1 October 2025, Wednesday

At 11:00 p.m. I read that at 11:00 a.m. today the civil defence sirens were tested across Bulgaria. We heard nothing. Perhaps the electricity company had cut the supply for essential maintenance purposes. Perhaps our sense of hearing had abandoned us. Perhaps there really was a nuclear attack, which currently would have been just as likely as my other two suggestions, and we’re all dead and this is just a dream.

Live each day as if it’s your last, they say. The highlights of my day were shopping in Billa (their marmalade is lush) and putting cream on cats’ scabs.

2 October 2025, Thursday

Today’s highlight was going to the vet to get Gaïa the Shih Tzu’s anal gland unblocked, making yesterday seem like one of the golden periods of my life.

It rained all day so we had the lights on in the house all day, apart from a three-hour stretch when the electricity company cut the supply for essential maintenance purposes. A nuclear attack might have brightened things up a bit.

This was a gloomy wet day to celebrate as nature’s tears bathed the parched earth. Those plants still alive in our garden this afternoon would survive until next June at least.

3 October 2025, Friday

My dear old Nan would say ‘it never rains, but it pours’ when two or more problems cropped up simultaneously.

In the last 36 hours Bulgaria’s had more rain than during the rest of this year so far. Coastal areas were hit by strong winds, extreme flooding, and even tornadoes. Elenite (pronounced ‘elen-ee-tay’) a seaside resort village, was virtually destroyed as flood water surging down a valley met opposing tidal waves. Roads and bridges were washed away and three people drowned.

Meanwhile in the Pirin and Rodopi mountains, and along the North Macedonian and Serbian borders, there was heavy snow. 

4 October 2025, Saturday

I try to keep this journal whimsical but today was a struggle as all the talk was about yesterday’s disaster in Elenite, and whose fault it was. Trees had been cleared from a valley to enable the building of a holiday village including homes, hotels, restaurants and a water park, without any consideration for nature’s wild extremes. All fingers pointed at builders and local politicians. Cleaning up and rebuilding would require huge amounts of time and money but may never happen as holidaymakers are unlikely to return.

Forecasters’ predictions of another equally intense weather system arriving on Monday bothered us.

5 October 2025, Sunday

Today’s warmth and sunniness surprised us but the muddiness didn’t. The disappearance of all limpness from garden flora delighted us.

Our scrubbing and cooking for the visit of Echo and Aleks was in vain as they stayed only ten minutes, leaving behind produce from their garden. Rough estimations suggested we’d dine on apple, egg and chips for twenty-three days.

In Tsarevo, the entire contents of a car park company’s office were swept into the sea during Saturday’s storm. The badly damaged safe washed up on the shore provided a refreshing change for beachcombers gathering banknotes instead of driftwood. Leva galore!

6 October 2025, Monday

The vet confirmed that Manoushka the Magnificent no longer had giardia in her gut but we’ve still no idea why she’s vomiting piccalilli, and what surges from the poor cat’s other end could be mistaken for mango chutney. We’re clearly in a bit of a pickle.

Examining Snezhinka the Wonder Dog, he said her tumour had slightly reduced in size and we should continue with her tablets. This was great news on a day we’d expected grim news, even though the medication causes her to be intercontinental all over the kitchen floor every night. It keeps us on our toes!

7 October 2025, Tuesday

It rained heavily every single minute of the day. Apart from enduring a little boredom we were fine in our house, but the Black Sea was full again. From all the poor people in Tsarevo who’d spent the last few days shovelling shit from living rooms, streets and amusement arcades there could be heard a collective ‘what’s the fucking point?’

While our country’s main exports were tomatoes and yoghurt we felt quite secure in today’s wicked war-torn world. Unfortunately, we’re becoming Europe’s major manufacturer of military drones which will bring in lots of money but possibly also lots of bombs. 

8 October 2025, Wednesday

Adelina became my fourth Bulgarian teacher and vowed to succeed where flawed geniuses had previously failed. She’s also proficient in French, German, and Greek, and dabbles in Norwegian, but we agreed that when haggling over goats in Pavlikeni market, only the mother tongue would be of any use.

