devetnayset

‘Back to life, back to reality’ Soul 2 Soul once told me, and in fairness, they weren’t wrong. The journey, from our little bubble in the middle of rural Bulgaria to the bright lights of Brackley, via the world’s most beautiful town Luton, has been a bit of a shock. Met by driving wind and rain, and a particularly depressing social atmosphere, it’s safe to say that reality is biting pretty hard. As suspected, we picked a great time to return to look for work.

So what have we left behind? How does our progress compare to the realities of deadlines and our plan to get back to ‘normal’ life in 2009? Am I now a hairy builder, capable of renovating an old cottage, or am I simply a man with a penchant for showing off acres of ass crack? It’s time for a bit of reflection.

Back in March we had dreams of completing the major works this year, even allowing ourselves to believe that we might be in a position to inhabit the place by the end of the year. In that respect we have failed. However, having lived and breathed renovation since April, I will never see it as failure. In fact I feel very proud of what we have achieved this year (cue back patting all round and maybe a quick solo frenchy). And besides, we’re not as far off as it may have seemed a couple of months ago, to the extent that if I go back next spring (to do all the external lime rendering) I should be able to live there in reasonable comfort, if a bit dustily.

Like all the best porn stars the place is now as good as air tight; we can secure the place against stray goats by locking doors (yes doors, I know extravagant huh); the windows open and close and have reinvigorated the façade; the rain and snow is now directed away from the building and it’s foundations via new drainage and guttering; the old, leaky roof has been replaced with a new, less leaky roof without the complete loss of character; it’s almost possible to walk around without clothing your feet in 100 yr old mud, up stairs and down thanks to new floors; I can take a shit!

The day before we came home the house was connected to the mains electricity supply for the first time in 40 years. Better still, the wiring and new fuse box (installed by us) all seem to work – see:

 

Wooo hooo – who got the power… not Pete Tong anymore that’s for sure.

The plumbing is also dangerously close to completion. Toilet, sink and bath are all fitted, in the new bathroom, complete with new cess pit to deal with the waste. Following a minor mishap, there is now a supply of water within the house (not just by bucket from the floor). Hopefully, washing will soon become less of a novelty and I can get back to normal, grimier service.

Our beautiful barn has been saved from almost certain ruin after a complete re-roofing exercise and is now custodian of all our sustainable building materials (straw, stone, reclaimed oak etc.).

Ok, so there’s still a bit of ‘decorating’ to do and maybe a kitchen and some internal stairs are a luxury worth having, but in reality much of the hard work is done. That’s not to say that once these ‘minor’ improvements have been made that we can forget about it, this is definitely a building which will require ongoing care and attention if we want to avoid a re-run 5 years down the line. But hopefully, what we have achieved this year will mean that the house is better prepared for the future.

But it’s not all about the house. Beautiful as it is, I didn’t go to Bulgaria for altruistic or building conservation reasons; I went to escape, to have a change of scene, to sort myself out. When we set out back in the spring of 2007 I had some very clear ideas about what I wanted to achieve: learn a few new skills and become a little less dependant upon tradesmen to bail me out when my merkin  gets trapped down the bog; experience sustainable construction first hand – to put some of the theory into practice; have an adventure and live somewhere completely different – preferably cheap; do something by myself, to prove I could and without sounding too Riki Lake about it, try to revaluate my priorities, which at the time, working all out to make big developers lots of cashish at the expense of most other things, I felt was very necessary.

Having been back 3 days or so, it is probably a little early to make claims about feeling liberated, or having had a life changing experience (lets face it, we’ve all had plenty of potentially life changing experiences – but they are only actually life changing if some change comes of it), but I do feel like a slightly different person to the one who left for eastern Europe. Don’t get me wrong, I still like Mr T, but I no longer have to live by his rules… work that one out Raj Persaud. Deep.

I’ve certainly managed to dip my toe into the more the practical side of things. I am now a ‘maestro’ (in the Bulgarian meaning of the word*) of plumbing, electrics, carpentry, masonry and mud removals. I can now retile roofs, wire an entire house, fit a waste water system, build mud and stone walls and even saw wood straight! I am Handy freekin Andy, hopefully without the cheeky boy demeanour and mockney accent with a rather unhealthy obsession with MDF and Carol Smiley (which is more worrying?). * (Traditionally a highly skilled craftsman but now often used to describe an unreliable bodger/cowboy depending on the quality of the work and pre-midday rakia consumption).

 I’ve certainly had a bit of an adventure and managed to live incredibly cheaply as I’m sure my previous posts will testify (Tesco value award goes to Mania’s 2.3kg pizza for £3). I have also had the chance to deliberate, research and test out green building verses modern building techniques – I mean how many houses do you know with 4 types of insulation in the loft for goodness sake? So I guess all in all, it has been a success… I’m certainly looking forward to going back to finish off if, but only if MacDonalds pay as well as I hope- they’ve got to have a few vacancies surely?

Well, After that piss poor excuse for soul searching I’m off now to de-lice the murkin, Vessela koleda e novo godina to all.

ps: mixwit has been done in by the powers that be, so my soundtrack will be dying shortly... make the most of it while it lasts... mother hubbards

osemnayset

Having spent the morning packing my stuff, it's starting to hit home that I might not want to leave the delights of Bulgaria for the comfort of home just yet. Sure, I haven't sat on a sofa for 9 months, I've nearly forgotten how to read and write with the latin alphabet, my wardrobe is becoming dominated by hand-me-down maroon woolen jumpers and I've become someone who eats salad and then claims to have enjoyed it, but, when it comes down to it, it actually feels normal... like it's never been any different.

