I'll carry on till I can't walk, says paperboy, 79
BBCAt seven o'clock on a Monday morning, a village paperboy is busily doing his rounds, his high-vis vest and yellow bag standing out against a grey blanket of fog.
But when Colin Bradley finishes his deliveries, he will not be heading to school. In fact, the school he used to go to has long been converted into houses.
For Colin, from Little Weighton, East Yorkshire, is 79 years old.
"There's nothing I don't like about the job," he says in his rich Yorkshire accent. "If I get wet, I get wet. I just don't like wearing waterproofs, 'cos you sweat too much."
Colin was a farm worker and lorry driver before becoming a paperboy a decade ago.
His late introduction to the role came when he filled in for two boys while they were on holiday, before taking over permanently when they failed to return to work.
He said his wife, Freida, did not mind, but told him: "Do you realise how old you are to start doing a paper round?"
Back then, more people were buying newspapers.
"When I first started, I used to do 94 papers. I don't now", he says, pointing to a much lighter bag.
Still, his round takes him about an hour and despite being one of the oldest paperboys, he may also be one of the fastest. Despite being 79, his pace is such that it is a struggle to keep up.
"I'm going in here now," he says, as he heads towards a house. "You have to push it [the paper] right through or it gets a draught."
When I catch up, I ask if he has ever been bitten by a dog?
"Touch wood, no. I've been very, very close. It's this that frightens them", he tugs his orange vest.
"I used to deliver to the farm at the bottom of the village and if I took it off and left it in the passage that I had to walk through, the dogs never bothered. But if I had my vest and paper-bag, they used to growl."
How about Christmas tips?
"I'm not telling you," he replies. "Taxman might find out. But, yeah, I do really well out of what customers I have."
Colin was born in a farm cottage more or less opposite the village shop and has lived in Little Weighton, a small village in the Yorkshire Wolds, ever since.
When he left school, he worked on a pig farm, which was later converted into a care home, where Freida worked for 22 years.
Freida passed away last July after 35 years of marriage. He then lost his brother in October.
"Out of the Bradley family of seven, there's only two of us left," he says.
Other than sweating in his waterproofs, Colin's biggest complaint is traffic speeding through the village.
"It's a 30 limit, he's doing more than 30," he says as a car goes past.
"We want traffic slowing down a bit – there's a school there and there's a care home here on the left, and the traffic comes tearing down here".
Tea and toast
Like the traffic, you get the feeling Colin never stops. His round is six days a week and when he's finished today, he'll head to a local slimmers' club to help set up the tables and call the raffle.
On other days, he looks after seven gardens in the village.
"They pay me whatever they think," he says. "One old lady pays me with a pint mug of tea and two slices of toast".
Does he think he'll ever stop delivering papers?
"No... I'm gonna stop when I can't walk, or 'somert' like that.
"I did say to Mark [the shop owner], I'm gonna stop when I'm 80 and he said, 'oh please, keep going as long as you can'."
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