opened the door. Feral they might be, but their manners are impeccable ... another dead mouse was left in the open as a gift in exchange for the far tastier meals I'm leaving out for them.
 I don't even have photographs of the trio, so elusive are they, but I'm sure in time this will change. Meanwhile they are doing an excellent job and I expect to be clear of rats, mice and other pests in the coming weeks.

 * I can't praise the work of the Cats Protection Charity Shop enough and have already made a small donation. Please feel free to do the same, the details are below.

Cats Protection Charity Shop
162-166 HIGH STREET
WALLSEND
NEWCASTLE
NE28 7RP

SILO SNIPPET -

Bat update

IN A PREVIOUS report <http://soho2silo.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/bats-cautionary-tale.html> I featured this little chap on the right discussing if he was alive or dead. Well the general consensus now from a variety of countryside experts who've happened by these last few days is that he is as dead as a dodo. If this is the case, and it's looking increasingly likely now, then that is a great pity. A visitor to my home today identified the bat as the "common pipistrelle." Not quite sure what to do with his body or if I should just leave him hanging from the door - any suggestions greatly appreciated.

Unwelcome visitors ..

Or, there's a mouse in the House

 I've never been plagued at home by rodents, not even when I lived in Soho where apparently you're never more than seven feet away from a rat ... the four legged variety, of course. My other half puts that down to the fact I never cooked when I lived on my own which is true to a certain extent and since I travelled frequently there was never any food left lying around.

 So, unless any furry visitors to my pad carried a can opener it was pretty pointless making a nest in a food-free house.

 However since I left London's Zone 1 and made my new home in the Borders, I've grown used to sharing with an odd assortment of wildlife ranging from bats, jackdaws and things that scamper around. Usually I'm not too bothered by these squatters as most are nocturnal though the jackdaws are noisy at around 6.30am, especially when they've got their young tucked away inside the eaves.

Trapped by a Twix

 Mostly it's a case of out of sight, out of mind but if you're going to squat somewhere you should either be invisible or clean up after you. As regular readers of this blog know, I'm becoming an expert in animal poo - no shit, really! Just a few days ago I noticed tell-tale mouse droppings under the kitchen sink and decided to take action. I went and bought a mouse trap - not just any old trap; it was a humane one so I wouldn't have to unpick a squashed body from a guillotine device in the unlikely event of catching the damn critter. I positively balked at some sticky tape - I mean what would happen if you actually caught something? How would you unpick it and how would you handle your unwelcome visitor?

 So, using a squashed Twix bar - Tom and Jerry cartoons aside, mice don't go gaga over cheese - I set the trap and went off to watch the TV. Returning to the kitchen to make a coffee a couple of hours later I heard a scratching sound and looked at the trap's window. Unbelievable! I'd caught a bloody mouse and it was non too happy about its predicament and neither was I. Stage two had not been planned, nor even contemplated so I do what any sane person would do in this situation - I tweeted, asking for advice.

 The responses were fast and furious. Some daft, some cruel and some unprintable but all had a common theme ... make sure your unwelcome visitor does not run back inside before you do. So the best option, it seems, was to free my captive well away from the house and at first light off we drove nearly two miles down the road. 

 Pulling into a forest tract, two bemused Forestry Commission workers looked on as I explained the mission. That was a couple of weeks ago and since then my unwelcome visitor hasn't returned and nor have I found any other traces of mice poo. And for the Doubting Thomas types, click on below for a truly happy ending.

                                         A HAPPY ENDING

Bats: A cautionary tale

Walk away and don't look back

PERHAPS it was the sweeping drive, the rhododendrons lining either side in full bloom, the visual impact of the looming 18th century coach house or the mature woodlands, streams and pastures - whatever it was, it was love at first sight.
 He-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is was accompanying me on my latest jaunt in search of the perfect country retreat. His concern was growing with each journey as he realised this wasn't one of my two-week fads, it was lasting much longer. My search had taken him up hill and down dale in Yorkshire, across Wales, through Cornwall and Devon and around Malvern country. And more importantly, we'd just found a buyer for our Soho flat.
 "Midlife crisis," chipped in the back seat driver Joyce, my octogenarium mum, as he advised me to put a lid on my squeals of delight and restrain my enthusiasm as the car came to a crunching halt on the gravel drive and the seller approached with trademark Scottish hospitality.
 After a couple of hours viewing we left with differing views. My usually silent half said there was too much work, too much upkeep and the house was falling down while all my mother could go on about was the enormous amount of blue bottles, where did the sewage pipe end and what would happen if the water well dried up?
 There was also the matter of distance - London was a six hour drive away and that's where my work was for three days of the week.
 After taking their counsel for all of 90 seconds, I got on the phone to a local builder and surveyor and put in an offer with the estate agent as soon as I got back to London. House sales are done differently in Scotland and usually someone's word is their bond so there's none of the accompanying nonsense associated with gazumping in the volatile London market.
 I knew the house was in a state of disrepair - as soon as you see the word "character" mentioned in the blurb you know there's a few wrinkles and ailments.
 The diagnosis from the builder was not good either when I met up with him on a subsequent visit. "Wood worm, dry rot, rising damp, an unexplained bulge at the back, more than 20 wasps nests in the attic," he exclaimed and then, in a conspiratorial tone he moved forwards and whispered in my ear and there's something else: "I can fix all that but you've got bats. My advice is turn around slowly and start to walk away and never look back."

