Today, we stopped in a small town on the Faroe Islands.  Actually by Faroe Islands standards it’s a pretty big town, but given that I’m a worldly bear having been to many a town in the world, I felt entitled to conclude that Torshvan, pop. 20 000 = a rather itty bitty baby town.

This is the whole town.  See, it really IS rather itty bitty.

I’d read in the guidebooks that the Faroe Islands have their own kind of sheep — the kind  you get when sheep inbreed amongst themselves for thousands of years (or since the Vikings anyway) without new sheep stock to add diversity.  So I wanted to see some sheep to see how weird they look.

These aren’t sheep.  They’re shaggy cows!

And then the clouds came in.  Okay I’ve seen enough sheep. And then it rained.  And I got wet.   And grumpy.

Nicholas tried to bribe me and cheer me up with a Jolly.

At which point I explained that calling a drink Jolly doesn’t a jolly bear make.  Hot cocoa and a warm bed on a boat does.

So I got that.

Much better.