This year has definitely been vastly different to last, not least due to the length of time we have spent here this time, but also because we now have much more of a life here than before. My most frequent conversations are still with 8o year old men and women, usually about those 'damn gypsy bastards' who dare to sit and enjoy a beer down the local bar or how best to pickle a carrot, but I also have a few mates kicking around in town who don't just sit around the village in their pants swearing at people, wearing their dirty t-shirts rolled up at nipple height; I mean young people, well, young in an under 40 kind of way, young enough to know that night clubs and tequila aren't necessarily products of the devil and that wine actually comes in bottles, not just boxes, or old coke bottles. They still think a mobile phone holster and novelty ring tones are acceptable, but we'll work on the little things later. Yep, it's safe to say that Sam and I are becoming more and more akin to the bulgarian way of life. It certainly beats sitting around in an office all day trying to ignore the serial bores surrounding you on all sides before going home, to barricade yourself indoors, just in case someone from the 'outside' tries to contact you right in the middle of I'm a celebrity and I'm starved of attention. Sam is a regular at the local market, where she is quizzed daily on the goings on in with the house building in Burya; I've been given chocolates from building suppliers on their birthday when I pop in to get a new pipe for our leaky plumbing; a waitress who served you 3 weeks ago says hi when she sees you in the street... its weird... it's like people actually want to speak to you, to get to know you! Of course I keep the british end up - tell them to fuck awf and provide two of the finest, vertically. The freaks. Cant wait for a trip to a good old Welcome Break or Tesco Extra, thats real service.

The other big positive from this years' skive has been the progress at the house. Not that we have gotten anywhere near the finish line, but I would certainly say that we're on the home straight. Piss poor photos and tedious descriptions to follow when I have time, but suffice to say I can now take a dump, at night, then wash, then lock myself out. Pretty cool I'm sure you'll agree?

Right, I'm off to eat another 2.4kg pizza to celebrate my return to frozen Britain next weekend... might also have a few rakias and wear my phone on the belt... smooooth.

as they say here: za ginite, konite e tecnika esdatchi - e leka nosht

oh, and by the way - any danger you could sign up (see the link to the right) - I currently have 0 followers and am feeling bit hurt quite frankly... twats.

Also, see my new photoblog (link also to the right) which is the beginnings of a pictorial history of my adventure into poverty.

most horrible thing you will ever see

Last week we had a surprise visit from the best selling alternative lifestyle magazine Gay Times, who had heard what we were doing and wondered whether they could use the house as the backdrop for their '09 calender shoot. Seeing as I had told myself that one of the rules for coming to Bulgaria was to say "yes" to as many offers as possible, just to see where I'd end up, how could I refuse?


My rules have now been revised: say "no" to everything, especially if it involves narcissistic men and pick axes - nasty:

sedemnayset i polovin

Thats 17 and a half for those of you who cant keep up.

Thanks again to the barbarian for his insight into our little world (see post below) and indeed for his help in that rainy week in September. He was a hero, even if he did lose the pizza competition.

It's been hot again for the last week or two, so all thoughts of woolly jumpers, rain and an imminent winter have all but disappeared along with the lettuce at the market. I have realised that it has been months since I last posted anything significant, let alone interesting, so will try to make it up with another fascinating tale of adventure in the former eastern block - failing that I'll make something up... again.

Although i'm still in my shorts it's becoming decidedly autumnal at the moment; scrumping for apples, making home brew, stomping grapes for wine and chucking conkers at stray cats (got one worth a 6er in my collection if anyone wants a challenge - got to be better than scrabbulous? - could call it catkers maybe?). The crazy Bulgars are brewing like mad at the moment in preparation for a drunken and therefore relatively painless winter; with homemade wine and brandy top of the menu accompanied by some particularly nasty sounding pickles (soured cucumbers in brine being a potential hazard in the coming months). The markets are pretty well stocked too, although only if you like peppers and cauliflower... see:


In reality, the fruit and veg markets here are outstanding. My particular favourite is in Sevlievo, our long forgotten home here between April and August last year. Every Friday, the local area converges upon the town which is taken over by market traders, dirty gypos and carnival folk who try to sell you just about anything to make ends meet including home made axes, huge knickers, home modified motorised pedal bikes or that bit of pipe you need to fix the radiator in't downstairs bog. The fruit and veg section is particularly brilliant with up to 40 stalls all selling exactly the same goods (see above). Furthermore, the houses next to the market are transformed into fast food heaven/hell as the locals feast on barely cooked meatballs and cold chips (which I shouldn't sneer at too much as I am also a regular these days). Sevlievo pazar is one of the regions highlights in my opinion; I imagine it to be as close to real life time travel, without the requirement for a Delorean and with more pensioners pushing in front of you.

So anyway - apart from swanning about at the market what have we been up to? Well piss loads actually. Since my last proper post we have:

- Sold off Sam's mum to Bob the fisherman in Cornwall (congratulations again to you both);
- Been sick at aforementioned wedding to commemorate the day;
- Had Clayson over to stay in Gabrovo, built a french drain, ate a meatball fantasy, went to the house of humour and satire, and polished off a pizza bigger than a premature baby;
- Had a surprise visit from Danny Coward (friend from school who i havent seen in 10 years) and girlfriend Krista who are cycling from London to Tibet (foolish) http://www.ridehimalaya.com/blog/;
- Been on the dodgems where head to head collisions are encouraged (Sevlievo Pazar again, brilliant!);
- Put up our guttering and facia boards on the house and fixed the roof ready for winter; and
- Negotiated two new, bespoke doors to secure the house with a local chippy, in Bulgarian no less.



