Defcon 1

I think the pesky mouses have up-to-date sat-nav for routes into the kitchen. 'Primary route blocked' [squeak] 'Turn left in 1.5 metres' [squeak] 'scale outside wall' [squeak] 'At the top of the wall, wriggle through eaves and jump onto wall fan' [squeak] 'Climb down fan pull-cord (ignore whirring noise, it stops on your way out) until level with spring-loaded cheeseboard' [squeak,squeak] 'do not enter spring-loaded cheeseboard' [squeak] 'You have reached your destination'.
The last place (we think) they can get in is the vent above the doors which used to have a mesh to stop insects. They've chewed their way through this so we need something a bit more sturdy (like wire mesh) to stop them. Mesh like I saw at the builders' merchant the other day so I hop on Mike and set off. About 2 miles up the road the bike starts to feel weird, Earthquake? no, have I ridden past some burning dope fields? no, must be a flat rear tyre then - bugger. So I snake my way to the side of the road and madly gesticulate (although we're slowly picking up the language ie. we've moved on from numbers, colours and vegetables to using some of the nice joiny-uppy words like 'and' and 'you' but nothing quite so complex as 'Excuse me my dear lady, would you be so kind as to point me towards the nearest motorcycle service station') to some old dear hanging out her washing who says in almost perfect English '200 metres on the left'. I stand there with my mouth open waiting for her to end the sentence with 'Luv' before I thank her and slowly wobble Mike down the road to the menders.
I do a double-take because it's hard to believe that the shed I've arrived at is the right place but sure enough there are 2 disassembled bikes on the forecourt  mudpatch and a guy comes forward wiping his hands on an oily rag. By the time we've exchanged pleasantries his mate has already levered off the tyre and is inspecting the tube shaking his head. 'Too far gone to patch, you'll have to have a new one'. 'Um, ah, OK then' with which he pulls up a block of wood and indicates for me to sit down.  Five minutes later I hand over 50,000 things (about 4 quid) and am about to leave when the mechanic very helpfully tries to start Mike with the electric starter. It's just the thing you don't want to happen, like going to the police station to get a pamphlet on home security and coming out to find 4 large officers pointing at what looks like a trail of blood dripping from your car boot. 'I fix, no problem' and again his mate is straight in there like a rat up a pull-cord drainpipe ripping off the sidepanels and exposing the starter motor. This is summarily removed and carefully disassembled. The 2 brushes and some iron filings fall out and the chap gives me one of those looks before rummaging in spare parts department (a drawer) and comes back waving the replacements (new ones mind, in a sealed bag). The soldering iron is plugged in, the guy again points to the waiting room block of wood where I sit and contemplate my wife at home wringing her hands and ringing my phone which is, predictably, still on the sideboard. While I wait, Guy no.1 shows me round the back where there are 4 secondhand bikes and a tarpaulin sheet which, in the style of a Ritz waiter, he rips off to reveal his centrepiece - a chopper! I coo in amazement and awe until I realise he wants me to buy it. Half an hour later the iron is hot, the brushes replaced, motor reassembled and I'm handing over another £4 - daylight bleedin' robbery.
The shopping is a bit of an anti-climax, I hand over my sample and 7,000 things and leave with 1 sq metre of shiny new rat-proofing. The mesh is installed, the fan relocated and it's cord greased, even relocated the cheese-loaded springboard. I'm half expecting to find a miniature Trojan Horse on the doorstep tomorrow.
On a more positive note, they no longer have a reason to come in. The new Reef Seen kitchen is in operation and the old one has been stripped and officially handed over to us Amanda who is busy cleaning all those places that haven't seen the light of day for many years, ready for all the shiny things we brought from the UK last year. We don't have a bin, brush or mop etc. but an afternoon trip to the 'Adi-Jaya' in the van soon takes care of that.