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#theoldmenoforangefield

 

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For the past five years, during term time, I have found myself walking our dog around Orangefield Park, near to the Grammar school our boys go to. My oldest son – the one that's an actual giant – plays rugby and Saturday morning is more often than not match day. Just like it is throughout the western world no doubt.

I drop him off for pre-match training, give the dog a walk, then take my position pitch-side to shout a bit. It's great and although I don't have a long history of sportsfaning, 'The Rugby' has become a top-notch source of pleasure…and pain, of course. Such is the plight of the sportsfan.

Orangefield Park fills a gap between the school, a densely residential area, a key arterial road and a dodgy estate. Like many parks, it's a meeting place where people meet people they would never normally meet.

My favourite people are the old dudes. The grumpy, friendly, silent, chatty dog-treat packing, dog-walking, old dudes. 

I've watched, from the bushes, the ebb and flow of the old dudes. Sometimes walking solo, sometimes in pairs…occasionally in packs. I do engage with them – usually as our dogs are drawn to each other's odours – not least because I know that one day, I will be one of them.

I've been taking sneaky snaps of them whenever a back or gaze is turned. If you're on IG, you can follow the hashtag above to keep tabs on the park's most worthy patrons.

05 February 2019 in Outside, Photography, Places, Sports | Permalink | Comments (0)