Summary
HIGH on the dusty plateau between Madrid and the Portuguese border sits the little town of Almoharin, from whence this column comes.
I arrived a day late - having misread the flight times - to stay with my old Sun pal Big Roger and his lovely Gisela, deliver a pound of onion sets to be planted on his four-acre finca (surely a case of coals to Newcastle) and inspect progress on the house they are building. But there is little rest for the itinerant columnist.See the full content of this document
Extract
A Tale of Sun, Wine and Pub Emails ; Toon and Country
Barely had I taken the weight off my feet and downed the first of many glasses of a robust Rioja than I was collecting a clutch of email responses to last week's incohere...
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