deset

How many men does it take to change a roof? Two, me and Pete (with a bit of help from toothless Ivan, an 83 year old, to pass up a few ridge tiles right at the end – I always knew he was a glory boy).

It’s official, Pete and I have actually done something to be proud of. Our barn, arguably the best building on site, was in a sorry stake after we raided the roof for stone plotches to repair the roof on the house. Worried that it wouldn’t last the winter without a roof, we decided that our challenge, with or without Anika Rice (who I hear still gets excited when the chopper goes up), was to repair and re-tile the roof in 4 weeks. We decided to use 2^nd hand clay tiles, rather than insisting on more huge stone tiles, to take a bit of weight off and to make our life a bit easier. We put our maths and language skills to the test and bartered good prices for 1800 tiles, 75m of replacement timbers and a decent drill. We also visited a couple of quarries to buy sand and aggregate to mix up a bit of concrete which was interesting… there’s nothing quite like thinking you’re arguing over price when in fact we’re talking about volume and ratio calculations… we got there in the end. For those of you who watched The Smell of Reeves and Mortimer, we bought our tiles from Uncle Peter who turned up for work in his xxs green felt blazer and crumpled top hat, on his home made petrol powered pedal bike – smooth.

So between snow storms we got our act together and got out into the cold in our best thermals and thinsulate to show the locals how real building work is done! And this is what we ended up with:

‘Undulating’ might be one way of describing it, ‘wavy’ perhaps? curvaceous even? Kevin McCloud would definitely call it ‘organic’. Straight lines are for architects and traffic wardens. Anyway, I like it and it’s waterproof which is all that counts.

Before I left, it’s fair to say that my accommodation arrangements were less that comprehensive and upon arrival, it quickly became clear that my back up plan (living in the van) was not really going to be an option with the temperature dropping to a “piss in your pants to stay warm” -7 at night. Miraculously though, an English couple in the village took pity on us and offered to put us up in their spare bungalow for a month! I couldn’t and still cant quite believe how lucky I was…not least because not only did they have a hot shower, flushing sit down toilet and heating, but the guy, Peter, an ex pub landlord, also turned out to be a legend in kitchen. I don’t know when you last had toad in the hole or stew and dumplings, but I can say with some certainty, not recently enough… get on with it… they’re amazing. So next time you’re passing through Burya, I can recommend a night at Peter and Sandra’s place (thanks a million).

While I’ve been playing at building, Sam has been doing some real work, training to be an English Language teacher in Sofia. At only 60-80 hours a week and her first teaching lesson on day 2 of the course, it sounded like a piece of piss really! So yet again, Sam has managed to out do me, passing her course and showing off by using apostrophes in all the right place’s. God I’m funny. It also meant we got to spend a bit more time in Sofia, which I like more each time I go.

So all in all, we’ve had a great time and managed to achieve shit loads. Lots of back patting all round: well done us.

Aside from the construction, and the self appreciation I’ve also been back on the trail of Bulgarian culture. Its a tough, salt laiden job but somebody has to do it. The highlight was definitely a 53^rd birthday party at which we were the special guests. A few glasses of home made wine and grape brandy later, it looked like this:

...good shit, chestit rozden den.

I’ve also decided to have a new feature as part of the blog: Myth busters, where I explain the facts behind some of the words most wondrous mysteries. First up, super models.

There is a reason that more supermodels come from eastern Europe than anywhere else, and on my last trip to Veliko Turnovo, I found out what it is: Carrots, shit loads of them. Sat in a pizzeria, chomping my way through a 12” diavolo with extra everything, I heard a girl on the next table order a salad, a carrot salad. It sounded like an uninspiring side dish, at best, but I guessed it might be ok to break up the mass of cheese on the pizzas. Little did I realise that a carrot salad could make up a whole meal, especially when it comprises just a huge pile of grated carrot. For 2 hours the girl sat, picking at her ‘salad’ no doubt enjoying every orange mouthful. She did at least have the dignity to wash it down will a full fat coke. It was obviously not as fulfilling as she hoped, as she only managed half of it – the fat cow.

I’m back in the uk for a while and will hopefully catch up with everyone. Back for more Bulgarian adventures in the spring if Tesco will give me the time off.

