Every weekend morning when I’m taking my dog (Boris the Blade) on his morning walk, we are met by the same thing: a group of 20 to 30 predominantly middle-aged men and women running towards us.
And it's not just one group. As Boris stops and smells the exact same street corner he did just hours ago to decide if it's worthy of his lifted leg, several of these breathable-material, carbon-plated herds will swoosh by us.
