I am still an outsider at the dog park, maybe because my schedule doesn't always allow for the daily mornings and evenings at Granville Park, or that I consistently wear all black and keep my sunglasses on (in the evenings), but the ‘Godfather’ of the group does seem to know my dog's name (which is Marshall btw) and I still enjoy eavesdropping on the local conversation… something about meat thermometers, an impending trip to Sydney, “come back here Johnny and drop it!”… you get the idea.
In the mornings, I often sit and have my coffee at Meinhardt’s, or on my balcony listening to the growl of the fruit trucks delivering soon-to-be-overpriced produce… and it’s nice, I am a sucker for urban cacophony.
Then there is The Barnyard Group, a name I’ve secretly (not so secretly now) bestowed on a group of South Granville inhabiters, a wily bunch of good-looking young professionals trying to make something social out of this still elegant, yet somewhat tired and stodgy neighborhood, that hang out at the stinky yet charming Caffé Barney, drinking cold beer and cheap wine. I can’t yet tell if they are all really friends, or if they band together knowing that they are the young-bloods, the little life that is still kicking around on the Westside (East of Kits).
After the park in the evenings, I pass by the same group of men chatting away at the cafe on the corner, them teetering towards the end of middle age, me teetering on my feet after walking in heeled boots all day. The elderly have been huge. I have daily interactions withe local blue haired crowd. They love my dog, and I love them; maybe because we are both from a time and place where is was proper etiquette to stop, say hello, and chat with your neighbour. Or, maybe we are all just a little lonely, When you’re not a stones throw away from a rock and roll bar anymore - you have to make do.