So all is going well.

With a UK (alright world) recession under way, we have also been preparing ourselves for life in the UK with no money. As such I am now the proud owner of some pretty snazzy new (ok second hand) threads which, bought by the kilo, turned out to be super cheap, if a bit 'last season'. You'll all be right jealous when I get home. Taking orders for x-mas jumpers, leather jackets and ski wear if you're keen - might start an internet shop to ship them all back to Western Europe, which is where most of them have come from in the first place! Forget the spoons and knives, thats what I call irony Alanis you twat.

Until next time - ciao ciao i lek den

sedemnayset

A Trabant and a cow pat are sat next to each other in the road. The cow pat looks up at the Trabant and says "hey Trabant, you are a cardboard!". Offended, the Trabant replies "Who are you to call me a cardboard when you are a shit?" to which the shit says, "yeah, well I used to be a baked alaska".

A brilliant piece of bulgarian humour I'm sure you will agree, had me in stitches for literally milliseconds. How we all laughed. I promise more hilarity from the foot of the balkans soon in my next proper update. However, for now, see Clayson's account of his trip below under an equally hilarious title (be kind, he thinks it's a clever play on words the poor love).

ps: my side was thicker

Pizza, pussy and pants weather!

Enjoying Bulgaria is all about having the right frame of mind and getting beyond your first impressions. My last trip was a whistle stop tour and I spent more time on trains than in the actual country. This time I was really looking forward to sampling the real life or at least the one Mark and Sam have been living for the past couple of years.


After arriving in Sofia and having a quick drink in a swanky bar (if you can call a smelly converted barn devoid of electricity and a name a swanky bar) we headed through the fog on our way to Gabrevo - Mark and Sam's home. Gabrevo is the most eastern block of eastern block cities I have ever been to. When I say block I mean tower block, and my first impressions weren't great when we pulled up to Mark's parking space below a decreped, depressing high rise tower. However, the following morning relaxing on the balcony with a cup of tea things looked very different, and what appeared to be the type of place in England where you get mugged by hoodies for your chewing gum turned out to be a real thriving community, centering around the local home made gossip bench.


My relaxation was short lived as we left Gabrevo to drive to Mark and Pete's renovation project to begin 3 days of hard graft. On the way we picked up the mandatory salty cheese filo pastry accompanied by 6 litres of grease and drove through the superb dramatic countryside that makes up the central plateu of Bulgaria.



It is difficult to describe the house. The photos on the blog don't really do it justice. It is also impossible to compare the work involved to that required to renovate a house in the UK. I think Mark has been rather modest in the descriptions of the labour required. For starters it would certainly of been easier to build a new house than renovate the existing one. Secondly to their credit Mark and Pete are attempting to recycle as much material as possible, which makes the simplest of jobs time consuming, for example instead of sawing a new straight piece of wood you need to spend half an hour searching for an old warped piece scattered around the site, that you can make straight. Thirdly, there is still no electricity on site, so all the work has to be done by hand using equipment which on the whole is pretty shite - digging a 10 metre trench with shovels rather than spades being an example. Finally and probably the biggest obstacle is the language, Bulgarian is tough, not only is it difficult to pronounce it is impossible for a novice to even read as the alphabet is completely different, this coupled with the fact that no Bulgarians speak English has meant that Mark and Pete have needed to learn fast in order to deal with contractors and suppliers. Being forced to overcome these obstacles has resulted in Mark and Pete learning DIY very quickly and I will not hestitate in employing Wels on his return as a general handyman.




Apart from working on the house during the day we also took on the responsibility of caring for a kitten that decided to make the house her home. Mark as we all know is not famous for being an animal lover, however Gary (it was a female but I liked the name) soon melted Mark's heart, he couldn't put her down, he made little beds for her our of his workman gloves, fed her filo pastry and cheese along with sour yoghurt and was overjoyed to find her waiting for him at the beginning of each new day. Sadly the last I have heard is that Gary is probably dead, as she hasn't been seen for days but maybe this experience of pet ownership will influence Mark to buy a pussy on his return to blighty!

Like many things in life the ultimate goal is not the most important thing but how you get there. Although the house is far from complete and may take a few more years of hard work, I don't doubt that the experience Mark, Pete and Sam have had simply living in a very different culture and learning the skills required to overcome the many daily obstacles (like goat herders blocking the road) is the greatest thing they will take away from the experience, and I envy them for having the courage to leave the security of 9 to 5 life and do something that everyone should at least try once in their lives.

Anyway enough bullshit philosophy for one day. I had a great trip with the exception of it being freezing and wet. Some highlights included getting pissed in the local bar while playing backpacker, followed by a 4 hour debate on the state of the welfare system in the UK. Seriously poor Wels did a great job mediating the polar views of Sam and myself which became quite heated as we drank over half a bottle of whisky. The next day Sam spent the day in the toilet and I spent it in the rain so I am not sure who came off best. Gabrevo nightlight was once again also a surprise with more swanky bars than Leamington spa and delicious food such as the wonderful "meatball fantasy" dish that I tried. A word of advice if you are ever offered cheap meatballs on individual skewers with cold cooked mushrooms and cucumber - give it a miss.

