The envelope also contained, on strong recommendation from my solicitor who dictated the content over the phone, a note to the effect that the estate agent had received the above sum "strictly subject to contract, survey and loan approval".

Just as well to get advice on these things. I was after a small cottage on half a field near the village of Cloughjordan in County Tipperary.

What I thought I was going to do with an old cottage in the middle of the countryside was beyond comprehension.

I had inherited some money on my mother's death and wanted to put it into property. She would have approved whole-heartedly.

She loved houses. I remember her driving up a grand avenue to peep at the house, me and my siblings horrified captives in the back of the car.

I figure (rightly or wrongly) that petrol prices will continue to rise, eventually pushing air fares up, and making those far-flung countries with their cheap properties expensive to reach. So a rural property in Ireland it is.

Over the past five years I had dragged friends and family across the country to view properties in various states of decrepitude from the midlands to the west, down to the southeast and back.

Then I spotted the house in Cloughjordan on the web and asked for a viewing.

Cloughjordan is near Nenagh, which I passed many times on my way to visit my brother in Mountshannon. I immediately liked the house and loved the area, and we began dreaming of planting fruit trees in the field out back.

The house was described as "a charming, three-bed cottage standing on one acre with orchard. Recently renovated to its former glory, this cosy residence will ideally commend itself for both fulltime occupation or holiday purposes".

What the estate agent's blurb failed to add was that the orchard comprised two ancient apple trees up the back of the field, and that the house looked to be in dire need of a new roof. It also had only half of the field at the back.

I was oblivious when we first looked at it, but on a second visit with Ger (who is related to half of Nenagh and on speaking terms with the rest) the first thing she asked as she looked over the white tape marker dividing the field was, "what's happening to the other half?"

I didn't know. I asked the estate agent who said the woman who had bought the cottage with a view to doing it up and selling it had only been able to secure the halffield. The other half belonged to a local farmer. There might be planning on it, or there might not.

I put the above booking deposit on it in any case, and rang a Roscrea architect who had been recommended by a building surveyor I had located on the Institute of Chartered Surveyors' website. I left two messages and then rang again. He answered. He sounded querulous and stressed. It would cost me 300- 400 to have a survey done. Propelled by the same sense of urgency I experience every time I spot something I want at a great price, I asked him to go ahead. I must ring him again with a list.

I rang the friendly solicitor who had handled the sale of my mother's house and probate, and who was now becoming my friendly solicitor. I asked him if he'd handle the conveyancing for 999 . . .

this is what is being offered on a number of websites. He said no, that he didn't know how they could do it for that price, so we fixed on professional fees of 1,300 plus ancillaries.

He said he'd send me a detailed estimate of costs.

In a mood of sunny optimism, I trotted off to a discount store where I had seen a couple of nice-looking saucepans on clearance. Fabulous quality and only 30 for the two. I was thrilled with myself and stashed them in the store room at work.

I met with the mortgage adviser on the Friday morning. The mortgage adviser is a brisk, let's-not-waste-anytime kind of guy, so I accordingly put on my focused look and answered his questions without unnecessary asides.

He agreed to lend me a figure over 20 years which included 25,000 for the roof (and the floors if I could stretch it that far) at a variable tracker rate of 3.65%, rising to 3.75% for the remainder of the term.

I had checked other banks and building societies but, because I wasn't a first-time buyer, or wasn't borrowing enough, the attractive 3.4% rate quickly rose to 3.8%s and more. I thought, what the heck, and reverted to my own trusty bank. I fully intend to pay off the loan in 15, or even 10 years by dint of staying out of shops and only buying essentials. I also have my SSIA winging its way to me in May 2007, which could take a bite out of the outstanding amount.

My long-term fantasy involves renting my Dublin home to executive types who would pay a lot for a house near the sea and the Dart, and moving to the country to grow carrots and lettuce. I also dream of keeping a few hens, a couple of dogs, cats, and possibly a goat. "A donkey, " suggested Ger. "Why don't you get a donkey?"

I wrest my view away from the rural idyll and back to the present where I have received the detailed estimate from the solicitor. Holy god, those costs do add up. 1,300 in professional fees as agreed and then . . . land registration fees of 512; law searches of 100150; commissioner for oaths' fees of 20-30; miscellaneous sundries of 100 (what miscellaneous sundries . . . stamps?

cups of coffee? parking-meter costs? ) and finally, 21% VAT on the lot.

