21st September 2013

The evening didn’t quite pan out as expected. Halfway through the video, Thor, David drifted off, and an early night seemed inevitable. I was just settling into bed, Banjo contentedly working away at his paws at the foot, when the “sleeping” David exploded into my room shouting, “It’s P**ing it down outside!”* and vanished into the night.

For a few hopeful moments, I lay still, convincing myself it was a bad dream, listening to raindrops pattering somewhere distant. Banjo, entirely unbothered, shifted his attention to a less sociable part of his anatomy, leaving me to wrestle with my conscience.

Then came David’s muffled cry from across the house: “I can’t find the F@#$%ing torch!” followed by the slam of a door. That did it. With a sigh, I flicked on the room light, dressed, and prepared for duty. Banjo didn’t so much as lift an eyebrow. His look said it all: “Lucky me, I don’t do ladders in the rain.”

Downstairs, David reappeared, soaked through, clutching a torch salvaged from the car. When I firmly pointed out that no power on Earth would get me up a slippery ladder in a storm, we opted for the loft door instead. Mercifully, we’d left plastic sheeting up there earlier in the day, insurance against sudden Bulgarian “sunny spells” that could just as easily mean snow. We spread it quickly over the rafters, leaving only one awkward corner exposed. With no appetite for sliding off the roof in the dark, we trusted fate and retreated.

No sooner had we sat down than we heard the inevitable: drip, drip, drip, a leak above the study window. A bowl beneath it solved that problem, and we finally returned to bed. Banjo didn’t even stir as I stepped over him.

By morning coffee, David admitted he dreaded checking the bowl, convinced we’d find an indoor swimming pool. Instead, I returned triumphant with only a few drops to show for the whole midnight drama. The storm had blown itself out, and the roof, bless it, had held surprisingly well. Bulgaria

n mud insulation: not so great for rodents, excellent for rain.

Work resumed with Sevdolin on bug-killer duty for the joists. We stripped off the plastic, patched mortar holes, and filled suspicious rat tunnels with our best Bulgarian mud impression (minus the cow dung for true authenticity). I cemented around the chimneys, discovering where old fires had loosened the mortar, while David cleared debris.

Lunch was the usual garden salad, and then it was back to joist measurements. A few adjustments for the guttering later, we were finally ready for the big re-roof. Enter Milen, late but smiling, who made himself immediately useful by demolishing my breakfast walnuts. David entertained him with neighbourly chatter while I got on with the work. By dusk, Milen wandered home, and so did we.

Dinner at the Dryanovo Hotel went without incident, no mystery toxins on the menu, and back at the house, David redeemed himself by staying awake through the rest of Thor. By 11 p.m., I was finally reunited with my pillow, with no interruptions from gods, storms, or torches.