It all began with The Sunday Observer dropping through the letterbox one Sunday morning in August 2003, proclaiming in the holiday section that Bulgaria was the new Tuscany. A place in Tuscany was something both Dave (spouse) and I could only dream about, not having sufficient money to take us there and live as well as we lived in England. We both loved Italy and the people, but I was three months short of retiring on a pension and Dave worked and had a private pension, and although we had quite a lot of money behind us, re-locating there was out of the question. What we needed was a place in which we could live as comfortably as we had throughout our married lives. Tuscany did not fit the equation.

What excitement I felt, then, reading the article. Apparently, Bulgaria was like England in the 50s, in that there was little traffic on the road, and unlike today’s England, the property was inexpensive. It was a good climate with four distinct seasons, and again, like England, was a beautiful country.

Surfing the internet later, I brought up illustrations of the properties, which, I have to admit, dampened my enthusiasm a little. An outside toilet? Eeeek – we had three bathrooms. Stairs outside the property to the bedrooms! Did that mean we had to freeze in winter climbing icy stairs in our jim-jams when it was time for bed? Some of the houses had what were described as taverns or pubs, which was puzzling. The photographs showed buildings that were not very attractive, but the prices certainly were. And we had the money to make something of them. And, I felt, it might be an interesting experience, to live in an ex-communist country.

“We could go and explore,” I suggested to Dave. “Let’s book a holiday.” So we did. I had been corresponding on the internet with someone and she suggested an estate agent with whom she had dealt, and that was it.

Work colleagues of Dave’s asked why he wanted to go to a communist country. “It’s not communist and it hasn’t been since 1989,” he retorted, over a chorus of Uncle Bulgaria. My friends and family did not think we could be serious.

And so we set off on a journey of discovery: booking our hotel in Zlatni Pyasutsi (Golden Sands) and arranging to meet up with the real estate agent Ivo, who turned out to have a quick sense of humour, which matched Dave’s wit, and we had a good laugh with him and his staff. Unfortunately, there were no houses that caught our attention. One, to which we took a fancy, had five floors with five rooms and a shower room on each floor. A huge plot of land accompanied it; Dave imagined a swimming pool, while I fantasized about a donkey grazing on the land. And then, I thought about my spectacles and how I am always losing them and look at the time and energy I expend searching for them. I could go insane climbing the stairs, looking in each of the five rooms, on each of the five floors.

Soon I would be a shadow of my former self, and there would be local legends of a strange English lady, constantly meandering around the house. No, no – it would not do at all – total madness.