Autumn arrives and once again the leaves fall from the two oak trees in my garden in a traditional annual deluge. This normally involves the occupiers of the 'Old Oak' filling numerous bin sacks followed by regular trips to the waste disposal centre to relieve ourselves of rotting vegetation.

I know this time of year only too well. Previous autumns have heralded the arrival of furry friends into our loft. Previous attempts to secure the property have failed. This year was going to be different....

We were reading a bedtime story, my six-year-old daughter and me when, reminiscent of the Poltergeist movie my daughter looked up at her bedroom ceiling and said. "They're back!" The telltale pitter-patter of tiny feet announced the presence of unwanted guests.

Hoisted myself up into the roof space and inspected the area with the help of an old lamp powered by a long extension lead coming from one of the bedrooms below. All seemed to be in order. I looked at the gable end of the loft where our little friends had nested last year, but that area had not been disturbed suggesting my pest-proofing had achieved its purpose. Moved along the edge of the attic lengthways and found evidence of activity near to the stench pipe above the bathroom. A small tear in the roofing felt was their obvious access point into the loft and some disturbance amongst the glasswool cladding nearby confirmed my fears. They were indeed back.

What to do, what to do? I know, find out where they were getting in. After some detective work, I discovered that they were running along one of the oak tree branches, jumping on to the garage roof and then leaping six or seven feet on to the roof of the house. They would run along the guttering and disappear under the tiles by the soffit board and into the loft. I had no ladders so I could only surmise that they had chewed the plastic combs, which prevent the ingress of birds nesting between said gap to gain entry, usually at dusk.

All quiet for a couple of weeks until one evening we heard loud gnawing sounds from above. Inspection revealed they had started to chew the wooden joists in one area of the loft. They were using the resultant 'chippings' to bolster their glasswool nest, which had begun to develop with alarming speed. This called for drastic action. Visited the local ironmonger and purchased a rattrap, you know the type. Like a mousetrap but ten times the size! Carefully set the trap baited with peanut butter and left it adjacent to the damaged felt. Sat back and waited for my first victim. Better not tell the kids. Better not tell the wife. If I caught one I'd just dump it and say nothing. Me, Devious? Nah!

Next evening checked the trap. My heart raced because it wasn't where I left it. Searched around hoping not to find an angry squirrel with sore fingers. Found it. Trap sprung, bait gone, trap chewed round the edges! Hmmm. Had a feeling they were laughing at me from the dark recesses of the loft. Set it again and hoped it was just bad luck on my part. (Good luck on theirs). Over the next few weeks the pattern continued. My trusty trap was now beyond repair. Not satisfied with eating the bait, they had virtually eaten the trap. I sat in the conservatory drinking my morning coffee watching the antics of my furry friends in the garden. There were two, which my kids had given names to. Buster; the biggest, had a big bushy tail and Granny; not as big or as fast as Buster, named after her white whiskers. At one point they went into a huddle at the base of the tree trunk. I'm sure they were talking about me.

Lying awake at night listening to sound of chewing and little feet overhead set me to imagine all sorts of things. What if they chewed through an electrical wire and the house burnt down? What if they chewed through the beams and the ceiling fell in? At four in the morning I got out of bed and peered wearily into the loft. It was like the Mari Celeste. Fire still warm, playing-cards on the table and I'm sure they'd been drinking my whiskey.

Woke up early Saturday and took a trip to B&Q. Rat Poison! That should do it!

No it didn't. They don't like rat poison and for good reason! Days and nights went by until I stumbled across a bulletin board on the Internet about pest control. (OK I was looking for ideas). One guy proudly announced. "Since I bought an ultrasonic pest repellent, I've had no problems with my squirrels." Aha! Sounds great. Did a further search and found a UK supplier. Rang them up and discussed my problem. "Will it work?" I enquired. "Oh yeah" he replied. "Great, how soon can I have one?"

Two days later I was installing my Acme Ultrasonic Pest Repellent. Feeling pretty pleased with myself I let the device do the business and looked forward to a restful nights sleep. Three days later I went back into the loft and reset my device to the correct frequency. Should have read the instructions. Two days after that and two demented hamsters later, I moved the device to another location which was not directly above my son's bedroom.

"Works for small rodents including rats, squirrels and other pests" it said on the box. Only works on hamsters I thought to myself and went to check the spelling. Did it say pests or pets?

