Commentator

My wife and I were the only people in the small store that we always go to for our Christmas Big Shop. Inevitably, we had The Conversation - even though the woman behind the counter was quite young. While we were filling up our baskets with non-perishable items, the woman provided a running commentary: ‘ah, you’re shopping really well. Reeaally well.’ She wasn’t complimenting our choices, she was complimenting our spending. ‘Oh, great shopping, great shopping.’ I suppose it’s possible that she didn’t realise she was speaking out loud but the effect was like being on an episode of Supermarket Sweep.

Level Crossing Maniac

We’d been waiting at the level crossing for about ten minutes, which is an eon for a Bulgarian driver, so inevitably those queuing behind us ignored the red light, pulled out, and drove around the barrier. Just us and the silver Corsa on the other side of the tracks remained. Another five minutes passed. The Corsa driver got out of his car, checked for trains in both directions, got back in, and crossed. As soon as his wheels had left the tracks, the train rattled past. He stopped next to us and wound his window down. ‘Train’s coming’ he said.

BBC John

A colleague on a training course here in Bulgaria. Mid-fifties and British, he looked a lot like Nigel Farage, a former schoolmate of his. He was one of those businesspeople who only talk to you if they think you might be useful - every social event is a networking opportunity, every conversation has an agenda. He used to be a BBC radio presenter and his diction and voice reflected that: ‘I am speaking now, listen to me speaking, hear how important I am.’ His default attitude assumed British superiority and that everyone in the world wanted to be like us.

Ticketing Clerk

We’d given her our booking number for two tickets to Sozopol, six times. ‘No, that’s for one ticket to Vratsa,’ she said. The man before us had collected one ticket to Vratsa. There was a point where I think she realised her mistake – a flash of panic in her neutral expression – but she pushed through it. ‘You don’t have seats. You can’t book now’. My wife went so ballistic that the clerk’s supervisor came over. We gave our number to her and she found the tickets instantly. ‘That’s a different number to the one they gave me’, the clerk said.

Milko

A chalga star in his sixties with a Borat moustache and permanent grin, he’s exactly the kind of person you’d see on one of those Clive James shows from the 80’s that ridiculed ‘funny foreigners’. His lyrics mainly describe things that are happening in his videos: ‘Now I’m sitting on a rock eating a pastry and there’s a cage of girls over there’. I’m convinced he’s self-aware and laughing at himself but my wife is sure he’s totally serious and simply can’t believe his luck at getting paid for cavorting with botoxed, implanted and tattooed young women in string bikinis.

Lili Ivanova

Bulgaria’s number one diva. Her age is often a source of joking and, while nobody seems to know exactly how old she really is, she must be in her eighties as she’s been around for as long as Cliff Richard. Unlike Cliff Richard, however, she’s held in some esteem and is still producing new music that changes with the times and continues to sell well. She sings in a kind of breathy, melodramatic croon, has the figure of a swimwear model and a face that’s had so much plastic surgery that she looks like she’s being suffocated by a balloon.

Coach driver

Beer-bellied, sweat-stained and builder-arsed, he leaned by the luggage hatch as everyone - frail old people and immaculately manicured young women alike - wedged in their bags as best they could. He offered critiques like: ‘how long are you going for, a century?’ and, if anyone complained, he shrugged and told them to ‘buy a car then’. He started shouting when he saw how badly packed the compartment was. At the one break in our eight-hour journey, he kept us all waiting for fifteen minutes outside the locked coach in shadeless 33 degree heat while he finished his meals in HesBurger.