Ciao Ciao za sega

devet

well well well - here we are again. After a bit of an extended stay in the uk we're back in the land of salty cheese and rancid grape brandy... and its quite exciting. Having already splashed out on lunch and dinner for 2 in Sofia, we find ourselves around £13 down... must have been that bottle of wine at the vegie pectopant, what a rip!

We're off to Veliko Turnovo tomorrow to meet up with Pete and assess how leaky our roof has become... or in fact whether we still have a roof. Bets at the moment are around 7:4 against.

We are back here for 6 weeks to try and sure up the house and barn ready for winter... and to get Sam ready to teach cornish to the bulgarian masses next spring. She will be living it up in studentski grad the party capital of sofia whilst I will be more likley found in a pool of mud beneath a few sticks in the middle of nowhere... surrounded by old women brandishing a plethora of pumpkin rice puddings.

I'll try and post a few piccys of the place once I have had the chance to assess the damage so you can all have a good laugh, although little miss teacher is gonna steal my lap top so my blogging might become a bit more short and sweet - yeah yeah, I know, about time (losers).

Thanks to my mum who has been a ledge over the last couple of months putting up with us while we have been pissing about (aka eating her food and drinking her booze... the record to beat being 3 and half bottles of port in one night) and to mr alan mcqueer (see below) who got me a job and forced me to eat 12 slices of pizza at the all you can eat hut buffet in the process... mmmm mmm felt like going back to work that afternoon let me tell you.



whats worse than a cardboard box? paper tits

Peace out for now e leka nosht

osem

It’s been a little while since my last effort and much has happened in the last month. Sam’s mum Wendy and her fiancé Bob have been to see us, our roof has been ‘completed’ and I have had my first bout of proper dihorea; apologies to those reading this at lunch… too much information.

We hear that most of the uk is now underwater and that there is no point in us coming back without an ark. I only really get glimpses of the news on Bulgarian TV but from what I can work out, some Scottish man with webbed feet and gills has taken over the country and is steadily flooding those parts of the nation under opposition control… sounds like a good idea for a film, maybe I’ll see if big Kev Costner is available?

We have had no such difficulties here. The current Bulgarian premier may rule with a iron, well at least Pyrex fist, but even he has been unable to do any work in the near African heat. Today it was reported that it was 44.5 degrees in Sevlievo making it the hottest town in Bulgaria – as if with me and sam here it wasn’t already. It is possible to convert that into Fahrenheit for those of you who don’t speak European, but it involves maths; take it from me it was hot, unbearably so. As such I have spent the last couple of days with heat stroke, which wasn’t pleasant, and Burya (the village where the house is) has been without water for about a week. As yet, I am pleased to report there has been no infighting at the village shop and it may well still be possible to buy a drink without the need for a police escort.

Crikey, I’ve just read the above and it sounds as though I’ve become a political in my not quite middle age. I will try to reel it in a bit – only had one glass of wine and everything.

So… Sam and I had our first trip to the black sea coast to meet Wendy and Bob. First up was Varna, the ‘big’ city on the coast which apparently has mafiosa connections, but in fact is more like a small, down market version of Barcelona. That may be hyping it up a bit, but after 3 months in middle Bulgaria, a city with shops containing things that you might want to buy, a beech with some cool looking bars, a few museums, a big park and a couple of roman ruins was quite exciting. The roman ruins are generally not well protected as they would be at home, modern roads, houses and blocks of flats seems to have been built over and in some places into the ancient remains of the city. From what I have read the place was in it’s heyday around 568BC, well before the Romans arrived to conquer and rebuild the city. So I guess in many ways, the city has continually evolved to suit its current inhabitants without much regard for their predecessors; a trait common throughout Bulgaria I suppose. We also introduced Wendy and Bob to a number of Bulgarian delicacies at a funny little restaurant and had a great evening polished off with a rakir and a night with air con... ooh what I’d give for that tonight! We then went down to Sozopol, another historic town on the black sea coast. It was one of the places Pete and I visited and the first we really liked last time we were here and it is still a great little town, although it’s growing at rate of knots. Thankfully the old town cant grow any bigger, it’s sat on a peninsular between 2 beeches and the old harbour. We wandered about the old town, sat on the beech and drank beer in little courtyard bars… what more do you want?

