Yesterday's air was viscously thick. Three of us: Boy, Dog, me: pad on foot. Mr commands a bicycle. We all pant. The chap at the cottage is out painting and while we stop to rediscover normal breathing he bemoans the loss of lead in paint. It used to be so much tougher, the old style stuff.
There's a high percentage of eccentrics per capita here.
There's us in our lycra mixes and him in his overalls that are for coloured painting jobs. The other pair do for white paint. He laughs while he says this, though he misses the old style of paint.
'Well, you always knew a painter and decorator, in those days, they were tall and very thin.'
'From the lead poisoning?' Mr suggests.
'Well, yes.' He chuckles. 'That's right. From the lead.'
He leans on some fresh sage-green paint, but it's okay, he knew he would do that. He has the colour paint overalls on.
When we are able we say goodbye. We run to the river and clamber on rocks till we are all in the cool water. Dog wins the swim event.
On the way home, Boy takes the bike and goes on ahead to buy breakfast eggs from the Nextdoor Chickens.