I'd noticed an older gentleman huffing along behind me and it seemed to me he was keeping a beady eye on me. As I walked back up the path I thought he had a confrontational look so I said 'I's ok, I'm not casing the joint.' 'I don't care what you're doing.' Was his grumpy reply.
Turned out he was near his allotment and was having a little stroll, made more difficult by a recent heart operation and the warm weather. We got to talking about this and that and then he asked me if I'd seen the limers over the wall.
Limers... I thought it was either a farming term I wasn't aware of or something to do with the local stone; limestone, which can be burned to make other products. Maybe it was an awful new industrial unit put there to blight the landscape. I fessed up and said I hadn't seen them.
'Well, I say them' he said, 'but there's only one now. The other died last week.' Curiouser and curiouser. We walked down the lane together discussing the price of potatoes and the recent hard winter. On reaching the gate he pointed into the field where I'd just been watching the sheep 'There's your limer...'