A definition of the title `dean' used in an unofficial capacity has always proved elusive. We know about the official titles of university deans or deans who are senior clerics in a church.

But what about those people referred to as `dean' of a group of members of parliament, the dean of the press corps in a particular city or the dean of a group of painters and poets?

Whatever the title means, Julian Hill can safely be called the dean of the British community in Veliko Turnovo. He knows every expat in town, it seems, whether because of the soccer games he plays (expats, meaning a bunch of Brits and one Italian, versus a bunch of Bulgarians) or because of the parties he's thrown or crashed.

The 35-year-old West Yorkshire native and former computer programmer came to `VT' — as the Brits call the medieval city — more than two years ago, having stopped in Bulgaria as part of a world trekking tour that, er, never got farther than Bulgaria.

Ask him why he stayed and his answer is fairly typical, but totally respectable. "The pace of life," he said. "The girls."

He might as well have added property to that list of Bulgaria's attractions. Hill's work has focused on buying apartments, fixing them up and selling them again. "When I first came I was working for ages on my apartment and other properties," he said.

Many Bulgarians were particularly nonplussed by his decision to outfit his apartment in funky colours, including painting his walls and ceilings primary red and blue, an interior decorating move that made his apartment in VT's Old Town, just a short walk from Tsarevets, resemble a hip pad in London or New York.

His latest venture is the establishment of a bar that reflects his and his British friends' tastes. Being Brits, they find bars — or, excuse me, pubs — to be important parts of their daily lives. Furthermore, the music these bars — excuse me, pubs — play seems to be especially crucial.

"All the bars here place loud dance music," he said. "I want my bar to play more alternative rock and dance, but things the Bulgarians will know, like Oasis. And I'm hoping to tap into the students. There's an art school here."

Serving proper English beer, particularly bitter - Hill's favourite - is a major goal for the bar. Importing the stuff might prove expensive, however, he admits reluctantly.

Also, for the record, while Hill has met lazy architects and construction workers, he's encountered little if any corruption in his drive to open the tavern. "No bribes," he said. "It's completely legitimate."

The name of the bar is of some concern. Initially Hill considered "Ideotech," after a song by one of his favourite bands, Radiohead. But cooler minds prevailed and he's abandoned that idea. He's now kicking around `Dada Bar,' a play on both Bulgarian for `yes' and Dada, the modernist art movement that said a commode qualified as sculpture. If you are in VT and see Hill on the street, please tell him what you think of the name. He wants input.

Hill is also an avid hiker. But an apology is required because this story might not convey properly his enthusiasm for the sport. He refers to hiking as `walking.' This reporter is not sure if by walking Hill is simply using a Britishism for travelling by foot in the wilderness or he just means he hikes very, very slowly. "I go walking every now and then through the Stara Planina mountains, that kind of thing," he said.

Asked to comment on his fellow Brits, who seem to fill nearly every VT restaurant with their London, Scottish or Welsh accents, Hill — the dean — was philosophical. "I presume they garden and do the Bulgarian thing of having a pig in the garden and slaughtering it at the end of the year," he said.