Still it rained, all day long, and not just drizzle. The government issued red warnings, which meant that galoshes on feet and Kaufland carrier bags on heads were essential for those venturing out. We’re boycotting Kaufland because of you-know-what so we stayed at home all day.

Wildfire worries had finally fizzled out.

9 October 2025, Thursday

Our beloved walnut tree was ten to twelve metres high, too fat to hug in one attempt, and older than me. Totally majestic when I arrived here but struggling after last year’s hailstones, it finally gave up the ghost during last night’s deluge and this morning lay prostate across the garden. One of many to suffer the same fate locally.

In weak sunshine we stood on Vladishki Most (Bishop’s Bridge) to admire the swollen Yantra as it raged off towards the Danube carrying more dead trees. 

I hoped winter would be kinder than the early days of autumn had been.

10 October 2025, Friday

On World Mental Health Day, the Washington Overlord announced a ceasefire in Gaza but we’d be insane to recognise it as such while bombs were still going off and Palestinians were still being killed. And he forgot to mention the accountability of those responsible for the genocide.

While there’s a World Potato Day and a World Chess Day, I’d say a single day’s insufficient to adequately embrace psychological wellbeing. Might there be a touch of PTSD in Gaza? A month would be more appropriate provided it doesn’t clash with World Deny Human Rights Day, which seems to be every day.

11 October 2025, Saturday

It rained again, I was a bit hungover from World Mental Health Day, and freshly baked soda bread wafted from the kitchen, so I stayed in all day. Reading and writing have become as difficult as when I was five, but I had a stab at both for sanity’s sake.

Psychiatrist Rami Kaminski reckons Priyatelkata and I are otroverts, craving emotional independence and loathing the thought of being part of any group of people. Frida Kahlo, Franz Kafka and George Orwell were also otroverts. Were we not otroverts we’d be delighted to be members of a group that included them.

12 October 2025, Sunday

You know the mess it makes when a bit of toast falls on your carpet, buttered side down and all that? Well it's even worse when a seventy-year-old walnut tree falls on your garden. But it had been dead a year so in truth I should have done something about it before it toppled.

After a day spent grappling with the branches the job was half done and I was completely done. I too fell, but only exhausted into bed. Unlike the walnut, I had no beetle infestations, fungal growths or necrotic cells, at least that I was aware of.

13 October 2025, Monday

The Bulgarian government's planning on taking up a strategic role in the EU's Drone Wall defence initiative. They’re building factories to churn out sneaky death machines round the clock, expecting us to be Europe’s leading producer by 2028. Our Finance Minister’s rubbing his trouser pockets with glee as every new war will generate cash to build new schools and hospitals. Considering the current way of the world, I’d be surprised if we didn’t all end up with a school and a hospital each. What happened to those days when we’d just pop down to Argos whenever a drone was needed?

14 October 2025, Tuesday

We’d kept Crazy Ludo indoors so his badly wounded leg and allergy-related weeping sores could heal. He wasn’t happy about this but neither were his cohabiters, especially me and Priyatelkata. Today he’d finished his four-week sentence and his fluffy, mostly white fur made him a contender for a prize in the village cat show’s Formerly Scabby category. So we rewarded him with a couple of hours of freedom. He returned bloodied and limping. Looking like a bit of a dandy, he’d probably been roughed up by homophobic local strays. He later took the silver rosette in the Still Scabby category.

15 October 2025, Wednesday

No one can say Veliko Tarnovo’s behind the times. Today a new place called Trampoline Land opened near to the pigs’ and goats’ accessories shop on the retail park. I’d never heard of any other city boasting such an establishment. With winter approaching, Priyatelkata and I were incredibly busy darning holes in our underwear but we were excited about visiting the attraction sometime in the next two weeks when our work would be done. We’d read that there’s a lot more to it than just jumping up and down on trampolines. There’s also a bar and they serve Mexican food.  

16 October 2025, Thursday

Our nation mourned the recent death of Dobromir Zechev, the only Bulgarian footballer to have played in four World Cup final tournaments. He was 82 and probably in better shape than most members of our current national squad who this week lost 6-1 and 4-0 to Turkey and Spain respectively.

Such good news that after a week of persistent heavy rain our reservoirs were no longer empty. Not so good, however, that a large proportion of their contents was mud. As cappuccino-esque fluids flowed from our taps, purveyors of water in plastic bottles rubbed their hands with glee and disinfectant.

