No country for old men

Walking across the park this morning I saw an old man walking his dog. He was wearing a pair of green trousers which disappeared against the backdrop of a rising grass mound so that his red jacketed torso seemed to hover, disembodied three feet off the ground; and as the dog was on a taut leash the man looked like a half human balloon tethered to the ground. But before I could even think of getting my camera out the moment was gone.

At lunchtime I came across another old man digging about in the river Mole. We got talking and he said he was exploring the course of the drains that came down the hill. "Bloody water company keep saying I have a manhole cover in the middle of my lawn that's the cause of the problems with blocked sewers" he snarled. "Bloody bureaucrats". "Indeed" I said, not revealing that I was an NHS bureaucrat - although we are of course a very different breed, positively Ninja like as men in grey suits go.

My next old man was just a fleeting encounter: a very wizened creature in a mobility scooter and I swear he looked just like Davros. He could have killed me with a single withering look and a whispered "exterminate".

This lonely looking chap was sitting contemplating the river as if god's waiting room followed him everywhere. He looked like he had had the stuffing knocked out of him and might fall off the end of his bench any time.

So much for geriatric encounters and a glimpse into my own potential futures. Think I'll be drain man. At least he had some fight in him...