I slowed my run to match the pace of the man in white wellingtons walking towards the big house. There was something about his gait that gave away that his left leg was false. He told me that his disability caused him no bother at all. In fact he had walked most of the way around the world on his false leg, and now he was heading home.

It turned out that “home” was the big house. He invited me into the garden and I admired the view over towards the bay. The only blot on the landscape (to my mind at least) was the golf course between the house and the beach.