However one of my favourite moments that I am sure will always be remembered and exaggerated on by Wels was the 2.3Kg pizza challenge. To set the record straight the pizza had a diameter of 1m and no matter how much Wels bitches about his half being thicker than mine, I finished first!

Finally as Wels mentioned in his earlier post he has been distilling some rakia, here are my "official" tasting notes for his fine must try spirit.

Welsby's Homemade Plum Rakia - approx 45-50%

Colour: Real Lemonade

Nose: Lots of esters and fruit aromas, floral with elderberry, confiers, damsons and gooseberries all evident, in the background underipe plums

Palate: Fresh and fruity, distintive citrus notes early on the plate, follwed by nutty tones, very green (young)

Finish: Smooth, warming with a light floral fruity finale.

Enjoy it while you can before Welsby gets round to burying it!

Thanks again Wels and Sam for the great weekend can't wait for your next crazy adventure. All the best Clays.

shestnayset

So, apparently I'm here in Bulgaria to renovate this funny old house? But judging by my last few posts, it might seem that my life has turned into a rakia fulled circus and the house has been left, once again, to fall into rack and ruin? Au contraire, take a look at my new dograma:



Yes, it might have taken 4 months, several arguments with the carpenter, a few threats about non payment and a lot of patience, but finally we have some freekin windows; and bloody good windows at that, slavu bogu. Pete is currently staining them up ready for the double glazed units to be fitted next week. A few more photos have been uploaded to flickr for those of you who have a slow day at the office (see links to the right).

With this boost spurring us on to 'get the damn thing finished' I thought it was about time for a boring post about the house, the whole house and nothing but the house (yawn).

As you can see, a huge mound of soil seems to have grown out of the ground in front of the house. That's because Sam and I have spent a considerable part of the last month digging out all the floors downstairs and removing all of the mud from the floor upstairs (yes the upstairs floor was covered in 200-300mm clay soil). This was not easy. This took a long time. Sam is still whinging about her fingers. After that, we scurubbed the floors/ceilings clean (ish) and shifted around 15 tonnes of gravel back into the ground floor to provide drainage and a sub base for our floating floors (more on which later). This photograph gives you some idea of the amount of much shifted - the pile of gravel on the left is about 10 tonnes the soil is the huge pile to the right:



We have also installed all of the waste pipes for the bathroom and kitchen linking them up to the septic tank in the garden. A trench has been dug for the water supply which is now located inside the house which would be helpful if we had some bloody water in the village. It has now been off for 4 weeks. Not very helpful.



We have also repaired quite a few sections of the exterior walls will clay mortar (thats mud to you and I) which is now ready for lime rendering, even if we are not and built a new step down into the main door to help us get some decent ceiling heights downstairs.



Needless to say, our programme has gone out the window. Days of pouring over my fabulously coloured excel spreadsheet has shown us that I definitely shouldn't go into project management - unless I have a much larger, highly skilled workforce, 12 specialist consultants and a least one jcb all of which I can control - not much to ask for really. We knew we were being a bit optimistic in wanting to finish by december 08, but it has become clear that with our extensive and highly experienced workforce of 2, we'll do well to have the interior, let alone the exterior ready for winter. This, i suppose is the challenge one must must face when taking on the roles of project manager, quantity surveyor, architect/designer and builder, in a foreign country where you cant speak the language and are unable to rely on suppliers and contractors who frankly could do without the hassle of actually having to do some work... the lazy bastards.

Still, we have re-prioritized a few things to increase speed and to save a bit of cash and reckon we have a reasonable chance of getting the place semi habitable by the end of the year. A bit of value engineering never hurt anyone after all did it? Changes to the plan include:

- less sophisticated heating system (aka. no radiators, just a wood burner in one room)
- fewer tiled floors internally (now just the bathroom and bits of the kitchen)
- 'floating floors' in the 2 bedrooms and hall way downstairs
- open doorways within circulation spaces.

Which all means that the building will be great in the summer and a bit chilly in the winter, which bearing in mind we haven't decided how to use the thing in the future, is probably a sensible decision. We are though, planning to install dual serpentine water heaters (dual powered by the wood burner and the electric which could be converted easily to solar later), a powerful wood burner with enough capacity to run 6 or 7 radiators (to be retrofitted if required), and we can always add a few doors at our leisure in the future.

Other proposals which didn't make the final shortlist included:

- open plan living spaces (aka knock down all internal walls to save plastering them)
- removal of first floor to reduce number of rooms by half
- 'rationalization' and removal of building foundations...
- ... and erection of a dome tent on the site of the former building.

To prove how brilliantly we are doing, here's a quick snap of our new bathroom and hallway which you can see is almost compete:



Off to buy a bath & sink on Monday and the free bog I got from a mate after rebuilding his dry stone garden wall should be in within the next 2 days - honest! Why do I sense doubters?

The good news is that our summer camp starts in just over a week which will give us a much needed injection of man power I'm sure. At last count, we have.... errm, oh yeah, one person coming over. Praise the lord for Darren 'yeah i'm bringin my cut off denim shorts and a sketch book' Clayson. We'll show em clays. S'gonna be immense.

As for the rest of you, excuses about holiday shortages, prior 'engagements', unmissable trade shows at the NEC (yes Collins thats you), redundancies, burglaries, lack of DIY skill, laziness, disinterest and dogs eating plane tickets don't wash. You will all be blackballed from my next venture: a nudist camp for recovering models with combined cheese dairy - unlucky!

