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Last year I waited for nearly two hours in the baking sun for the convoy of lorries from the show in Ilhavo to pass. Unfortunately, that year they had decided to take a different route, so I was left staring forlornly down the road, dreaming of what might have been. This year I was ready: I had the garden door unlocked, just in case they decided to use their old route, and my ears cocked in case I heard the lorries’ horns. Sure enough, this year the convoy came through Oiã and Carris…

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