It was the first time Sam and I had met Bob so we thought we should get him a little present to make him feel welcome. My sister tells me that the internet is becoming more user generated and interactive so here goes: The back of Bob’s present said:

“Product feture: The easy self-colleet **** ***** cleaner we devised is elaborate made from abroad material, it is the requisite to modern home kitchen. This product own clean **** ***** easy, safety and healthy, lightness and durability. The Best You Used”

The first person to identify what this is wins 100 stotinki and a kilo of salty cheese of their choice. The winner will be revealed in the next edition of dull quiz monthly. PS: the grammar and spelling errors are not mine for once.

I have finally stuck some photos onto Flickr as well now. Only a couple cos it takes me 5 years to upload them here, but I’m sure you will agree the gratuitous shot of me working was well worth the effort!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/94644729@N00/

HOUSE UPDATE

I didn’t update on the house last time cos nothing much was happening. However, we now have a roof (which only needs minor work from us to put it right… which is a miracle here apparently) and it looks pretty good.

In finishing the roof, the builders put on a final theatrical flourish for us… kolyo (aka Colin) collapsed one day with a suspected heart attack and was ambulanced off to the hospital… turns out to be ok and is back at work 3 days later. No problem we are told, he was a bit hot.

Pete, Sam and I are currently trying to fit a ceiling before she and I return to the uk for a month or so. No doubt you will find out whether we succeed when we see you. We also have mr purple and his wife from up the road digging a big hole for our septic tank which will eventually look after our grey water.

The tomatoes are looking good although I suspect our drought will kill most of them so here is proof that we nearly grew something to eat.

I‘m off to eat some more of Sam’s delicious lemon drizzle cake,

Ciao Ciao za sega

sedem

At the risk of sounding like I’m desperately trying to get down with the uk urban music scene, the last couple of weeks have been hectic man (I know, that was sooo 2002). The barbarian has been over for a flying visit signalling the start of a heat wave which as yet has not subsided. 107C/42F degrees is starting to get a little boring now, although we have found a couple of outdoor pools which are helping to ease the pain, particularly the one with the bar in the shallow end. I have also been subjected to some of the more surreal experiences since arriving in Bulgaria back in April – which seems like eons ago.

Sam has started volunteering once a week at the local orphanage, which by all accounts is not as depressing a place as we might had preconceived. She had made friends with a number of the kids who I don’t think have ever seen anyone so white and I now have mnogo competition for her affection. One of the young teenage boys has already asked Sam for her phone number after impressing her with his extensive knowledge of foreign car marques... “Ferrari, Lamborghini, Porsche, Ford” and offering her a trip to the local internet café to play him at World of Warcraft. As far as I know, they have not yet been on a date and he is still waiting for the magic digits.

After only two weeks at the orphanage Sam was invited to a local youth talent show at the Sevlievo House of Culture, where the orphans said they would be performing. Not being one to miss out, I managed to acquire an invitation to the said extravaganza. Every town seems to have a house of culture, which effectively is a slightly grandiose name for what is efectly a theatre and exhibition space. My understanding is that the majority of these concrete palaces, built by numbers in the communist era, were intended to provide a hub for the arts in the local community as part of a general celebration of traditional Bulgarian culture and of course the communist philosophy. The house of culture in Sevlievo, as elsewhere in bg, is an undersized version of the National Palace of Culture in Sofia… concrete murals, water fountains et all. Anyway, nowadays the place is used for cultural highlights such as the youth talent show which, as soon as I entered the theatre, I realised was going to be an experience I thought I would never again need to endure, after my darling sister had finished at Christine Andersons Dance School in Rugby aged 11.Who would have thought you could build a 3 hour show around 2 minute ballroom dance routines and high pitched, squeaky choirs? It was a strange mix between traditional Bulgarian singing and dancing and hilariously elecuted versions of popular western pop songs performed by precocious teenage girls belting out “hi vill survive”. Other highlights for me were a group of 5 year olds choreographed to thrust in time to the backstreet boys “am I sexual… yeeeeaaaahh” and a poor young lad trussed up in a full body leotard made to perform numerous floor exercises many of which would not have looked out of place at an antenatal class (although the Claire Welsby signature move ‘jump into splits’ was pretty impressive and had a familiar effect on the crowd… sharp intake of breath, followed by clapping in part praise and part to hide the giggling). We were fortunate enough to catch the highlights of the performance again the next evening on television in case we had missed a potential star in the making.