"It's in here somewhere," I said to myself.

I was in my parent's loft, not looking for signs of squirrel activity but looking for my old air rifle. This was becoming personal and I was not a happy chappy.

The thing about squirrels is that firstly they are very persistent. Two months of intimidation had produced no positive results. They are also quick, aggressive and at the same time elusive. They are renowned for their intelligence and their agility, as anyone with a bird feeder will testify.

My tactics had now turned to thoughts of ambush. If I was quick, I could appear in the loft and launch a surprise attack and shoot them where they stood. I was wrong. They were quicker. They were also very bold, like a prize fighter sticking out his chin then pulling away at the last minute, my furry enemies (not friends anymore) would stand there in the loft look at me then dart off under the roofing felt while I took pot-shots in the dark. Time for a rethink. My Australian pen-friend had suggested building a nesting box and placing it in one of the oak trees. Apparently it works for possums. I have to say that it doesn't work for squirrels.

At B&Q they have a fascinating range of ladders. I chose a two-stage eight-metre aluminium jobbie and armed with a can of 'No More Big Gaps' I headed for home. Both squirrels were in the tree. Good I thought as I climbed the ladder. My intention was to fill all the gaps with expanding foam right along the roofline to prevent access. Have you ever tried to use expanding foam a zillion feet up a ladder? I once heard an expression that this stuff sticks like shit to a blanket. At some point during my exercise of defying gravity I appreciated that turn of phrase. Oh, and wear the gloves provided as it doesn't come off your hands. Should have read the instructions.

I worked my way along the roof inspecting the damage to the combs or whatever they're called, until I came to the last two holes. I had made a right old mess but I was sure it would clean up. Boy does this stuff expand! When without warning a squirrel darted past my earhole and onto the garage roof. I nearly followed the same route, but after some impressive windmilling of arms and legs managed to stay on the ladder. I had just been introduced to Stumpy; a small rodent, so named (latterly, by the kids) because it only had half a tail. Like the Lord Mayor of Hiroshima, I thought, where the hell did that come from! Shaken, but satisfied with a job well done I was sure that would be the last visit any of them would make to my loft. How wrong I was.

My experiments with grinding the rat poison and mixing it with peanut butter seemed to be working, all the bait in the loft was disappearing but the squirrels were not. My wife demanded an update and objected to my current practice on the grounds of smells emanating from potentially rotting corpses in the roof-space. I had to agree my judgement had become clouded in the red mist. I was getting desperate.

"Why don't you try and catch them?" she suggested helpfully. "Have you any idea how difficult...." I broke off as my mind turned to thoughts of making a live trap.

On December 27^th I took delivery of my Acme Squirrel Trap. At £29 delivered it was a worthwhile investment. I read the instructions carefully and set the trap (made from the highest-grade galvanised pig iron) with their favourite peanut butter.

Success! Hallelujah! Hare Krishna! I had caught Granny and she wasn't happy! Did you know that they make a low growling noise when they're pissed off. Similar to a Wood Pigeon but deeper and more threatening. I carefully placed the cage into a cardboard box to calm her down. I can appreciate the saying; 'madder than a bag of squirrels' as the beast I had caught was acting like a Tasmanian Devil. The next day Granny was relocated. I released her amongst a small oak copse close to where I work where I had seen other Greys in the past. During my lunchtime strolls I could check up on her as well.

Trap sprung but no squirrel. Must have set it too fine.

Celebrated my son's eighth birthday by the capture and relocation of Stumpy to the same copse as Granny. I hoped that they might find each other. What's this? I must be going soft. Only weeks ago I had considered razor wire and fish hooks.

This time I had supplemented the peanut butter with one of those seed sticks that I had pinched from my son's hamster cage. Ah well, it had worked. Stumpy wasn't quite so angry and hopped off into the undergrowth to look for Granny. I never saw Buster after that, perhaps he ran off to find a new mate or bring some more mates to the house.

Post Script Thanks for the many, many compliments about my story. It was written to help and advise others in the same situation. I hadn't reckoned on there being so many! (127) Unfortunately some people (2) have no sense of humour and berate me for releasing Greys back into the wild. Here's my advice:

It is illegal to release Greys back into the wild. You can call the local council to come and dispose of the animal for you. Some councils may charge for this. Or you can kill it yourself.

I give this advice because I've been asked to think of the reds. So I'm thinking about them.