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Fun fact, yeh? Old London, prossies’d wear red ribbons—secret sign! Ain’t that wild? Me, I’d hiss at ‘em, “Get outta me swamp!” but Sméagol’s cryin’, “They’re lost, poor things!” Pfft, lost me arse—crafty, they are! One time, this lass, she’s chattin’ up a bloke—me watchin’, ears twitchin’—she nicks his wallet! Laughed me head off, precious, sneaky like me!

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I’m fuming, but whatever. I wipe it off and head to the park. Platt Fields Park, to be exact. It’s a nice spot, but today it was packed. Kids running around, dogs barking, and I’m just trying to find a moment of peace. I sit on a bench, and this old dude starts chatting me up about the weather. I’m like, “Mate, it’s England. It’s always rubbish!” But he laughs, and I can’t help but chuckle too.

A forgotten past: The history of Fallowfield Stadium