The Gritty Underbelly of Suburbia – The 'Horror' of Life in the Middle

I recently moved back to England, and am now temporarily residing in Chertsey, about 10 miles from the closest thing I have to a hometown. Now you can’t exactly claim an edgy or particularly deprived upbringing on the leafy streets of Surrey – not if the kids of Mumbai have anything to say about it. But upon returning, I was met by this familiar sense of dreariness that comes with living in the land of roundabouts and traffic lights. The labyrinth of convenience shops and characterless newbuilds that make up suburbia, framed by dodgy underpasses and dog-shit minefields (recreation grounds). Here you get the worst of two worlds, the incessant exhaust fumes of London’s sky rise lined streets, teamed with the monotony of life in a rural village - not a trace of natural beauty to lessen the blow.

Just on a side note, the photos that I've taken and included in this post make Surrey look like a splendid place to set up shop, and do nothing to support my point, but then again which mentalist goes around taking photos of industrial estates and underpasses on a wet, miserable day? This blog is therapeutic and all, but I'm not that invested in it...

Obviously the type of person you are will dictate where you want to live in the world. Furthermore, I’m very aware of the privilege of having a choice in the matter. But honestly, if life is opening my curtains to a cul-de-sac of 3 bedroom semis, front gardens neatly groomed and Audi A3 parked on the driveway, I think I’d like to end it all now. Give me a cabin set in a mountain vista, or a humble dwelling with views onto a lake any day, but spare me the middle manager’s company saloon. Ok, so topping yourself to avoid the manicured hedgerows of suburbia is a bit tongue-in-cheek, but I cannot express the satisfaction, the weightlessness with which one starts their day after looking out the window to an incredible view. My camera roll is full of the same old sunrise/sunset photos that I captured during my time in Dunmore East. No one (including myself) will probably ever look at them, I’m sure they’ll continue to clog up my Google storage forevermore, but in each moment I was so awestruck that I felt the need to immortalise it. If you are experiencing that at least semi-regularly, then what a way to live!

The easiest analogy for this ‘in the middle’ concept is that of the hotel. How often have you foregone the eye watering price tag of a night in a five star, for something with seemingly better value, and a nightly rate you can (just about) justify? If you always opt for the best that money can buy, congrats, this post can probably be ignored altogether. When you arrive at the ‘not quite a Travelodge, long way from a Marriott’ hotel, the experience is pleasant, if not a little frayed at the edges. The receptionist’s toothpaste stain on his lapel, the hairdryer with undisclosed human matter accumulating in the vents, the mountain of scrambled egg that sits festering in its own sweat at the breakfast buffet. Just some of the irksome sights that you’ve been conditioned to accept. And so you remain on your middle class perch - constantly striving for the Ritz, destined to settle for mediocre.

I stayed in a hotel in Cardiff the other weekend with paper thin walls, floorboards that could be heard creaking from the far end of the corridor, and a maintenance guy who insisted on tinkering with the showerhead for the duration of our stay. In hindsight I would’ve been happier in Premier Inn, or better still in my pukka MSR Hubba NX tent, because when you pay a fraction of the price you readily take those mild annoyances on the chin.

I don’t know what ‘gen’ I am, however to give you an idea, I’m of the age where we had the luxury of experiencing life both pre and post digital realm. Yes, the Internet has always existed, but the dystopian ‘metaverse’ we reside in today only came to full fruition in my teens. My first phone was a thirty-three ten; I had a Beebo page with a sick theme and enough animated emojis to crash your browser. That said I think I was always a bit before my time, more attuned to races round the block on my Raleigh Activator than a team deathmatch on Call of Duty. Anyway the reason I bring this up is that a lot is made of my generation’s tendency to spend their disposable income in restaurants or in overpriced coffee chains. More power to them, I think if home ownership was dangled just out of your reach you too would indulge in everyday delights, but the reason I for one try to avoid them is because they never quite hit the spot. A Prezzo will fill a hole, but it will never knock my socks off, and is sure to fade into the oblivion of mid-ranged gastronomic experiences that never really enriched my life. I guess the question is would you rather one incredible meal a month, one that’s packed with novel combinations of flavour and presented by chefs dedicated to their craft, that you recount to your friends for years to come, or 8 trips to Prezzo for a pleasant yet distinctly unmemorable Carbonara? It’s the exact reason I went off those breakfast joints like Bills. 16 quid for some eggs on sourdough was leaving a sour taste in my mouth, especially when my own poached egg game ‘en casa’ is off the bleedin’ charts.

Look, I wouldn’t for a minute tell anyone how to spend their hard-earned cash. I just wanted to take a moment to outline my own internal mantra: that is to ‘grind’, ‘endure' or whatever hustle-porn adjective you want to insert here, in a no thrills campsite or economy Ryanair flight, until an experience comes around that isn't worth sparing expense on. Make deliberate plans to eat in critically acclaimed restaurants, or ones where you queue out the door for a world renowned 5 euro pizza. Choose the jet-ski ride over the pedalo; experience life in it’s full, unadulterated form. Never ever go Premium economy, or step through the threshold of a Miller and Carter steakhouse. Go forth, child. Spread your wings, away from the mediocrity of leafy Surrey – pack your own sandwiches, and live a life worth recounting to your grandchildren.