A couple of days later we thought we would get ourselves over to the cinema to even out the east-west culture balance; a skill we have already acquired in relation to food. We had managed to decipher the posters at the local kino which assured us that Pirates of the Caribbean 7 would be shown in its original language with Bulgarian subtitles, so we were happy to waste 50p each on a ticket. I hadn’t really ever thought of the cinema as a place to go to read a film before… but I guess if I had thought about it enough I would have put 2 and 2 together. A Bulgarian trip to the pictures is the same as at home, popcorn, ice creams, snogging kids on the back row with only exception… the sound of dialogue. They just don’t need it! They watch a film and read the words, so who cares what Jonny Depp is actually saying? So we sat, for two and half hours surrounded by people on the phone, chatting to their mates with the ‘original language’ turned down so not to distract from the noise of the sea swishing around. It was just about audible, and frankly was a god send in terms of being able to ignore Kiera Knighly’s terrible acting. Half way through the final credits, the lights went up, the screen switched off everyone rushed out to make sure the mad lady in the ticket office didn’t lock you in. We’re off to see, but not hear, either Zodiac or Wild Hogs next week – so if anyone wants to call, that would be a good time.

As I mentioned at the top, Clays has also been over for a quick visit to see the house and to teach us that flying in and out of Romania when visiting Bulgaria is not as good an idea as he might have thought. That said, we got to see some of Bucharest, and lots and lots and lots, well 12 hours worth to be precise, of the Bulgarian/Romanian countryside from the sweat box train. At least we didn’t have a 5 hour delay at Turnovo station like conan on the way back – hahahaha. We actually had a great day or so here showing him the sights of Burya, Sevlievo and Turnovo… smoked a few hookah pipes in a dirty little bar in Bucharest and really enjoyed our first trip out of Bulgaria in 3 months, which was actually quite strange… not least because we felt really glad to get back! Weird. Despite being neighbours, Romania and Bulgaria are vastly different cultures, the latin alphabet, completely different language, western prices, baroque buildings were all a bit of a shock to the system. The main similarities between the two cultures are those shared by the gypsy/romany communities which of course do not see national borders so clearly as the rest of us. Our whistle stop tour of Bucharest took in the museum of peasant life, revolution square (made famous in the 1990’s on newsround – in my head anyway) and Chouchescou’s grand palace, built following demolition of a 6^th of the city to make way for the former dictators grotesque, gargantuan home. He also built a Romanian version of the champs elysee (7m longer than the ral one of course) as a driveway to the place.

Right, I’m off to sweat into my lunch. I will invite clays to add some thoughts from his trip if he has time between working out, and upload a few photos if he can work out how to turn on his computer.

Ciao Ciao, and lek den.

Better late then never??

Slack as i am...admittedly it's been a little while since i got back from the Blogaria inspiring Bulgaria. Suffice to say, the house is a glorious dump/health and safety hazard, but more importantly Mark and Sam looked after the 'old lady' and me just lovely ;-) We had a fabio time!

Highlights:

• Much alcohol and food were consumed ['food' by the way is Bulgarian for cheese]
  
• Many a sight was seen [a bizarre castle, some BIG bronze horses and a really fucking weird art gallery]
  
• Some fabulous people were met [particularly Marks neighbours Mika and the guy with bow legs who just sits and chills out mostly]
• And last but not least - some hilarious bulgarian speaking efforts from mum (aka Jules)
  

Now some excuses...
...as so much has happend since getting back from the mountainous Bulgaria my memory has started to struggle with capturing all the ins and outs of things, the basic details if you will. So - in an effort to get all 'web 2.0' on your asses I thought i'd point you to my bulgaria photos on flickr instead...Please browse in your own time...enjoy etc.

Blogaria Tip
If you're planning a trip to see Mark be sure to indulge in a zoom cocktail. Purchased at the local 'cocktail bar,' it fucks your teeth up but tastes totally GReeeeaaAT!