Back in the UK for a flying wedding in cornwall next week - praying for some sun. If any of you change your mind (not about the wedding, about the work camp) then you know where to find me.

Off to the pool now for some sun, beer and a dip. Enjoy the floods - except you clays.

petnayset

According to a builder I once spoke to, the Bulgarians have only 3 passions: sex, Kebabche and Rakia. Sex, I hope, most of you will know about, if not, it’s a bit like a strawberry crusha milkshake, but with two people. A Kebabche is a grilled minced pork sausage cooked on a bbq until almost done (better a bit pink to ensure life on the edge) often served with cold chips or a bun. Which leaves rakia, the national drink, which I made last week whilst skiving from my work on the house. I got some help from the local jokers and this is how you too can enjoy the great taste of Bulgarian home made brandy aka moonshine.

How to Make Rakia:

First, pick around 100kg of plums, from trees in your garden and the rest of the village, scrump if necessary and allow at least 1 week of intermittent picking. It is also possible to use other fruit, in fact almost any fruit, but plums, apricots and grapes are best.

Put the plums into a barrel or large, sealed, plastic container (bidon). Add between 6 and 15kg of sugar depending upon which toothless old man you decide to trust on the day (I went for 10kgs) mixed with warm water. Stir/pulp with a large stick containing a number of rusty nails which stick out of it at strategic points. Stir/pulp every day for around 2 weeks, or until it looks like the barrel may overflow, or the flies cannot eat any more.

You are now ready to brew your moonshine.

Light a match over the barrel of slop to test for gas – no gas, no problem – you’re ready to rock. Pour 3 rusty buckets of the slop into a large copper still (Kazan) usually found in any old mans garden shed. The add 100g of bicarbonate of soda and watch it bubble. Then add the remaining slop,remembering not to miss a drop, so sieve out the stones and rinse it out with a small amount of water as necessary. Ensure Kazan is filled to the very top, again adding water if required.

Add the lid and pipe to the Kazan, which attaches it to a barrel of cold water with a pipe in the middle (see diagram).

So now you think you are ready. But you’re not. So, pull a few handfuls of ash out of the fire and mix up with some stagnant water from the barrel (use flour if ash seems to primitive). This paste is then applied to all joints between the Kazan, the lid, the pipe and the cooler to make the apparatus air tight and to stop it all blowing up, apparently. Wipe the paste with a little water and sprinkle with dry ash. I don’t know why you do this, but it looks technical. Set a fire in the bottom of the Kazan using small sticks and an old newspaper, sit around waiting for the smoke to overwhelm you, then leave the shed before it turns into a sauna. Nb: this process can be undertaken in any climatic conditions, but we found 38 degrees best to really get your sweat on.

After 3 hours, your pulpy plum slop will have heated up and the gas given off will escape through the pipe. At the other end of the pipe, the gas will be transformed back into liquid as it travels through the cooler and a slightly insipid looking, yellow liquid will appear from a pipe at the bottom of the cooling tank and trickle slowly into your container waiting beneath. Your spiritometer (there must be a more technical name for it) will tell you how strong it is. It should start at around 60% and gradually reduce. When it reaches 30% you should stop. According to the maestro, 60%+30%= 90% which, when divided by 2 is 45%: which is the optimum level. So why did mine come in at 50% then? No answer to that one.

Then, only one more thing to do, filter the stuff to get the flies out, then taste – nasdrave indeed!

From left to right, Me, Benko (Rakia maestro, porn star and Kazan owner), Bi Ivan, toothless local legend and Kazan cleaner.

Ciao ciao e fsichko hubavo

gorgonzola!

57% of you know it too

cheterinayset

Jeez these numbered posts are starting to get difficult!

Just got back from 'gross' britannia - two weddings down, one to go in September, although offers still piling in. Come on people, better do it soon or you're fingers will be too fat for a freekin ring! That said, had a great time, if a little short and sweet. Congrats to Digits/Debbie and the Barbarian/Steph. If you weren't there and would like to see some piccy wickies, why not ask them why you weren't invited to see it live in the first place. (Only kidding clays) I'm sure someone will tell you where they are online. Besides, this blog isnt about them... it's about me me me. Talking of photos from weddings, I do need to do a bit of 'housekeeping' (always wanted to say that.. haha - management idiots), so following last blog poll, here are the results:

black tie - 0
blue linen number - 12
Bikini - 4 (you're sick people)
Canary yellow bulgarian - 12

In the event of a tie I decided to save money and I hope you are not too disappointed:



New poll this time to your right ->

I have also added a new bulgarian influenced mix tape for your listening pleasure above - let me know if you want any cd's burned and be sure to pass them on.

When I was back I also mooted the idea of a Bulgarian Summer Camp (yeah alright strictly speaking September is Autumn - as if you can tell that in the uk with all your lovely rain) where I am hoping that we can get some hard working and conscientious volunteers to come over and help us with the construction works. Sounds tempting I know - using a few days of your hard earned holiday to come to some ex commie, backwards, scruffy farmyard to sweat to death hauling stones around and digging. Jesus - I might not make it until September myself. Perhaps a photo of the pool up the road might be of assistance - and yes we were the only ones there.



