1 July 2025, Tuesday

Thanks to Debbie Harry for being 80 today. Does she realise how old that makes me feel? It makes me feel 67, that’s what! But really I’m 67 and 8 months; I’ve always looked young for my age.

Feline Boris deposited an ex-woodpecker on our landing. He’d heard that woodpeckers were nice with cider. Our other beasts eat their quarry but not him. He’s not called Boris the Bastard for nothing.

Dear friend Milena delivered our lovely new cat from inner-city Sofia. She’s two years old, suffers from chronic PTSD, supports Leeds United and goes by the name of Manoushka.

2 July 2025, Wednesday

Yesterday evening our neighbours complained about Warrington Dave driving his van at breakneck speed along the lane where their grandchildren play. Priyatelkata jumped on WD the second he arrived for work this morning. He visibly physically uncontrollably shook during the rebuke and had no reply.

During the spur of the moment outdoor soirée that sprang from the complaint, the entire contents of a fridge were brought out to the garden table as Amelia and Ismael reassured us we were valued friends and not typical immigrants. Their words made us feel as good as Dave’s actions had made us feel bad. 

3 July 2025, Thursday

There’s no smile bigger than our vet’s smile when we present him with a newly rescued cat. His often surly manner conceals a heart of gold. He confirmed today that Manoushka probably (but not definitely) isn’t with child and treated her for every class of parasite except Prince Andrew. Unfortunately, my tick-related Lyme disease relapse was outside his remit.

Naiden’s merry band of men installed a big new external unit for our heating and cooling machine that had been battered to bejaysus by hailstones last summer. The insurance people had been very kind but Naiden plc might be labelled foot-draggers.  

4 July 2025, Friday

I was outraged by the fact that half the world was more outraged by a punk band’s anti-genocide chant than they were by the genocide itself. Words suggesting it would be a good idea if the Israel Death Forces were to go out of business upset those who were unaware that during the five days of the Glastonbury festival more than a thousand people were murdered in Gaza by Bob Zylan’s poor victims who were apparently ‘only defending themselves.’

To continue ranting… wouldn’t it be grand if there was a day when the whole world could celebrate independence from America?

5 July 2025, Saturday

I’ve a new little friend in the garden. He lives in a pile of stones near the zebrinus grass and comes out to play early in the mornings before the sun turns nasty. I’ve named him Atanas after our village’s patron saint. I’d say Atanas the Adder has a nice ring to it. I assumed he’s a he, though there’s no sign of his Milli Vanilli (rhyming slang). I also assumed he’d already been to the vet for the gentleman’s intimate modification, which explains the absence of genitalia. Should my little ophidian companion have babies then she’ll be renamed Ophidia.

6 July 2025, Sunday

Few things in the universe are hotter than this afternoon was in our Bulgarian country garden. I'll tell you now of some that I know and those I miss you'll surely pardon.

• A halftime Balti pie at Bath City’s Twerton Park stadium
• The fires of Hell
• Donna Summer’s stuff
• Emily Bishop’s temper
• The surface of Venus
• The customer service lady in Kaufland
• The sum of all 31 of Middlesbrough’s daytime temperatures during July
• The tin roof that Tennessee Williams’ cat sat on
• A Ford Fiesta from Leeds
• A Saudi Arabian country garden
• Tomorrow afternoon in our Bulgarian country garden, probably

7 July 2025, Monday

Summertime and the living was tricky. As the temperature peaked at 42°C, had I been asked to give up one thing I wouldn’t have picked water. But our taps were dry all day. Checking for a blockage I got my finger stuck in one. To take our minds off the problem, the twenty-four-hour pylon people switched off the electricity too.

We lunched a lazy long time beneath the linden trees at our favourite Arbanasi restaurant before tootling about the countryside to take advantage of the car’s air-conditioning contraption. Cool!

Power returned before bedtime but that desperately needed shower remained elusive.

8 July 2025, Tuesday

Before keeping an evening appointment with the cardiologist, I needed to cleanse my person. Thankfully the cheshma (чешма, meaning ‘old Turkish drinking fountain’) in the village square never runs dry, so old ten-litre mineral water bottles were filled enabling me to have a makeshift shower in the garden.

Arriving home with my healthy heart I found the water supply had returned in dribble form.

Meanwhile the forested hillside near Arbanasi was ablaze with a wildfire. Our favourite restaurant with the linden trees was at risk of obliteration.