NazDave all! [mums unique bulgarian for 'cheers']

-claire_w-

shesht

Just spent a lovely week with mum and Claire – the gin is still running through my veins and the crucial supplies of strawberry crusha have been safely received and stashed. Sams growing library og English language literature was doubled and now contains such highbrow material as the guardian crosswords book and the June edition of Heat – oooh hasn’t Britney lost a lot of weight.

We met the tourists off the plane in Sofia with a ‘Welsby’ poster and treated ourselves to a fancy meal in the poshest place we could find… it set us back a whopping 135 leva for three courses each and two bottles of wine… what a rip off (international currency converter if you’re that interested- http://www.xe.com/ucc). Whilst in Sofia, we ‘did’ the cultural bits including the Alexander Nevski Church, Lady’s Market so called cos its full of crap that no-one in their right mind would buy unless it was a saturday and one hadn’t bought a top in at least a week, and most importantly the posh toilets in the department store where you are even allowed to ‘sit down’.

We also finally managed to find our way to the Apartment which I have been tryig to find for a couple of years on and off and after all that effort it turned out to be one of the best bars I think I have ever been to. It is exactly what is says on the tin… an apartment… admittedly a pretty smooth apartment, made up mostly of living rooms, but an apartment none the less. You go to the kitchen to get your drinks and snacks from the fridge, pay the lady with the purple nipples, then go and take a seat in one of the lounges, each of which has a computer complete with internet, downloaded tunes, films, games or whatever else you fancy to entertain you and your mates. There seem to be sufficient rooms for everyone to have a room each. The lounges are all decorated slightly differently and as such attract slightly different clientele. They seem to have most bases covered from an intimate twosome by the telephone table in the hall, to a seriously chilled out jostic filled Glastonbury diner out the back. It is obviously run by some arty type who seems to spend much of his time painting the lady in the kitchen, hence the over familiar nipples. The most astounding thing is that a place like this can exist in the centre of a bustling, otherwise familiar, European capital city, right next door to one of the big chain restaurant chains here “UGO”. Will definitely be going back to pump some rude drums and bass and show the three amigos (gutted I didn’t do it at our leaving do… “take the amigos clothes”).

With mum and Claire here, we also took the opportunity to do the touristy bit in Turnovo, so have now visited the city art gallery after ringing the bell to be let in by the last remaining female KGB agent in the world who then followed us round the fabulous selection of a-level art pieces in their collection (along with some decent sketches from WW1) and the medieval fortress complete with 60s pscycadelic church. The highlight for me was a woman inside the church pressing play on tape of the wailing monks every time someone walks in to the church… hours of fun to be had walking towards the exit then suddenly turning back inside… she had an itchy trigger finger. Apparently, the fortress is the focus of a ‘sound and light extravaganza’ complete with ‘lasers’ which takes place whenever they can persuade a tour bus full of yanks to pay for it. I have yet to witness this spectacle but hope Claire will upload the photos she took of the poster outside the tourist info office which I’m sure will do it justice.

Hopefully my sis will write a guest blog here at some point soon and upload a few photos so you can get an idea of what she thought of this place too. I doubt she will be able to live up to the high standards already set, but she will no doubt do her best. xx.

House Update

The roof is coming along slowly. Kolyo, Atanas and Datcho are trying their best but frankly couldn’t work any slower if they had me tied to their back. The main structure is now complete so the felt and the plotches (huge stone tiles) should be going up in the next couple of weeks.

Pete and I have decided to build the ceiling and insulate the roof ourselves. Not only because we are able, but also so we have a ceiling this year. It might also mean we avoid a ceiling full of bits of finger, which Kolyo keeps losing! It’s only a matter of tie until his chain sawing whilst standing on the eaves of the roof without any safety gear at all loses him more than a bit of finger.

In trying to avoid piping our sewerage into the local river along with the rest of the locals and to minimise the cost of constantly emptying a septic tank, we are also looking into the practicalities of installing a dry toilet indoors. We hope to be able to deal with all the ‘black water’ this way and direct the grey to a suitable septic facility somewhere behind the house. All of this will of course change once we realise that the house will stink and we cant have numbers 1 and 2 simultaniously. More research required. IN fact Millsy better get his wedding out of the way cos I need to spend some quality time discussing the pros and cons of an inverted u-bend sometime soon.

