The beaver meets me on the bank of a swollen tributary in the Cotswolds, wearing a lanyard made of bark. It says “VISITOR”. He tells me it was the first thing the council sent him. He has lived in the village for sixteen days. In that time he has built a dam that holds back an estimated four hundred thousand litres of water. The official flood scheme, first proposed in 2009, remains at the feasibility stage.

He asks to be called Malcolm. His email signature reads “Sent from my lodge”.

“It’s sticks, mostly”

Can you describe the dam?

Sticks, mud and some stones. One night. My partner Fiona did the tricky bit by the culvert. We were done by dawn and the water was already behaving itself.

And the response?

A letter. Pinned to my willow. It asked whether I had submitted a pre-application enquiry. I had to look that up. It is a form you fill in to find out whether you may fill in a form.

The parish council has raised concerns.

Eleven. I counted. Number four is that the dam is “not in keeping with the character of the village”. The village has a bus shelter made of corrugated plastic and a mini roundabout that nobody can explain. I think we can all see where the bar is.

“We welcome wildlife in principle. But the structure has no design and access statement, and the materials appear to include a neighbour’s trellis.” Pamela Hartley-Reeve, Chair of Little Wickham Parish Council

You have also been asked for a bat survey.

Yes. I offered to do it myself. I was told I am not a licensed surveyor. I have lived beside those bats for a fortnight. They are fine. They come out at dusk and keep to themselves, which is more than I can say for the consultation officer.

What is the consultation period?

Twenty-eight days. The river does not have twenty-eight days. The river has until Thursday.

He pauses to rearrange a branch that did not need rearranging. I suspect it is a coping mechanism.

Have the authorities been supportive?

They have been very warm. Everyone says how marvellous it is. Then they ask who is responsible for it. I said, me, obviously, I am standing in it. Apparently that is not a valid answer. I need a named contact and a reference number.

A spokesperson for the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs confirmed that the beaver’s work was “genuinely welcome”.

“We would simply ask that he pause while we establish which department he falls under. At present he is split across three, and none of them has a budget code for rodents.” Dr Nigel Ashworth, Deputy Head of Riparian Engagement Policy

Malcolm says he has since been told he is not technically a rodent for the purposes of the form, but is one for the purposes of the fee.

Is it true you have been issued with a licence?

I have a licence to exist. I do not have a licence to do the thing I exist for. Fiona calls it the Natural England paradox. She says it with a very flat face.

What would you say to the council?

I have left a response on their doorstep. Eleven pages, all on bark, every box ticked. Nobody will read it. But it is the right way up, and that is more than the drainage scheme can say.

He checks his watch, which is also bark, and glances at the water. It is the lowest it has been since spring. Behind him, the village’s only other flood measure, a laminated sign reading “Road Liable to Flooding”, stands in four inches of dry mud.

“Right,” he says. “I have a meeting about a meeting. Mind the dam. It is not in keeping.”