But at least, like the land, Manoushka the new cat’s diarrhoea had dried up.    

9 July 2025, Wednesday

The wind was in from Africa. Hot and dusty, it burnt faces and lips as we drank cold beverages with Jessie outside the gallery.

A big digital display device in town provides essential information such as the time in Bogotá, daily fluctuations on the Sofia stock market, the president’s hat size, etc. Driving home at 7:30 p.m. from an emergency local yoghurt seeking mission, I noticed said device reporting an uncomfortable 36°C.

By the day’s end a helicopter with a big bucket had extinguished Arbanasi’s wildfire. Townsfolk hadn’t known that Veliko Tarnovo owned a big bucket, let alone a helicopter.

10 July 2025, Thursday

The rain in the night was most welcome, making irises sigh, zinnias zing and verbenas go bananas. 

Morning freshness was celebrated with brutalist breakfast in the riverside garden at the former communist hotel. Apparently, Leonid Brezhnev visited often during Bulgaria’s totalitarian epoch and loved their pop tarts. He also had a passion for locally produced herbal infusions, turning his nose up at imported Typhoo whilst reminding the proletariat that in 1840, French political philosopher Pierre-Joseph Proudhon stated that all proper tea is theft.

We’d become sugar-free, so we stole a few sachets to take home for when we have guests.

11 July 2025, Friday

A splash of essential oil on my exposed dermis will usually deter hungry mosquitos but even with my apocalypse-resistant working clothes and chainmail Y-fronts, the penetrative proboscis of a garden horsefly literally was a pain in the arse. Such monsters might be described as tabanidae to die for, or with.

I took a yoghurt pot containing liquid cat shit to the vets’ where a state-of-the-art testing kit revealed an organism the size of a little cat was living in the intestine of our little cat, Manoushka. It’s called Giardia, which would also make a nice name for a little cat.

12 July 2025, Saturday

Few things are more exciting than a first visit to a new village bazaar, so our trip to Gostilitsa (Гостилица, meaning ‘village for guests’) tucked away in the sunny foothills of the Stara Planina mountain range was an utter joy. We bought books, plants and Sri Lankan antiques from people from Ireland, Bulgaria, Russia and Sheffield.

Homemade cheesecake at the Scottish café near Stamboliyski Reservoir was the best in the world… ever!

The late evening open-air performance of Verdi’s La Traviata in the grounds of our local fortress was also enjoyable but the poor courtesan lass, Violetta, didn’t get better!

13 July 2025, Sunday

We spent twenty minutes trying to unlock the back door that always jams in hot weather. Shortly before we’d exhausted our supply of expletives we realised it worked better if we used the correct key. More expletives combined with uproarious laughter ensued.

I’ve learnt from a variety of sources that I say and write too much about Israel’s war crimes in Palestine. It sickens me that so few people care or even understand. So Adolf Netanyahu may as well come and shoot me while I’m queueing up for food in Lidl because I’ve lost all faith in the human race.

14 July 2025, Monday

Warrington Dave returned to work recounting tales of his Bavarian jaunt with his Bulgarian lover lady. He should be finished painting our house by the end of the week… a statement rather than a forecast because we want our garden privacy back asafp.

Dr Kruschev said I look thin and the vertigo is probably a side effect of the medication that I took to cure my vertigo.

Dr Dimitrova said it might take months to firm up Manoushka’s poo and prescribed new medication for her.

I worried that my vertigo was a side effect of erroneously taking the cat’s medication.

15 July 2025, Tuesday

A salty old sea dog named Turlough

Yearned each day for a bottle of Merlot

Or even one glass

Of something sweet from Alsace

To stop him becoming a psycho

His doctor had said to lose weight

He should limit what he’d masticate

But without crisps, bread or cake

Life’s a big belly ache

And as much fun as a week in Margate

Eating only ice cubes and green salad

His face turned increasingly pallid

So bad was his state

At the hospital gate

They described his wellbeing as non-valid

But scragginess can be groovy when weight-loss causes psychedelic hallucination.

16 July 2025, Wednesday

The man at the bus stop said to me, ‘A drop carves a stone not with force, but with perseverance’ before asking for a bit of change to buy a drop of rakia for keeping body and mind connected on such a hot day. When I refused he persevered with his request until I capitulated and gave him ten levs. This was no ordinary man. This was Johnny Ten Levs. My donation would have bought him four litres of homemade rakia. I suspect he’s still at the bus stop and that he’s never been on a bus in his life.