17 October 2025, Friday

Inge and Patrick gave us a cups of coffee, lovely chocolate biscuits and more than 100 strawberry plants. Phase One in our plan to drown in soft fruits next summer involved me looking sharpish in the planting of them. It was dark when we arrived home and with weekend rain forecast there were complications. Gardening is supposed to be the most relaxing pastime but I felt I was under intense pressure. I imagined how I would be scorned with shame if a buttered scone were to go unjammed at an afternoon tea party next July. But sadly, postponement was unavoidable.

18 October 2025, Saturday

We’d decided to boycott Kaufland supermarket because their profits finance warmongers, but we occasionally return because:

a) They have good quality, reasonably priced dog food that our dogs love.

b)  Paying for goods at their self-checkout tills enables us to ‘launder’ up to 12 levs per transaction from our big stone pot containing nine years’ worth of loose change. A necessary step before Bulgaria’s adoption of the euro in January 2026.

Today my pockets brimmed with scrap metal as I waddled all the way to their pet food aisle only to discover they’d sold out of delicious Kaufland meaty chunks.

19 October 2025, Sunday

We’d always welcomed snakes to our garden. They eat vermin and bring exoticism without being threatening enough to make us feel like menu items ourselves.

Today’s visitor, half a metre of beautiful but brutal-looking horn-nosed viper, chose to sunbathe on our doorstep, stopping domestic traffic flow and hearts.

The risk of fatalities was apparently small. We humans had a local hospital at our disposal and cats’ reflexes are apparently three times the speed of a snake’s. But for our lethargic older felines I suspected that even suggesting three times the speed of a slug might be pushing it a bit.

20 October 2025, Monday

Fyodor the Fiat was in need of new pistons so we took him to Mechanical Nikolay where the TLC he spoke of probably stood for Tremendously Large Cost. He said he’d have it ready for us on Thursday (i.e. Thursday 20 November).

Bulgarian village life without a car isn’t impossible but it is messy, so we went to Radoslav’s Rentals and drove away in a shiny black Kia Ora as a temporary replacement.

On such a lovely sunny day we fancied an afternoon out in the new motor but accepted that finding homes for 100 strawberry plants was our priority.

21 October 2025, Tuesday

Yesterday, somebody had written in England’s Times newspaper that our Interior Minister, Daniel Mitov, had told them Bulgaria’s Government had evidence of direct links between Russia’s foreign intelligence agency and the gangs helping illegal migrants to cross Europe.

When I lived in Britain I’d read the Wiltshire Times. It came free every Thursday but was it the same rag? Through an advertisement I once bought a second-hand trailer for family camping trips. Today, only the concentration required for dismantling our fallen walnut tree could take my mind off the possibility that the trailer had been used for human trafficking purposes.

22 October 2025, Wednesday

Don’t tell Inge and Patrick but we went to Polski Trambesh to give half of the strawberry plants to Echo and Aleks. Drastic steps as our garden was all strawberried-out. At restaurant ‘Slavei’ the delicious set lunch culminated with an agreeable crème caramel. Echo told us her recipe was far better as it included carp and soy sauce, as did many of her Chinese recipes from home, including her lemon sorbet to cleanse the pallet between courses.

Nyama voda (няма вода, meaning ‘there’s no water’) is a common phrase in Bulgarian villages, and was particularly apt this afternoon when we arrived home.  

23 October 2025, Thursday

A day of great joy and celebration as a new Ó Maoláin arrived from the Cosmos. He’s the secondborn child of my secondborn child and his name is Owen. Mother and baby were both doing well apart from the fact that they lived in Manchester.

Meanwhile in Malki Chiflik, all baby deliveries and matters of personal hygiene were put on hold because of the continued interruption to the water supply. The mayor blamed this on an ever worsening crack pipe problem, but probably meant cracked pipe. Water company engineers couldn’t start work until they’d had a coffee. A Catch-22 situation.

24 October 2025, Friday

Was it mean of us to go away on a trip and leave the house-sitter lady sitting in a house where there was no running water? We gave her some strawberry plants by way of compensation before driving off to the wilderness to enjoy lovely hot showers in a wooden mountain cabin.