Anyway, this working holiday you're all planning, will in fact be disguised as a cheapo holiday and could be a bit of an eye opener/adventure. Flights are around 50 sheets return and accommodation will be free ( I might even throw in a bit of tripe soup with extra salt if you're lucky too). The booze here is horrendously expensive and I have many arguments with Irena in the local shop over this issue... the diving pound is also taking it's toll with half a litre of beer rising sharply to around 34p of late. You'll spend nothing, when you're here, nothing! Nishe, nought, piss all, sniff, but i will work you until you are at least down to my new slimline body weight of 117kg - they dont call me Barry Bethal for nothing out here you know. (http://tinyurl.com/6dpw97). The dates were are looking at btw are Monday 15th sept onwards for as long as you can bare... postcards to me please if you're keen as a bean.

Ok enough sales patter (i was never any good at that, something about ice to eskimos or boyzone tickets to Taylor I was told) here follows a quick update on life here in the last week or two and some photos of the project.

Summer is officially here, had heat exhaustion this weekend, just over it. The worrying thing is that it was only about 33 degrees which doesn't bode well for August. Hoping to acclimatise. The lush green hills are slowly disappearing into a range of browns as the entire country gets burnt. It looks more like the Serengeti than eastern europe at times. We've had a great week with Anna (a friend of ours from Bristol) who we took to the seaside for some hardcore tanning amongst many other delights whcih mainly revolved around fried cheese it has to be said.

So after a few days sunning myself, I realised it wasnt me that's on holiday! Shit! So since, Ive been working like an idiot trying to be Mr environmentalist in our roof, well insulating the new and completed timber ceiling actually. Obviously insulation itself is great in terms of reducing heat loss in winter and retaining cold air in summer, both of which are high priorities when living in either -25C or +45C. The environmental benefit being that less energy is required to power heating or air con (which also obviously saves a bit of cash in the longer term too). Anyway, being the green little bitch that I'm trying to be, we decided that simply insulating a building we are recycling anyway wasnt enough, so we decided to create a mix of soil (from the garden and ground floor of the house - recycling again oh yes) and a substance called perlite to achieve this.



Two weeks later and with only half a ceiling complete we decided to say fuck the green crew and get some cement involved and are now nearly finished 3 days later (costs, time and my physical/mental health also matter sometimes I guess!). We'll all argue about whats green and whats not another time, but for now, its in and we're happy that it will do all thats expected and more. And there is more. In an attempt to further damage our ethical and moral high ground, we have also constructed a small septic tank - I say septic tank, it's more of a soakaway if truth be told - which means that we will soon be discarding our black and grey waste (poo, piss and washing up water) into a hole in the garden and then into the ground water system - "oh how very environmentally friendly" I hear you cry... well next time your turds and washing up water go off in a nice little pipe hidden behind the plasterboard walls to the sewerage treatment plant, make sure you think about how lucky you are (and about how much water you're wasting if I dare complete that lecture - read on). Here in rural Bulgaria there are very few sewers for waste, let alone a separate system for rainfall as we have in the UK as I'm sure you all know. If sewers exist here, they do not end up at a local processing plant, but rather are ejecte rather quickly into a mountain stream, where people go and fish and swim on hot days - nice. Furthermore, being in rural bulgaria it is not yet possible to hire 'a man' to come and help us create a wonderful eco solution which will heal the world and sort out our shit. So until we get some kind of sewage system that works better than that, that will be that. We do have a list of things to do which will minimise our impact, such as install a dry bog to separate poo (thats poo as in the stuff that comes out of your anus) and create compost with it for the tomatoes. We also plan to use chemical free cleaning products which are imported here from Germany (how green, only 2000km away). But these things take time and money and at present we have neither, so we're cracking on, green credentials in semi tatters. The old hippy (Tsanka) over the road is particularly worried about our pit, telling us that our shit may pollute her land. Possible, but at the levels we're talking about, unlikely. Furthermore, I struggle to feel too guilty about that when she washes her clothes in a mud pool next to the spring in a field nxt to the goats, has no apparent toilet facility in her home at all and only appears to eat sunflower seeds (which I suppose ensures her 5 a day?). I do kind of admire her though.



So the lesson of the last few weeks has been that to make significant progress, you have to cheat (a little bit), feel bad about it, then cheat a little more. Hopefully we will regain some of our greener credentials further down the line, and after all, we have saved a building made entirely from natural materials from almost certain ruin which in itself has got to assist the balance of the scales - hasnt it?

Ok, its nearly 11pm and I'm still sweating - i'm off for a cold shower and a sleep.

Let me know if you'd like to come and experience the 'fun' first hand - be great to have you, whoever you are.

