Despite both of us carrying 2G technology in our pockets, and because we never bothered to exchange numbers, bumping into John remains down to luck.
It'll most likely happen once or twice over the months of what we laughingly call a Scottish summer; when we might be graced with a brief window of sun under which we can occupy the high dugouts and watch over the Clyde with its array of islands.
Perhaps because of their impromptu nature, our conversations will go in many directions, cover a broad range of topics, where no reference is ever made, certainly by John, to the world of online. This is because he has neither computer nor internet at home – and why would he? He is of a world I also come from, of a way of being I once belonged to. Only, he has managed not to abandon it, unlike many of the rest of us.
John instead relies on rehearsing television news seen a decade ago, remembering a radio report broadcast last year, recalling an article published in any given month's newspaper.
Our chats will last for hours, usually refreshed by an illicit export beer or two - his favoured brew, found in red tins with thon ageless cavalier raising his glass, himself a character invoking times gone.
And when talk eventually peters out and our sun stoops sufficiently low, John considers his bus home. Still in conversation, we head to his stop before I bid him goodbye. Until some next time.
Proverbs 27:9 - KJV