I may or may not have described a similar episode on here before a while ago, but this morning, when we got into our living room, Lyn and Marta our PA noticed the mouse trap had been filled. The prism-shaped piece of card was shaking; it obviously had a mouse stuck on it’s adhesive base. L and M didn’t know what to do Marta could not deal with it. We couldn’t leave it there, so I had no choice: on my own I half filled a bucket with water and took it back into the living room. I then pressed the cardboard prism into the water, making sure it was submerged for thirty seconds or so, before taking the damn thing outside, putting it in the bin and tipping out the water.

I instantly felt wretched. I forced myself to do it, but after it was over I realised I had killed a mammal. Last time this happened it was up to me to clout its brain out with a hammer, and I didn’t want to repeat that abhorrent episode. But this time it felt no less base. I may like fictional characters like James Bond, but I am not James Bond – I am not a killer. I felt insecure and disgusted; it is still playing on my mind. I keep telling myself that I had no choice and that I did what I had to do, but I hope I never have to do it again.