Ciao ciao i leka nosht

trinayset

At the crossroads at the top of ‘Badby Road West’, before it became plain old ‘Badby Road’ where the stench of piss from the Evelyn Wright care home and deep fried frozen food from our child minder, Sheila ‘Mystery’ Green’s house bombarded you from either side, there used to be a small, hand painted sign nailed to a tree, above a little concrete bench which would appear some time in the middle of May each year. The sign read: “Carnival – June 13^th – Daventry Recreation Ground” and was the signal that we were in for another wet weekend in June, surrounded by crap floats, scummy kids in face paint, the bastard pipe band from hell (well Corby – close enough) and the stench of burning flesh, courtesy of the round table pig roast. The floats would travel around the town’s various estates at snails pace for about 2 hours in the morning, ending the parade at ‘The Rec’, otherwise known as the ‘Train Park’ due to the old train engine used as a climbing frame (which was useful as there were at least 2 other parks known as ‘The Rec’ in the town… imaginative I know). Then the real festivities would begin, probably compered by someone from the Round Table or the Town Council. The Mayor would swan around in his Mr T costume followed by a few majorettes dropping batons, the St Johns Ambulance, a few unfortunates from the girl’s brigade and the brass band. Everyone would be holding their breath, dreading the moment the bastard pipe band, comprising depressed ex steel workers from the slums of Glasgow via Corby, would be released onto Daventry Carnival to screech their way around the park amidst a mild drizzle to really push home to miserable tone of the day. It wasn’t all bad, I remember it being sunny one year I think. Also, there were always a few highlights: the radio Northampton roadshow blasting out Rick Astley and Black Box giving away free pens and those paper hats that you have to pop out from the middle; the joke shop stall which provided us with our annual opportunity to buy fart gas, whoopee cushions and bangers to see us through another year; and the afore mentioned hot pork sandwiches with extra stuffing if Robbo’s Mum or Dad was serving. However, it never quite lived up to expectations and the fact it rained every year really killed it off, and I think the last carnival was held in about 1995 which I guess is a shame. I don’t suppose the town has an equivalent event these days and the poor old Corby pipers are probably out of a weekend job too now.

Having witnessed the Gabrovo Carnival this weekend, I’m starting to realize why I feel so at home here. Despite being coined as the Manchester of Bulgaria, it probably has more in common with the town I grew up in than the vibrant, gay capital of northern England. Yesterdays’s carnival being a case in point. Although the carnival here is infinitely better organized and higher profile than those of my youth, it is no less shit around the edges or less entertaining for all the wrong reasons. The carnival is held each year to celebrate the town and in particular it’s reputation as the most tight fisted town in Bulgaria. There are lots of ‘hilarious’ jokes which do the rounds including the one about the man who asks the taxi driver how much it would be for a ride home? “5 Leva” comes the reply, at which point, the man says that the price sounds reasonable and then walks off. “Hey” shouts the driver, “don’t you want a taxi home?” “No thanks says the man, I just wanted to see how much I was saving by walking”. Funny see? You get the idea. Anyway, for years, Gabrovians have been nationally ridiculed for being the most frugal and stingiest people in the country (like the scots at home), but rather than sit around whinging about it (like the scots at home) they have embraced this element of their local culture and now revel in all the jokes that have been invented, to the extent of building the national museum for humour and satire in the centre of the town to celebrate the fact. The carnival is therefore based around the story of a cat from Gabrovo who had it’s tail chopped off by it’s owner, for the simple reason that he could close the door behind it quicker if it had no tail, therefore saving heat in the winter which would save a bit of cash in the long term – nice – I’m pleased to say that with the exception of the giant cat puppet, no cats were hurt during the making of the carnival or this blog. So yesterday we sat drinking beer, watching Gabrovo’s big day. First up there is a huge street parade including floats depicting ‘humorous’ political moments mixed with people dressed in traditional clothing, rare cars (i.e. ones that actually work) and men dressed as bears – see:

It’s very loud, really busy and mildly exciting at times, particularly when they let the full size, real life cannon off in the middle of the street. Following the parade, they cut the tail off the cat and then have a mass party – cool. On stage last night were some karaoke style singers, quite a few leather clad women squirming around to bon jovi, some old session musician who apparently played with Deep Purple and Whitesnake (they love a bit of 70’s rock here) and a magician who I have to say was absolutely crap – it was genius – he kept getting his face caught up in his ‘magic’ cape as he pulled it around to Jean Michael Jarre style spooky music and the trap doors in the stage failed, wait for it, twice, cos he had wheeled the woman in a box to wrong place! Everyone else loved it, and I was scowled at for laughing, so we just sat back, drank some more beer, starred at the candy floss machines (which are magic) and ate more waffles and pizza. So in many ways, I guess it was similar to the dav carnival. Floats, kids in face paint, crap music, funny moments and the occasional saving grace. That said, I don’t remember seeing a man dressed in a green and pink latex spiderman costume climb and scamper around the walls of Daventry’s council offices, which was one of the highlights of the finale:

There was of course one key difference, one thing that really spoiled it – not one drop of rain – I have the sun burn to prove it. Maybe if there had been, I might have been able to complete my regression, back to the soggy train park, dressed in my ‘ghouls and ghosts themed’ warewolf outfit (for the cubs float) chasing after free pens and another quid for my fifth pork and stuffing roll?

Ps: went looking for a yellow suit yesterday and unfortunately only found the jacket. Will keep looking, unless the poll results indicate otherwise.

Ciao ciao za sega e fsichko hubavo

dvanayset

It’s May, it’s rapidly turning into summer, the Gabrovo beer festival is in town (with one beer on sale… woo festi-val) and I spent a day hungover on Sunday which all culminated to mean that I have spruced up the old blog. New colour scheme – oooh, new font ooooh and nuff new features, including a soundtrack to listen to whilst you read (unless you’re at work in a stuffy accountants wearing business salmon and a ‘wacky’ tie) and a poll, on your right, which will change regularly and help me make some very important decisions – so make sure you vote people (if for no other reason than to halt the rise of Dave and Boris, who I was disappointed to see has pussied out of the environmentally driven lawsuit with Thames Water yesterday… not a good start, even if he is hilarious)