The barbarian will be here at the weekend… conveniently flying into Bucharest (that’s in Romania Taylor). So Sam and I are off to meet him if they let us across the border. By all accounts no one has told border patrol that both Bulgaria and Romania are now in the EU so that should make for an easy crossing. Those patrol guards who are aware are so pissed off at losing the bit of power they had, that they ensure everything takes 8 times as long… so looking forward to that trip. I’ll make sure Clays makes up for it digging out the swimming pool or something.

A couple of photos from the last week for your pleasure to sign off:

Ciao Ciao, and leka nosht

pet

I am currently sat playing cards with Sam and two Bulgarian girls. It’s not what you might think. It’s a bit like rummy kub, a game which my grandad taught me how to play many years ago. His expert training has not helped as much as I would have hoped, as we are getting our ass kicked

The two girls, Kristina and Simona, stay at the flat we are renting in Sevlievo every Saturday as they come to study English at a house across the road. Apart from beating me at cards, they also smoke like chimneys, eat a lot of sunflower seeds and neck gallons of sugary squash drink. In their spare time they also teach me swearing in bulgarski… mamcamoo… see. They have also taken to cooking a range of Bulgarian national dishes for us which, to date, we have managed to fight our way through in order to keep the british end up. It’s fair to say that what they have cooked for us has been edible, unlike the tripe soup, chicken hearts with liver and gizzard surprise which appear on almost every restaurant menu. It has also been easier to digest than some of the food provided to us by our friendly neighbours in Burya… my favourite being stewed pumpkin in rice pudding, mmmm mmm.

Have you ever seen a Bulgarian restaurant anywhere except bulgaria? Well what does that tell you? Don’t get me wrong, I like salty cheese, pizza and barbequed minced pork sausages, but not every meal. It’s safe to say Bulgarian cuisine is never going to make it into my top five (currently Thai, Indian, Italian, French, British) and I certainly have no plans to come back to England to set up a bulgarian restaurant. Gordon Ramsay would be pleased to know that vegetarianism may have been outlawed here and I have a feeling that if Sam is caught, she may well end up as a kiofte (mince pork balls).

We accidentally found ourselves in possibly the only Chinese restaurant in Bulgaria recently… had we known it existed six hours earlier, we could have been fortunate enough to pre-order the “fish that look like squirrel” which in hindsight may be worth subjecting ourselves to a further visit. Although the thought of another msg filled ‘chicken in Chinese sauce’ does not fill me with excitement.

The market in Sevlievo is becoming a regular hang out for us. They have a few small huts selling fags, booze and kebabs, a fish and chip shop (well, deep fried whitebait and French fries), and a butchers full of various animal heads. There is also a brilliant fruit and veg market which is only limited by the fact that they can only sell seasonal produce. On a Friday the market grows from 10 stalls to 30 stalls all selling the same 5 items, which at the moment is salad, spring onions, courgette, tomato and cucumber; all of which are deliciously fresh, with the exception of the cucumber which is the spawn of the devil, except when skinned, chopped and added to live yogurt, which is a Bulgarian speciality.

You will see, being the smart arse that I am, that I am now numbering my posts in bulgarski: pet, or five, is easy to remember as it is the same as in welsh, yet another language in which I am nearly fluent… hedlou. This is not the only similarity between Bulgaria and Wales however, Bulgarians also have the same fascination with shepherding, mountains, his and hers tracksuits and unemployment. Haven’t seen any male voice choirs yet, but will keep my eyes peeled.

Its also been graduation weekend in the last week, which is celebrated by closing the town centre and parading hundreds of 18 year olds dressed in their dads suits through the town, counting to 14 in unison (presumably to prove they should be allowed to graduate). I can’t imagine them closing down the centre of Bristol, or Daventry for that matter, to honour the towns’ youth once a year… it was great.

