Of course, many Brits, including the Times columnist Matthew Parris, have fallen in love with tumbledown wrecks in the Spanish hills and turned them into dream homes. Yet many analysts predict a gradual slowdown in the Spanish market. So going for a place like Barcelona, which still has considerable cachet and is propped up by strong domestic demand, seemed a better long-term investment. Surely the city could withstand any dip in the market?Mark Stucklin, a Spanish property expert on www.spanishpropertyinsight.com, says: “Barcelona is such a great place that, even if the prices do fall nationally in Spain, buying here will always be a good investment.”

The only snag, then, was the actual asking price. The average flat, with marvellous high ceilings, classic Spanish tiles and a balcony, costs about €500,000 (£336,600). And it is impossible to snap up a places with a gorgeous terrace overlooking the Mediterranean for less than €1 million. So the only way to get into this market seemed to buy a flat that needed doing up and make money on it later.

Among British friends who had the same idea it seemed a favourite dinner party topic of conversation. “Are you looking? Have you seen something? We’ve been looking for ages, but they are all a million euros. It’s impossible!” Undaunted, we started our hunt.

Estate agents proved useless. They didn’t listen to what we could afford or what we wanted. So, although we said we were looking for a classic old-style flat, we were shown round a succession of ultra-modern horror-show homes. My girlfriend, Lucille Papais, told them we had a budget of €500,000, only to be taunted with a palace with a price tag of €1 million. After traipsing round the umpteenth place, our morale was at rock bottom, so we decided to make our own luck by knocking on old people’s doors and asking them if they wanted to sell.

Then, when we had all but given up, we found what we were looking for. In the heart of Eixample, one of the city’s best areas, we found a classic flat with high-ceilings, old tiles on the floor and two balconies. On closer inspection, there were a few drawbacks. The flat was dark and dingy and it had uneven floors, but it had plenty of space and a nice view of a park.

We agreed that with a bit of work it could be great, so we agreed to buy it. The estate agent tried to force us to pay a fee up-front, but we knew that the seller should pay the fee, not the buyer. She also spoke very quickly, like a machinegun, perhaps in an effort to pressure us into buying. We politely told her to slow down.

Then the search began to find someone to do it up, which is just as important but perhaps even more difficult than finding a flat. If you don’t want to try to organise a small army of plumbers and architects, then you need a good project manager. Asking around through people who have done the same thing is often the best method. We chose one who promised us a good foreman and appeared to have done a decent job on other flats. His price was reasonable, so we shook on it and told our man exactly what we had in mind. We later discovered that our ideas were different from his. Our plans outlined, we waited for the work to start — and waited, and waited. After two months and plenty of excuses, they got going. There was a lot to do. The whole thing had to be gutted, the basic structure checked, and then rebuilt.

Many Britons will have found to their cost that every builder in Spain thinks foreigners are made of money. They try to steer you to their suppliers who can give you a “special deal”. This simply means a cut for them. Keen to avoid falling into this trap, we did our own research. An entire floor needed replacing so we had to find some old tiles, but it proved difficult to locate the classic tiles for which Spain is so famous because Spaniards love the new, not the old.

Very soon, things started to go awry. The floor was not levelled properly and the ceilings were too low and had to be redone. We realised that, if you do not stand over the builders every day, you are asking for trouble. Alternatively you must insist that they call you every time they are not sure about anything.

As the work proceeded at a snail’s pace, our patience started to wear thin and many sleepless nights were spent fretting over the project manager’s incompetence. At one point I even dreamt fleetingly of hiring a hit man to bump off the builder, but even if I had been serious this would have delayed the work still further.

On top of this, more things were going wrong: radiators were in the wrong place, the precious tiles were damaged, the heating didn’t work. After a series of rows we fixed our own deadline to force the builders to finish, paid them €80,000 for their efforts, bade them a less than amicable goodbye and moved in.

So was it worth the hassle? When I look out from the balcony, I think . . . of course, it was.

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