Take that you sweaty Bulgarian pooftah - that is what I call a lorry: the roof arrives at the Greek Hovel

As I discussed here, on Monday, a sweaty and inbred Bulgar refused to drive his ford transit van from the valley floor up snake hill and onto the Greek Hovel. The road, the lying xxxx, was not good enough. On Tuesday a lorry twice the size of his van and many time heavier brought, as you can see below, the wood for my roof right to the front door.

The wood was winched onto the house where some of it lay on the balcony created on the Taygetos mountain side and other long logs were left on the ground below. And as soon as it was offloaded the workers started to give the hovel its first proper roof in years.