House Update

They say that a mud house needs a good hat and good shoes. We are finding this out the hard way at present. Apparently Bulgaria has suffered the driest and mildest winter since records began, which has been bad for the snow lovers but is probably one reason why we still have a house standing? However, having had the roof removed in preparation for our new and improved stone lid, Bulgaria has proceeded to have some of the biggest and unfortunately, wettest storms I have ever seen. Good for our garden (more of which another time) but bad for our mud; mud which covers every wall of the interior; mud, which is holding all of the stone work together forming the structure of the building; mud which provides 50% of the insulation for the building; basically, the most important mud I have ever known. Mud so important that we spent a day attaching a pvc sheet to the top of the house… twice… which has got to be up there on the 5 stupidest things to do in an electric storm. Sorry mum. That said the pvc seems to be helping, as the plaster work inside seems to have stopped sliding off the walls, which has got to be a good sign.

Our water has also now been connected and the man with the tash is installing our meter tomorrow! Woo hoo.

We are also negotiating with the cake man and his mate to see if they can help us with some digging.

Our roofers.

Ciao Ciao, and lek den.

chiteri

As you can probably tell from the last posting, my bulgarski is coming on a storm. I have almost mastered the first of what seem to be three ways of expressing the alphabet: capitals; which is most commonly used for signs, labels, menus etc. The other two ways of writing it are by hand and in lower case, both of which differ almost entirely from the capitals… for ease of learning I assume.

The language here is based on the cyrilic alphabet, devised by two bulgarian monks: St Methodius and St Cyril who, it seems, decided that the Slavic people needed an alphabet which responded to their native language rather than trying to use roman. Bulgarians celebrate the language this month on my birthday (that’s may 24^th for those who want to send money) which is just one of what appears to be 365 national holidays per year along with St Georges day, Liberation day (which is at least 3 times a year judging by the amount of times this country has been occupied) and national celebration of salt day. Personally, I will be celebrating st cyrils day by speaking only Bulgarian, which at present means I will be able to do a lot of eating and a lot of drinking and perhaps asking where the post office is if I feel especially brave.

As with most languages, we are finding that there are one or two words which sound similar to words in English. I seem to remember French lessons were always pretty dull affairs until one had the opportunity to slip out a “la bonque” or a “piscine”. Similarly, a game of battleships in german class was never a let down in a blockbusters, “can I have a “p” please bob” kind of a way. There was nothing quite as good as “can we have G6 (gay sechs) please sir” to make mr block start to look a bit uncomfortable; which, thinking about it, would have been particularly difficult for him knowing what I now know… he probably would have been up for it.

Anyway, the following words may come in handy if you feel the need to act like a 5 year old when in Bulgaria… which I often do:

Kak – how

Crap (tragically said star) – old

Pissmen – written

Knigga – book

Funt – pound

Mush – man

Brat – brother

Bint – bandage

Krak – leg

Tvat – hard

Urina – ok it means urine but that’s funny in any language

I will be listening out for some more and report back soon. I’m hoping to find something as good as shiteburger, which if I remember rightly is cheese in Hungarian.

House update:

We have a builder called Niki starting work on the new roof this week. We are going to restore the old stone roof which, unfortunately in modern day Bulgaria, means that we will need to replace much of the old construction, unless we are willing to put all of the stone tiles (plotches) back up ourselves, which we are not, as some are bigger than me and therefore weigh a ton. However, Niki has agreed to help us reconstruct the fallen chimney stacks with a mud/horse manure render, which will be really in keeping and most importantly very easy to build and cheap. He is also going to use a substance which we believe is similar to LECA (lightweight engineered clay aggregate) aka kiln baked clay balls, to insulate the roof, which is a pretty sustainable material, and unlike the other option here mud, will not create huge amounts of dust.

I’m going to need to do a lot more research into wall insulation/cob/lime plaster in the next few weeks and perhaps go on a course when I’m back in August to ensure we can avoid the plasterboard trap which so many other renovated houses here seem to have fallen into. Wonky old house from the outside – wilcon box inside… tragic really.

We are also hoping to go and see the water board in Dryanovo again this week to offer them a bribe to speed things along. Apparently this is “normal” and if we do not do this, “we for 6 months may be waiting”. Both Pete and I are a bit wary of this course of action, and feel a bit strange doing it. This information is obviously provided on a need to know basis – Sam does not need to know, nor the "chenge" (cops).

Otherwise, with the help of mr purple and his 50 year old wife, we are proceeding with digging out the ground floor and our brand new septic tank. We may be gone some time.