Blood sucker: Christopher Lee

 My goodness! I thought Bram Stoker's novel on Dracula was the work of fiction - now I felt as though I'd just entered a real life Hammer House of Horror film and Christopher Lee would waft into view from no where cursing the faint aroma coming from the wild garlic growing in the woodlands.
I began to do some research on builders and bats and was gobsmacked. These flying pipsqueaks, barely the size of a small mouse, had more rights and protections than any child in Britain. In fact, had children got the same rights as bats and the protection of zealous bat conservation groups I doubt there would be many cases of child cruelty. Perhaps we should do away with social workers and retrain the members of the Bat Conservation Trust. I mentioned it to an acquaintance of mine, a well travelled international diplomat who suggested I have a weekend-long cigar-smoking party which might drive them out. A more sanguine response came from Professor Geoffrey Alderman after a studio show we'd just concluded discussing Israel's occupation of the West Bank. Geoffrey and I should, on paper, be sworn enemies who hiss and spit at each other before, during and after a live TV debate but once the discussion is over we usually sit back and enjoy convivial chit chat. Israel aside, we've a lot in common including a love of good, quality food. I expected him to come up with quite a radical, robust solution but his advice was: "Just sit back and wait and they'll probably clear off." Believe it or not as the first warm rays of spring sunshine arrived they did, with the exception of one in an outbuilding but by the time all the remedial work was done he'd cleared off too. The builder was delighted. He had regaled me with tales of multi million pound projects being halted all because of bats, huge fines and prison sentences threatened. The scenario was of nightmare proportions and I read the other day that even Prince Charles has been plagued by delays and costs surrounding his community projects on the Duchy of Cornwall Estate because of the ubiquitous bat.
 A quick check on the internet and you'll discovered all bat species and their roosts are protected and you could end up in prison if you..

 * Deliberately capture, injure or kill a bat

 * Intentionally or recklessly disturb a bat in its roost or deliberately disturb a group of bats

 * Damage or destroy a bat roosting place (even if bats are not occupying the roost at the time)

 * Possess or advertise/sell/exchange a bat (dead or alive) or any part of a bat 
 * Intentionally or recklessly obstruct access to a bat roost

 As Autumn arrived last year I remember hearing some noises coming from the attic and just brushed them aside as the patter of mice feet. Still in the middle of renovation work and with holes here and there in the ceiling, I tried to ignore the noise and focus on some TV.

 While watching CSI New York there was quite a dark sequence but I couldn't for the life of me understand why bats kept appearing in shot, so I assumed it must be part of the plot to add to the suspense and atmosphere. I even congratulated myself on such a good spot, may be my eyesight was not that dodgy after all, but as I continued watching I realised the bat on television wasn't in New York at all ... he was in my living room and kept flying in to my vision. All the above dos and donts came flooding back along with images of Klaus Kinski. Adding to my irrational fear, I half expected him to morph into my living room as Nosferatu and so just sat there in the dark, frozen with fear in front of the flickering box, until it buggered off back into a hole in the ceiling.

Spot the bat

Dead or alive?

 I've not been up in the attic since and I do have plans to turn that into a study bedroom but I imagine it could still be a race against time before he returns with his buddies. In the meantime cast a glance at the picture to the right which I took today. It is of a bat hanging around the side of a  door - no idea what sort of bat, but I was showing it off to a man from the Forestry Commission who was there to inspect some trees. If  you look at the picture on the left you can see what a tiny little thing he is (the bat) - no more than two to three inches, I'd say.

 My man from the Forestry reckons the bat is as dead as a door nail but I cautioned him against poking or prodding the creature saying it was an offence to disturb a bat. His look of disdain revealed that he was also well aware of all the rules and regs and didn't need some "daft town bat" from Soho sharing the countryside code with him. However, intrigued, he also took a photograph of the creature to show his bat friends. But I'm still convinced this Rip Van Winkle of the flying rodent world is enjoying a very deep hibernation-style sleep. What neither of us can figure out is why he decided to rock up and attach himself onto the outside of a door frame where he's fully exposed to the harsh elements and all sorts of predators - he could easily have slipped in to my kitchen or lounge and hung around undisturbed there instead. Short of calling in a rescue team from one of the many bat conservancy groups there are, he could have spent winter inside with me.
 By the way, if you recognise his species, or have a theory as to why he's chosen that spot to hang around please do feel free to share. We'd all like to know, I'm sure.

Next installment: THE SAGA OF THE AGA