Settling into Gabrovo now. Got a couple of mates down the local boozer who have been revelling in Liverpool’s untimely demise against Chelski in the champions league semis. Neither of them speak a great deal of English but we have managed to communicate/bond in a multitude other ways. They are both local boys and as such conform to local boy status, namely: they drink shit loads of rakia; they love ‘the maiden’ (that Iron Maiden to those of you without permanent black eye liner) and almost all “heavy metal”… accordingly I told them I was a Sabbath man which got me nuff respect… well, until they got the barman to put some on the tin pot stereo and I didn’t recognise it at all… not entirely surprising as I only know one tune (gonna have to bite the head off a bat or something to redeem myself); they’re also well into football… or at least they can name almost every team in the football league including Grimsby Town and Oxford Unite…oh no, they’re not in the league anymore are they? Furthermore, they cemented their place as local lads when they asked “do you know Samantha fox?” - “why?” I hear you shout as Sam stupidly did, “big tities” came the response, compete with mime. Not bad for two guys whose vocab otherwise comprises “Yeovil Town”, “Iron Maiden-Number One” and “fuck you Manchester United”. They still don’t believe that the former page 3 idol is now a carpet muncher (sorry awful expression).

Anyway, enough about that, I thought it was about time for an update on the old mud palace. So here goes: Pete and I have been digging out floors downstairs so we can stop bashing our heads every 5 seconds on the ceiling; we’ve built a small retaining wall to stop the front of the house falling down on us when we dug out the floors; we’ve mortared ridge tiles on our watertight barn roof and constructed new ceilings in the dining room and lounge – yes that’s dining room and lounge. Not that you’d recognise either of the muddy walled/floored rooms as such, but hey, we’ve gotta call them something. So pretty busy really. We are also in the process of getting quotes for our new double glazed windows – all 12 of them - and connecting the place up to the mains electric supply… wooo yeah. If we’re not careful, we’ll be putting a toilet in next!

Photos to prove I’m not a liar have been uploaded onto Flickr here:http://www.flickr.com/photos/welsbyinbulgaria

Also, check these guys out – been lovin’ the hotstepper this week: http://tinyurl.com/59hp2e

Back in the UK for yet more weddings in June so maybe see you there… please feel free to assist in my costume decision making process on the poll to your right (really plugging the poll).

Oh – and also, nuff respect to Taylor, Stevo, Claire and Mum for getting involved and leaving some top comments last time round. Salty cheese in the post.
Ciao ciao za sega e fsichko hubavo

edinayse

There are only 3 things I remember about A level economics:

1. The words “demand” and “supply” which get mentioned together a lot;

2. If you put Robbo’s bag/files on the flat roof outside the classroom window, you can lock him out when he has to go out to get them… and he never learns to stop leaving his stuff unguarded, which means you can do it over and over and over again (which in hindsight may have something to do with his somewhat limited appearance (15 mins) in our three hour exam later that year); and

3. One of our classmates (I use the term loosely, I didn’t know his name then and this is all I can recall about him now) worked on one of the strangest stalls at Brackley Market. He sold bread and, wait for it…. shoes. Yep, bread and shoes, the two items no-one should be without! Aside from taunting him with jokes like: “what’s your best sellers then? Don’t tell me… don’t tell me…. it’s the loafers enit? And “have you seen the chumps new trainers… hovis air max!” we let him off lightly. I don’t think it made a bit of difference, he was still out there week in, week out making a living from his bread and shoes – perhaps he was taking in more about ‘demand and supply’ than the rest of us were after all?

I’ve also just remembered that he was expelled from his school in Brackley for putting a plastic bag over a teachers head – allegedly… jesus! He really was a chump.

Anyway, the point is I’ve been reminded of the legendary Brackley bread and shoes stall this week on a number of occasions. Why? Because Sam and I are back in the land of green and red track-suited couples, toothless women and cold chips, yes… Bulgaria… where market stalls are maligned for not having at least 4 strings to their bow. Any self respecting business cannot survive without a multi faceted, contrast based, bread-shoe business plan. In the space of two days I have been into a shop that exclusively sells plastic footballs, trainers, tinned food and clocks, and another which claimed to specialise in kitchen equipment but actually sold bed linen and pepper grinders, well grinder… which broke… after 3 grinds – oooh peppery.

We’ve actually been back for around 3-4 weeks, but been so busy getting ourselves settled again that I just haven’t had the time to stop and think until now. However, the good news is we have managed to find ourselves a penthouse apartment (ok top floor) in the nearby town of Gabrovo http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gabrovo which looks like this:

…bought a s-wicked automobile to get around in (particularly pleased with the vinyl explosion – rude ass) :

and found Sam a job in a language school in the most important looking building in town:

Not bad work really I’m sure you’ll agree. You’ll note that Gabrovo is twinned with exotic locations like Shaki in Azerbijan, named after 80’s pop legend Shakin’ Stevens and Nowy Sakz, Poland’s castration capital (yeah ok that was a bit tenuous even in my best polish accent). I’d be keen to get some suggestions of where we could twin with in the UK – any ideas welcome. I’ll provide more info on Gabrovo each week to help you decide.

We’re also now hooked up to the internet at home so hopefully I’ll be in touch a bit more this time around. I’m gonna be all over your asses and I expect some freekin feedback this time too.

Oh and the house is still standing… and so is our barn complete with our home made roof still on it. Pete and I are back to the grind on Monday and we even have a programme this time around so if and when we get visitors from the real world, we should be able to tell you what jobs you’re gonna get before you get here – good eh.

That’s enough to get us started.

Ciao ciao za sega – fsichko hubavo