Our place in the sun left us in a big fix

"IT ALL started when we went on holiday to St.Lucia five years ago.

We'd been having a wonderful time and then it rained one day, so we thought we'd kill time by getting an estate agent to drive us around the island looking at properties.

Believe me, we had no intention of buying. That is until we saw "The" house, a run-down, colonial-style property with its own pool and a view to die for.

Before I knew what I was doing, I'd put in an offer. It was turned down, we were disappointed but thought it was fate.

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Many months later we were watching the TV programme 'A Place in the Sun' and, you guessed it, there was "our" house! It looked even more fabulous than we remembered.

The gentleman searching for a second home wanted "our "house, but he, like many others on that show, changed his mind. But it was enough for me; this was clearly fate telling me to buy it, so I called the agents and increased my offer. It was accepted and the house was ours - it was that simple. Then something called 'buyer's remorse' kicked in: 'O my God what have I done'? I thought.

We flew out there to see our place in the sun.

It looked beautiful and so did that view.

We actually stayed in it for a week and in the evening we would pour ourselves a Sundowner rum punch and watch the sun set into the Caribbean Sea.

On those moments, all was well with the world; all doubts faded with the sun. But all that was about to change...

We arranged to meet a local architect... he turned up two hours late.

This, it turned out, is the West Indian way of doing things. Their motto seems to be: 'Why rush when you can move slow'.

He came with an over enthusiastic interior designer who did all the talking for him while he sat staring into middle space. This man was no architect, but I ignored my instincts and commissioned him to put together plans that would up-date but retain the colonial plantation flavour of our home.

He returned many weeks later with his proposals; they looked good, but it wasn't our house. He'd decided to re-shape it into a Spanish villa. We spent weeks easing him back on track. He submitted quotes for a new roof, a small extension, re-wiring, new plumbing, bathroom fixtures, redecorating, new tiles... The list went on and on, but the price was cheap.

It all seemed too good to be true... and so it proved.

The problems, the tantrums, the tears, the breakdowns and the loss of my will to live quickly followed.

Throughout the early stages of our ordeal the 'architect' developed a permanent grin of disdain whenever we dared to question his authority.

Raging Bull Dennis fought our corner

We were dead against packing it in.

This grin disappeared early one morning when I told him I was not going to pay him for his so-called expertise.

Sacking him was the beginning of a nightmare that was to last for 18 months.

We had bought a house on a beautiful island in a great location.

But what we hadn't taken into account was how difficult it was going to be to fix the place up.

Having celebrated the sacking, we were left with a house that had been gutted, de-constructed.

A permanent cloud of concrete dust hung over the place - when the rain didn't pour through the roof. We had to find our own builders, get quotes and as the costs came in, it became clear that the architect had simply given us costs to fit our expectations.

They did not bear any relation to the true price.

Trying to manage a team of workers was nigh on impossible. They were a law unto themselves. I remember attempting to galvanise one man who had failed to turn up for work the day before:

'Bruno, what happened, you didn't show yesterday. I needed you to finish the powder room - we are so far behind now," I said.

He lisped weakly 'Well I tell you; I went to a wedding on the Sunday I drank before I ate my food. But when the food was ready, well it was late, so I ate it, rush, rush, rush, you understand, and I drink rum, rum, rum you understand and the food, well it messed me up real bad.

"So the next day I had GAS real bad GAS, gas, gas so I say to myself, stay in bed Bruno till the gas has gone.'

There really wasn't much point in arguing with him.

Raging Bull Dennis fought our corner

We were dead against packing it in.