The tools of her trade seem to be no more than a ladder, a notepad, a pencil and a really big torch.
She looked out the back at the section onto which we will be building.
"Is this it?" She said in a slightly accusatory fashion, staring at the roof with an inch and half gap between two slates.
Ummmm ... yes." I replied wondering what more I could offer her.
Is there no roof access from inside?"
"Well I shall have to look into the loft space of the main roof as well. To make sure there are no bats at all.
"Really? It means moving furniture you know. And we won't be building near that roofline."
"I'll just go and get my ladder."
So while she magicked a mahoosive ladder from her car I corralled the three Hounds of the Baskervilles behind one locked door before dashing up the stairs throwing detritus into appropriate rooms and slamming doors. Unfortunately the last one I slammed on my thumb.
With wardrobe moved, ladder in place and loft hatch opened she fired up her torch. This is a torch that demands respect. A torch that might well have its own fiefdom somewhere. To be honest if I were a bat I would probably hide as soon as I saw the light from this behemoth arcing toward me.
Within five minutes she was back down shaking her head.
"Let's go back outside.
So we stood out behind the house discussing exactly why there are **NO BATS** on the property and what needs to be done to prevent them turning up. Turns out a North (= no sun fyi you Antipodeans) facing aspect is a major no no for pteropines. She also suggested I immediately lay waste to the tangled hedgerow of brambles, honeysuckle and Mexican Orange Blossom that now stands about 9 foot across by eight foot high and three foot deep right on the boundary where we want to build before the birds start nesting in it.
So after seeing her safely out the drive I dashed into town and bought the most girlie looking pair of gauntlets you have ever seen in your life and will be using them to wave farewll to all the bats that don't live up here on The Hill.