That's what is bound to happen when you tramp up and down a two-kilometre stretch with a hoe in your hand.
Tractor ride
Postbox
There are a lot of empty houses in Portugal. Some of them have been like that for years; some of them are for sale. I pass several every day. This morning, however, I stopped and looked inside the yard of one such empty house. Well, blow me down if that's not an old Deutsche Post... Continue Reading →
That elusive pair of jeans 