The nearby town of Apriltsi sat at the foot of the snow-capped Botev Peak, named after Bulgaria’s most famous poet and rising to 2,376 metres. Not prepared for serious rock climbing, we simply wandered old streets and graveyards before tucking into last weekend’s reheated specialities at Svatovete Tavern.

25 October 2025, Saturday

Only a thurible’s throw from the sixteenth century Troyan Monastery, the village of Oreshak was encircled by steep wooded hillsides stippled with more autumnal hues than you’d find in a crate of Laura Ashley colour charts.

It’s there that our lovely friend Milena has an old house with a herd of cats and bullet holes from revolutionary times. In warm sunshine she took us to a nearby spring to collect sulphur mineral water, and to walk around the beautifully preserved hamlet of Baba Stana. Captivating tales of her rural childhood in an older and harsher Bulgaria entertained us after dark.

26 October 2025, Sunday

A heavenly aroma floating from Milena’s stove woke us. An invitation to the perfect Balkan breakfast of homemade leak and potato banitsa. Sitting in her kitchen, as a young cat slaughtered a walnut and soft rain fell on a crimson carpet of leaves beyond the open window, we talked of common interests and fears we’d each accumulated from our global wanderings. But the atmosphere and friendship we felt confirmed for Priyatelkata and I that living in Bulgaria was the ultimate travel experience.

Back home in the evening, with the water supply still not restored, we cursed our adopted country’s inadequacies.

27 October 2025, Monday

I was overjoyed that Mishkin Den (Мишкин ден, meaning ‘Mouse Day’) had rolled round again. It was on this day that mice erupted from the abdomen of a pagan who St Nestor had defeated in a battle. We couldn’t find a pagan to celebrate properly so instead Priyatelkata and I exchanged gifts of cheese. On any other day we would have said that we made some sandwiches.  

In more religious households, women weren’t allowed to weave or sew, or use sharp objects for fear of inspiring mice to damage clothes and crops with their sharp teeth.

Still no water in our village.

28 October 2025, Tuesday

The old man who sits by the well with a pocket-size bottle of rakia in every pocket in case the well runs dry said, ‘Hello!’ Anybody engaged in such a pastime was sure to have a parched throat when there’s not been running water in the village for the best part of a week, though it was actually the worst part.

Priyatelkata and I went there to fetch water in earthenware pots that we carried on our heads, hoping to meet Bob Geldof along the way. Goats grazing at the roadside ran away from us because of the terrible smell.

29 October 2025, Wednesday

Manoushka the Magnificent, we’d noticed, was becoming a fat cat. This was due to her lack of exercise rather than her privileged lifestyle and obscene amounts of wealth. Introducing Weight Watchers fishy chunks to her diet would surely resolve the problem. We also bought a fluffy toy rat which was a big success as she spent the bulk of the day burning calories in her attempts to kill it.

We named the rat Radost (Радост, meaning ‘joy’) because of the smile on its face. My English friend Joy considers Radost a much nicer name than Joy and hopes to rebrand herself.

30 October 2025, Thursday

With a fat moon above and all good folk sleeping soundly in their beds with their goats for protection and good luck, the Karakonjuli (Караконджули) come out. These hairy little creatures with big eyes and noses are renowned for sitting at crossroads after midnight asking for favours or riddles from lost travellers. In recent times, because of satellite navigation systems, the travellers generally know what they’re doing and the wee folk feel a bit redundant. So it must have been them who restored our water supply during the night because after a week of drought the humans had obviously given up. 

31 October 2025, Friday

Aleks came over with 400 kilograms of shit. It was bagged, of course, in shitbags. Plastic shitbags, not Millwall supporters. A lovely gift from his mother who always has shit to spare. But it wasn’t any old shit. It was chicken shit for the garden, and it was good shit. We’ll need to fiddle with it a bit by mixing with water or leaves, but when it’s ready we’ll put it on the sage and the onions first. The mothers of friends I had in England never sent me chicken shit. In Bulgaria I feel more accepted by the people.

Photograph: Our lovely River Yantra when it had turned into a cappuccino.

This Sort of Thing - November 2025 

The Strange Case of Dr Gunchev and Crazy Ludo