What do you get when you cross a tiger economy with an end of-millennium yearning for peace and simplicity? What happens when your home town changes out of all recognition in under 10 years? When traffic jams replace the weather as the perennial topic of conversation and when people no longer have time to relax? You get what is happening in Dublin - people moving to the country. People in their 30s and 40s, seeing no point in keeping money in the bank, are buying now in preparation for their retirement; younger couples are escaping the rat race and either setting up tourism-based businesses or teleworking; families are buying holiday homes - and there are even those who go the whole hog and develop small (usually organic) farms.

In contrast to the past, when many Irish people looked down on second-hand country property, increasing numbers are following the example of foreigners and looking for very cheap, semi-derelict, stone cottages, in need of a lot of work. "Dubliners are the ones who are buying now," says one Co Roscommon auctioneer. "Where a few years ago it was all English and Germans, now there aren't many foreigners. And we can't get enough of the old cottages." Business is indeed booming for property in all price ranges - from £10,000 for what is basically a site, to over £70,000 for an all-mod-cons, new or recently renovated, farmhouse. Worried about being priced out of the "country cottage" market in the way I (like so many others) have been priced out of the Dublin property market, I began to think about buying in the west. And as an English person who has spent most of the last 11 years in Dublin (in rented accommodation) and has no intention of moving back to England, I thought it would be a good idea to put down some roots somewhere.

So I started looking at cottages in Sligo/north Roscommon - an area where I know some "blow-ins" like myself. After weekends spent driving for miles, during the bleakest, muddiest time of year, February, and getting almost permanently lost, bogged down, and depressed at viewing yet another over-priced hay shed, I found my dream cottage. Hidden at the end of a quiet lane in north Co Roscommon, with views of rolling hills and surrounded by old trees (note: find out names of trees and plants), the white-washed, two-bedroom cottage had everything I was looking for. While prepared for - and even looking forward to - some renovation, I didn't want to have to rebuild a whole house or to add a bathroom and kitchen. More than 80 years old, "my" cottage was lived in until 1997 and some modernisation has been done - most importantly, it has a roof, electricity and a working bathroom. Behind this "new" cottage is most of the original one, dating back hundreds of years, as well as old stone outbuildings and a big red barn. All on one-third of an acre. "Great potential," said one friend tactfully. "You're mad," said another, "You're too young to bury yourself in the country."

Not sure at that stage if the small white structure was going to be a holiday house, permanent home or investment - but sure it was meant for me - I started the process of negotiating with the vendors and trying to get a mortgage. The bank was not impressed: "We could lend you double and you could buy a nearly-new cottage," said the concerned mortgage advisor, shocked at photos of green mould creeping up the outside walls and a tin roof. "But this is what I want,"I said, trying not to appear mentally unbalanced. "And after all, what do you expect for £20,000?" The surveyors report, however, was a nasty shock - and explained the pitying looks of more knowledgeable friends when they said, "You're very brave". I had naively thought nothing structural would have to be done and I'd be able to live (or at least camp out) in the place quite soon, but that is clearly not going to happen.

Not surprisingly, the main problem is damp. The concrete floor has "high levels of dampness" and has to be replaced; "a high level of moisture was present in the walls at all locations," said the report; and with a strange fungus growing on the kitchen ceiling, the extension roof has to be replaced. My builder estimates this, and other basic work, will cost around £5,000, but luckily it doesn't have to be all done at once. Apparently, the original drainage system which diverted water from the house, is blocked (and hidden) and needs to be cleared because rainwater is being absorbed by the walls and floors. One friend offered to lend me his free-range pigs, Wayne, Shula and Debbie: "They're great at finding ditches, and cheaper than a JCB".

Since deciding to live full-time in the cottage, and become a teleworker, every second person I meet is either thinking about buying in the west, or has friends from Dublin who moved to the country and love it. The main problem so far is that I am in danger of becoming a house bore - suddenly my favourite TV programmes are DIY, especially the really technical ones on how to construct walls or deal with builders. And, never having owned a shrub before, let alone trees and masses of other green stuff, I've even stayed home on Friday nights to watch gardening programmes. And I haven't even got the keys yet.