I am not middle class (technically I don’t actually live in suburbia either) I live in a cute little estate which was carved out of woodland and country side in the 1970s in a small nowhere town.
It’s quaint and quiet and tree lined, there’s a local pub and lots of nice woody/green areas/rivers to dog walk, and lots of farmland still on the outskirts that you can follow to walk to pubs in the next village, I live about a 40 minute walk to town where thanks to the towns railway heritage you can get great transport links to almost anywhere!
Where we live is beautiful, I spent most of my teenage years trying to escape but it always seemed to draw me back in and now I’m getting ready to raise my child there – (apologies to my 17 year old self who left in search of adventure swearing never to return)
It’s kind of village like in lots of ways, everyone knows each other, which I used to hate but now I kinda love the village vibe and the community around us, it’s safe and familiar and I love it.
We have, purely out of circumstance, found ourselves living in one of the most fancy parts of our estate, we live in the posh bit, full of big houses and wealthy middle class families.
As you drive into our road you are faced with several large detached family homes, people often remark on how nice it is, then you turn the corner into my part of the road which is a small section of tiny bungalows and is basically a retirement village. We are the only couple living there under the age of 60, and as young newly weds expecting a baby we are pretty popular. We have three neighbours, all of whom are single older ladies called Anne and a couple living opposite us called “maz and bas” who enjoy a drink in the local and “Just love” my husbands “image” he’s basically scruffy, unwashed and beardy, there’s really no image to it.
It’s all really rather lovely but I’m not sure we really belong here! Actually it’s kinda not about belonging, at Christmas, whilst I was walking down the street in my pyjamas at midnight looking for my husband who was drunk and on a weird one, falling over in the street and randomly pruning peoples hedges (!) I worried that we didn’t belong, I had to get him into the house before he caused a disturbance in our nice middle class street and they all realised that we didn’t belong…
… but as time goes on I realise we do belong
…We forget to put our bins out and have to run out to the bin men in our pyjamas, we have loud arguments which I’m sure our neighbours can hear, my house isn’t immaculate as all the others are and our friends come and go constantly, we don’t have our windows and the front of our house cleaned like the others and we definitely haven’t got as much money as our neighbours but this is where we have ended up living for now and actually we are very lucky, we wouldn’t ever be able to afford to live in this area if we weren’t living in a family owned property but we are. We get on with the neighbours and I like the idea that I live in a road where the neighbours and local dog walkers all say “good morning” to you. As I stated at the start, we are definitely not middle class, and I was kinda hung up about living in this terribly nice area that we didn’t belong in for a while, but does class really matter? Surely it’s just labels we used in the Victorian times to categorise people? I don’t want to be categorised, and I don’t want to label myself. I am who I am, the neighbours don’t seem to judge me and if they did, it’s really their problem not mine. I live in a cute little community with nice human beings and I’m going to enjoy it while I can!