I finally fell asleep a little after 1am last night – after lying in bed listening to noises in the roof-space of the ancient cottage we’re staying in. A furious guest had written a review on the agent’s website complaining about a mouse infestation that nobody else seemed to have experienced, or found. I figured it out.
The hot water and heating system for the cottage obviously has pipes retro-fiitted through the rafters – some of which run through the bedroom ceiling. Anybody that’s every lifted their floorboards or re-built ceilings knows that pipes are usually cut into rafters. Guess what happens when pipes get hot? They expand. Guess what happens when a pipe expands, and is cut into rafters that might have swollen over time? It sounds exactly like something running across the roof space. Only it doesn’t – unless it’s a clock-work mouse that keeps a perfect pace, or that accelerates to 60 miles per hour when the heating periodically kicks in.
If you’re wondering how I could tell the difference to the real thing, it’s because we HAD the real thing in our roof space a few years ago. A tile came off the roof, and we had visitors for a few weeks. I poisoned them all (I know, I’ll go to hell), and we had the roof fixed – but for those few nights, we heard them.
Anyway.
This morning was an exercise in learning to slow down. After I had got up, had a shower, got dressed, made coffee, fixed the roman blinds in the living room (I wonder how long they had been broken for?) and sat in the garden listening to the local radio, my other half appeared in her PJs – rubbing her eyes. She was obviously showing me how to do this “going slow” thing.
After an hour of eating toast, drinking our own body-weight in tea, and deliberating about what to wear, we set off towards the coast path, and the wilds of Holy Island.
While walking, exploring, and stopping to watch and listen to various birds, we wished we had brought (a) a bird book, and (b) a pair of binoculars. We own both – several of both – and they are all at home. We saw oyster catchers, kestrels, herring gulls, sparrow hawks, and all manner of smaller birds.
Along the western side of Rhoscolyn we saw numerous groups of climbers on the quite beautiful cliffs and rocks – picking their way from hold to hold, and threading ropes through carabinas. I will admit it gave me the willies just watching them.
After crossing to the eastern coast – with Mount Snowdon and Snowdonia painting picture postcard vistas across the horizon – we passed RAF Valley and dropped down into Silver Bay – walking the beach at low tide on our own before spying a small building selling exactly the kids of refreshments you might like after walking for a few hours.
We won’t talk about the elderly norther man walking a dog that nearly attacked us. He knew it was dangerous as he approached – looking concerned that they had encountered anybody at all. The dog started bareing it’s teeth, and lashed out at despite us both stepping back against the fence as far as we could. I will admit to taking some delight in knowing that he would be walking through a field of bulls in a few minutes time. Let’s hope they didn’t stampede the dog (not).
Walking back into Rhoscolyn, we stopped once again at the White Eagle, and wondered quite who might own the imposing black house on the edge of the peninsula – replete with fake burial mound stones on the lawn, and Tim Burton-esque gates. We really should look it up.
This evening we’re back in the cottage, overdosed on o-zone and vitamin D, and enjoying the peace and quiet once again.
I wonder if the non existent mice will return this evening?