17 July 2025, Thursday

I loved our early evening thunderstorm despite it diluting my nice cuppa tea. Heavy rain refreshed all life forms, including Priyatelkata and I, but nothing was damaged. Frogs croaked all night and for the first time in weeks I slept (lay awake) under the bedcovers.

As a habitual insomniac I realised there were only twelve more sleeps until Christmas and even fewer until our Rodopi mountain holiday. However, despite having spent fifty years of my life wishing I was somewhere else, I’d lost that wanderlusting feeling and considered I might be happy just pottering at home during my twilight years.

18 July 2025, Friday

An email from our online pet food suppliers gave outrageously early warning of a Black Friday special promotion. It seemed that not even budgerigar owners were exempt from the year-round ravages of crass consumerism. I responded, asking them what perks loyal customers might expect on Blue Monday, Ruby Tuesday, Sheffield Wednesday, etc. and did they deliver to Israeli settlements in the occupied Nat West Bank?

No Warrington Dave painter man today. The task’s complete but for some outer windows he’s taken home to tart up. We’re expecting a windows update later in the month. Meanwhile we’re putty in his hands.

19 July 2025, Saturday

The annual week-long Veliko Tarnovo International Folklore Dance Festival kicked off tonight in the park and was spectacularly good, as always.

Performances from Argentina, India and Mexico were colourful and vibrant but Colombia outshone them all.

We loved the host nation’s performance because of our raging nationalism and we knew the music.

I’d never seen a dervish whirl quite like Egypt’s whirling dervish but he needed to know there’s more to life than just whirling.

The USA provided two women singing Take Me Home Country Roads and a bit of line dancing, and Turkey’s contribution was a bit shit too.

20 July 2025, Sunday

It seemed like today was the last of nine days’ graft to get our home shipshape for our eight-day holiday. The garden was super tidy and the fridge and oven were almost clean enough to eat from.

Our dear old Ottoman farmhouse was as good, I was sure, as anything that Airbnb had to offer. Strange then that we’d be paying Auntie Fiona to stay in it during our absence. However, I had to concede that although Airbnb regulations require visitors to keep premises tidy, it’s rare for them to be asked to deal with cats’ diarrhoea and weeping sores.

21 July 2025, Monday

At the Panorama Hotel in the Beklemeto Pass, stunning mountain vistas compensated for the absence of free biscuits with our coffee. Six kilometres further on at the colossal Arch of Freedom (a memorial to Bulgaria’s fallen heroes) a short walk amongst wild flowers and wild horses took us to the summit of the 1,595 metre (5,233 feet) high peak and an even better 360° view.

Koprivshtitsa oozed history, culture and architecture. At such altitude the weather was surprisingly hot. We’d been before, so we explored only a little.

Noisy ducks in the stream disturbed my sleep. The most loveable inconvenience.

22 July 2025, Tuesday

The rocky road to Devin (there are few rockier) saw us descend the Sredna Gora mountain range, cross the Plain of Thrace, and meander along the forested shores of the reservoir that fills the steeply sided Vacha valley as we climbed in our trusty Fiat to one of the jewels of the Rodopi mountains.

On arrival, further climbing took us to the clifftop Bornik Hill guest house where we were offered complimentary borovinki (боровинки, meaning ‘wild blueberries’) as we completed the registration palaver.

We’d travelled to the high Rodopis to escape the heat at home. Was Devin’s 36°C really an escape?

23 July 2025, Wednesday

We spent an absolutely joyous day in Yagodina (Ягодина, meaning ‘place of strawberries’). A beautiful village at the end of a narrow, winding road that follows a gorge that’s almost a tunnel in numerous places. It sits just below Durdaga peak (1,693 metres, or 5,555 feet above the sea) and is surrounded by meadows where the only activity is that of bees, bears, goats, gatherers, lovely smiley local people and the occasional jeep safari abomination.

A nearby cave, Dyavolskoto Garlo (Дяволското гърло, meaning ‘the Devil’s Throat’) is said to be the entrance to the underworld where Orpheus sought to retrieve his beloved Eurydice.

24 July 2025, Thursday

We ate breakfast in the old but touristy village of Shiroka Laka (Широка Лъка, meaning ‘wide bend in the river’) which is the home of the Rodopska Gaida (Родопска Гайда, meaning ‘Rodopi bagpipes’), Bulgaria’s national musical instrument.

