One of the highlights of last year was a bicycle ride from Groningen (Netherlands) to Haraldsted (Denmark), almost 700 km through the old Greater Frisia – my ancestral home. Apart from the endless canals and dykes, one can’t help noticing sheep: you ride through sheep shit, they wander along the dykes, they share your lunch …

And, naturally, you begin speculating about about sheep’s udders – as your mind wanders while your body works hard all day on the bike. The older bosoms sag and hang, while the younger ones, with less years of farmers pulling on them for the precious milk, are fuller and rounder. And I wonder without titillation: does one distinguish between A-cup, B-cup and C-cup for sheep?

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