In other news…

…my hammock is up and running (thanks CP)

We have some good grapes growing whcih will be turned into wine in the autumn... see:

... and I ate a spade and then had to pull it out through my stomach:


Ciao Ciao, and lek den.

tri

Only been here two weeks (well I was when I started writing this… now a month) – it feels more like two months. Everything is very different.

I haven’t wasted the last two weeks however: I can now tell you that I live in a run down shack with no roof in the village of…. Wait for it… Burja (Bur-iya). I say live, I really mean squat, on a temporary basis, between spells in hostels, Pete’s van (see below), mad artists houses (see below) and semi complete renovated houses, lent kindly to us by Tony (aka the tone ranger… yeah I know Broomhill posse there can be only one).

The village itself turns out to be really nice. It has a population of about 300, 2 shops selling the basics (tomatoes, cucumber and salt) a small bar and a big bar, which doubles as a disco on Friday and Saturday; a bit reminiscent of junior Madison’s in Daventry, but with more remixed folk music and less sick. Sam has described the dancing style as screwing in light bulbs which I think is fairly accurate.

I am pleased to say that the village is great; mainly due to the people. We have made friends with a few neighbours namely, Ivan (aka no-teeth ivan who’s sister, it turns out, used to live in our house, which may partially explain why he feels comfortable coming and going as he pleases; Hristo, who speaks a little English and used to work for Karl Ziess, he has kindly let us use his water supply until ours is installed; Minka (aka minky) who has decided that Sam needs to have showers and we need to eat walnut cake on as regular a basis as possible to ensure survival. Between them and a few others who’s names I cannot remember, we have been plied with eggs, honey, jam, the odd beer and plenty of Rakir (grape brandy) which we understand is probably better as a mozi repellent than a drink.

It’s fair to say that our initial visit to the house came as a bit of a shock, it’s a bit of a of state. Thankfully Pete warned us to expect the worst before we arrived. It’s not that it is any worse than it was 2 years ago – it’s just that now it is real… very real. Since our first trip, we have done a bit of clearance work and now feel much more comfortable about it. The roof needs a fair amount of work which we are contemplating having done for us… we will see. We are also working on getting water and electricity hooked up so that the place is a bit more habitable.

Despite the generosity of our neighbours and the success of the solar showers (would definitely recommend them) the lack of facilities has taken it’s toll. All plans of roughing it for 4 months have gone out of the window and Sam and I have decided that toilets are not luxuries afforded to only to the rich and famous. She and I are now renting an old ladies flat in a nearby town called Sevlievo – you’ve probably heard of it – which is ‘dobre’ (which means either “good” or “ok” depending upon how excited one is when one says it) and only costs £50 per month all in… so not breaking the bank just yet. It has a shower , toilet and tv showing dubbed versions of popular American daytime tv (loving the hanging with mr cooper re-runs).

Anyway, enough for now, as we have a few things to get on with! I’ll leave you with a snap I took of Veliko Turnovo from the window of our hostel. Ciao ciao

two

Here it is then. Chez Welsby... palatial isn't it?

Yes I know the roof is made of stones... and it seems to be missing the odd pane of glass... and it seems to have a tree growing out of it... and it is currently the home of hundreds of bees; but soon, this place will be the house of our dreams.

Once we get the solar panels and the dry toilet in, it might even be habitable. Then all we need to do is hook up some water, electricity and gas, add a pool and turn that front window into a projector room and we'll be sorted. Then, we can move onto the barn:

One

So... I'm off to Bulgaria with Sam, Pete and Merle for a few months and thought it might be wise to document it somehow.

I'm gonna try to keep a diary of what we all get up to, as well as producing an idiots guide to running away and restoring a house... so when the rest of the UK arrive here, which it seems is inevitable if the girl from scottish widows has anything to do with it, they will know how to raze a perfectly good house to the ground, how to grow some funny looking vegetables and learn that keeping bees is not the best way to diagnose whether or not you get anaphylactic shock.

Either way, it should be fun. Ill get round to uploading a 'before' picture, so that in 18 months time we three (cos merle cant read, and lets be honest here: people who think pets are replacemnts for people are just fucking stupid) can look back at what we have done. So with no technical knowledge, very little money and limited common sense we're off... god help us.