We ate mouth-watering patatnik, a local dish made from grated potatoes, onions, Bulgarian cheese and a type of very mild mint called gyosum. A delicious early morning dish that always instantly makes me want to go back to sleep.

The rest of the day we spent tootling around the big town of Smolyan and the tiny village of Mugla with it’s beautiful forested mountainsides and prison.

25 July 2025, Friday

Our plan to rise before the sun and trek the Struilitsa waterfalls eco-trail disintegrated before we’d even gone to bed as our friendly neighbours Rosin, Kamelia and family kept us up until 2:00 a.m. chatting and laughing with them.

We kissed goodbye. They went home to Razgrad. We wandered. On the road from Dospat to Greece we found the beautiful village of Dolen. The Romans had founded it two millennia earlier. A for sale sign outside an old house suggested €5,000. A viewing wasn’t possible as it was obscured by a hundred years of briars and inside a princess snored.

26 July 2025, Saturday

The phenomenal heat had us beaten. At our 1,000-metre-high retreat, 38°C was criminally insane and so were we for trying to enjoy ourselves up there. So we toddled off back to our smallholding two days early. Low level homesickness and a fishbone lodged uncomfortably in my upper digestive bits for more than two days were also contributing factors.

The return journey through more mountains was slightly blighted by more heat and a malfunctioning alternator. The car, having shown great determination and loyalty, finally died as we parked by our gate. Being reunited with my own lavvy was the day’s highlight.

27 July 2025, Sunday

A horrible noise from my phone woke me at 3:56 a.m. Irritated at first, I soon accepted that the government were kind to alert me about a wildfire burning near two residential blocks only five kilometres from my bed. By early afternoon it was under control.

A horrible noise from my cat (Manoushka, the new one) woke me at 4:56 a.m. Irritated at first, I soon accepted that she was in season (not seasoning). The irritation continued all day as at no point was the situation brought under control.

Our village Facebook page lady reported an afternoon temperature of 44.5°C.

28 July 2025, Monday

Over the phone, mechanical Nikolai sounded excited, he being only minutes away from embarking on a week-long trip to the seaside. So, until his return, our car would be on holiday too. Hot, bothered and frustrated we rented a Clio from a place in town. Maintenant nous sommes Papa et Nicole!

At the vet’s, with four of our eight cats, everyone was talking about diarrhoea, vaccinating, neutering, scabbiness, lumpiness. All he was saying, was give us some money and come back on Friday for results.

A black cloud passed over the house bringing thunder, lightning and hope… but no rain.

29 July 2025, Tuesday

Keir Starmer ‘threatened’ Adolf Netanyahu. He said that if Israel didn’t stop genociding people in Gaza, the British Government would recognise a Palestinian state. Zarah Sultana said that Palestinian self-determination was an inalienable right, not a bargaining chip. I was pretty sure I was with Zarah on that one.

The sewing machine that Priyatelkata bought in a reputable electrical shop today cost ten times as much as the one she bought in a field near Gorna Oryahovitsa a few months ago. She was appalled at the difference in price until I pointed out to her that the new one works.

30 July 2025, Wednesday

I couldn’t agree

Said little

Said nothing

Simmered

Their words, my thoughts

Conflicting

Beyond reconciliation

More simmering

Zillions of them

Only one me

They couldn’t all be wrong

It must have been me

Did they not see?

Or care?

Unable to cure their blindness

I simmered

Older now

Still I care

But not about them

So I smile as I simmer

No longer alone

We simmer together

Daring to speak

Of our fears

I’d worked with madmen

They’re still out there

Caring for themselves

And their bankers

Harum-scarum tongues

Calling us eccentrics

Their sticks and stones

Bring numbness, not pain

31 July 2025, Thursday

Other villagers weren’t aware that today was Malki Chiflik Appreciation Day. Doubting that anyone could love this jewel of Balkan nature as we did, I wrote a little, Priyatelkata did her art, and we moseyed round our garden together. Above us storks circled as bees and butterflies danced in scented air. Eating and drinking homemade eatables and drinkables we talked to our animals.

The sky darkened but only love could bring the rain, bouncing off stones and leaves to announce its arrival. The earth’s sigh of relief rattled down the valley and we laughed in the coolness of the afternoon.

Photograph: Verdi’s girl, Violetta, going through the final stages of her illness. Alfredo has confessed once more his love for her and she dies comforted by the thought that she has received the forgiveness of the man she loved.

This Sort of Thing – August 2025

Bring Me the Head of St. Paisius of Hilendar