Having survived a short, sharp winter we were surprised to find just how quickly the spring weather changed the landscape. In some ways it was not so very different from the UK, but in the Charente we felt the rule of Texas applies: everything is bigger, brighter, and better. If you own a vernacular building there is also the heightened sense of communion.

We have friends who have converted an old mill nearby with some of the old mechanisms still functioning; they were surrounded by the rhythm of water and the movement and music of wildlife, but they also have snakes. One Christmas morning they woke to find six in the kitchen. The fact that nature moves indoors in the cool season is also unheralded by estate agents.

There had been a mouse or two in the caravan during the winter. We had no idea how they were getting in until we spotted one climbing the piece of wood we had kept wedged in the door to allow air to circulate. Clearly this was their access ramp.

Bats were welcome, but mice were a different matter. They are not cuddly little British field mice, these are the Arnold Schwarzeneggers of the rodent world. They don’t just nibble through paper, they go through heavy, waxed card cartons lined with metal foil. At one point we were losing several UHT milk litre packs a week. We put down poison but it just seemed to bolster their biceps.

So we went to Monsieur Bricolage – the French equivalent of B & Q – and looked at traps. As we preferred rodent removal to murder we bought one with an elaborate patchwork of entrances and trapdoors which cost £15. We packed it with ripe cheeses, chocolate and honey. The bait disappeared but so did the mice.

‘Our only hope,’ I said, ‘is that they will grow so fat that they can’t get out.’

Back to Monsieur Bricolage and a similar but smaller trap; a snip at just £8.

Kevin had used an interesting technique for mitreing corners. The problem is – say you’re doing a picture frame – that when you hammer in the nails, the edges move out of line. The answer is to use a fine nail that fits into the chuck of a cordless drill. You drill through the mitred corners just far enough into the wood, hammer in the nails and the joints stay where they should. I used this technique when setting the mouse trap. The cheese and chocolate were threaded with cotton and the cotton was tied to the spring mechanism. It worked; the first morning we found five contented but incarcerated mice. We collected a couple of dozen during the first week and after a fortnight there were no more.

But a few days later another carton of UHT milk was raided. It occurred to me that the mice that I had released on the other side of the Odorat were returning. Bernard, our neighbour, suggested branding them. I didn’t like the idea much until he pointed out that this could be accomplished with lipstick. I gave it some thought but decided this was impractical. In the first place how would you get them to purse their lips?

The next bunch of captives went straight into the Odorat.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Doris, ‘they can swim.’

I decided not to mention Bernard’s cat which had been prowling on the opposite bank downstream.