This was adding up to around 2,400 (not counting the stamp duty which would be 4,350 on a house costing 145,000). The government must be raking it in . . . there is virtually no house for sale in Dublin's southside under 400,000 and the stamp duty on that is a whopping 7.5%, or 30,000. Is it any wonder the country's coffers are full?

I write back to the solicitor, telling him that I'm happy to go ahead (happy in this instance meaning prepared, not an emotional state of bliss), and that I will let him know as soon as I have heard from the architect. I also tell him that I've passed his details to the estate agent who will notify the vendor's solicitor once I've given the go-ahead.

This will happen if the architect tells me he has completed a comprehensive survey and there is no undesirable building planned for the next field; that the structure of the house is sound; that its septic tank is in order (I couldn't find one the last time I was down); and that the marked-out section on the map supplied by the vendor matches that which is marked by white tape in the field.

He will probably tell me that the rotting roof is causing the damp and that the dry-lining is covering up crumbling sections of wall.

I'm eager to get a new roof as my brother's partner, Grainne, suggested I have the current one replaced with a vaulted roof and velux windows, which will raise the height and introduce light into some fairly dark rooms.

What a super idea! In a fit of excitement, I buy a canteen of cutlery which is on clearance for 30. They join the saucepans in the store room.

Nothing happens for a week. I ring the estate agent who tells me that the querulous architect wants the keys of the house posted to him.

The estate agent tells me that (rightly) this is not their policy. I ask the estate agent for the name of another architect in Nenagh which he duly supplies. I ring the new architects and am promised a survey over the next week.

I plan another foray with Ger to Tipperary. The roof looks as decrepit as ever; the village seems to have a lot of new houses going up on its outskirts, but I gaze with adoring eyes at the overgrown gravel of the front garden, the withering boxes on ivy on the window sills and almost swoon at the bank of daffodils that marks out what would have been the country garden.

As we pass the other half of the field. I notice a planning application on a stake in the hedge for a private residence with septic tank and garage.

Well, this was always going to happen. Unless I bought the other half of the field, which they didn't want to sell and which I couldn't afford.

First port of call will be the North Tipperary County County website where planning applications are posted.

I'll also ask the architect what the story is.

The bank sends me a letter of offer which sets the interest rate at 3.99% for a fixed two-year initial term, rising to 4% tracker for the remainder. Now, I thought we had agreed 3.65%. Where did I get that idea? The document is a formal contract of agreement.

However, as things happen, I bump into a friend and his wife when we pop into the pub in Dalkey for a quick drink on Friday evening. He manages a branch of a wellknown financial institution. I never even thought to approach him. When he hears that I've gone to the bank for a loan, he's gently reprimanding. What a salesman! And he assures me that he can do a lot better than 3.99%.

Meantime, I've received the architect's report and it's daunting. Not only is he recommending that the roof be replaced in its entirety, he strongly recommends that the floors come up as well.

He puts a market price of 75,000 on the renovations required to bring the house up to current building regulation standards. I nearly choke on my morning coffee.

There are many other, smaller issues, all of which will cost money. I ask the patient estate agent if I can view the house again, this time with my brother Frankie and his partner Grainne. Having read the architect's fourpage report, I view it with new eyes.

Yes, there are damp patches everywhere, and the wall between the bathroom and the adjoining bedroom is hugely discoloured. Did I simply not notice it the last couple of times, or has the fact that the house is almost saleagreed allowed it to slip into a kind of decrepitude?

The architect couldn't locate the septic tank either, though he suggests it's under a huge pile of brambles up the field, at the back of the house. My solicitor told me the previous week that he has asked the vendor's solicitor for confirmation that there is a septic tank and that it's on the land. I'm tired and deflated when I finally get back to Dublin. I resolve to phone the architect on Monday.

I duly phone and ask him the minimum I need to spend to make the house dry and habitable. He's a nice man from Nenagh (how come they are all so nice in North Tipperary? ) and we have a long chat over the phone.

The basic spend needed to damp-proof and roof the house will be 40,000 50,000, depending on the builder. "That's if you can get one for a small job like this, " he adds.

My heart is beginning to contract. However, he says he will send me a list of recommended contractors whom I can follow up, and that he will evaluate the works on a phased basis at a cost of 190 plus VAT per