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