Like many other English people, the thought of living in an old house of character is dreams come true when they come to France, and find a renovation project. Big rooms, attached barns and BEAMS!

On all the TV make over programmes people always exclaim ‘BEAMS’ in capital letters. Deep Joy!  Our house had had a full renovation except for the pointing outside, which was work in progress, and the barn attached hadn’t been touched.

But, do not forget that if a house or barn has stood empty for many years other creatures will have taken up residence there. Yes, I know old houses have spiders (no problem for me) mice (screaming terrors) owls (lovely), but nothing had ever prepared me for 2 other residents that arrived unannounced.

One evening, sitting up in bed reading, I heard a four-footed animal land on the ceiling in the corridor outside the bedroom. Then pat, pat, pat across the ceiling above me. I stared at the ceiling seeking inspiration, but obviously all I could see was ceiling. Then it scratched, moved on a bit, scratched again, pattered around a while and after about an hour all was silent.

At half past three the performance started again. This happened in the same pattern every night and people I spoke to, and checked on the Internet, said they were fouine (pronounced fween) which were stone martens. I was told they could be quite vicious, and very hard to get rid of. So as I knew they couldn’t get into the house I put up with it for a week or two.

Then a friend came and put a cage trap in the loft with some bacon and an egg in it  (raw, not as in your full English) but this didn’t do the trick. One night at the usual half past three (you could almost set your clock by them) something; I know not what; was either being killed up above or there was some serious mating going on. The noise was really horrendous as they were crashing about and screaming and screaming.

That was the last straw, so the following morning I went to the marie in the village and asked for some assistance. She rang the pompiers but they couldn’t help, so she rang the President de la chasse. He came that afternoon, and spotted my wood-burner and promptly gave me his card to buy wood from him.

That sorted, he then stuck his head through the trap door into the loft space and left a box with 6 eggs in. He said that would be the end of them, and I was very happy. Thanked him profusely and he said he’d be back to check in a day or two. When I told my son what had happened he asked if I’d offered to pay him? Quelle erreur! When he came back I had a bottle of whisky waiting for him, which brought a big smile to his face. He went up onto the loft again and showed me one egg was missing. Fouines gone!

I know that some of you are going to be horrified at the end of this tale, and it wasn’t the ending I would have wished for, but the thought of mummy, daddy and several babies living up there was more than I could bear to think about. Any kind of sleep would have been out of the question.

So that was one of the HIGHS (excuse the pun) of living in an old house. For the LOWS see part 2.

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