robert_phillipson_esquireTired of London, not tired of life

I first hauled myself out of Macclesfield around a decade ago and, after a fleeting stop-off in Nottingham, where I abjectly failed in my attempt to seize fame as a latter day, chubby Robin Hood, I found myself living in Clapham.

Did I enjoy my stint in Sairf West Larndan? I certainly did, but given my propensity to binge beyond my means and the proliferation of bars, clubs and e-coli ridden takeaways, I soon found myself knocking on the door of gout.

When gout wasn’t in, I’d be sniffing round to see if Type 2 diabetes was home. Whilst this was truly a glorious time in an already gluttonous existence, there came a point when I had to put my club-foot down.

Where next, then, on my odyssey of discovery? Well, I thought long and hard before deciding it was about time to make a break for the country. Time to bite the bullet, screw my courage to the sticking place and immerse myself in any number of other clichés.

Could I handle the commute? Was I really man enough to get on the overland train at 07:39 every morning and change at Finsbury Park?

Would I miss the edgy 24-hour glamour of ‘town’? Would a quaint market town really be a suitable location for a loquacious bar-propper-upper such as myself?

To answer those questions, I’ll simply ask them again. Could I handle the commute? Was sauntering onto a practically empty train, sitting down, spreading out and reading a newspaper at 07:39 more or less pleasant than shoe-horning myself between half a dozen sweaty city workers on the Northern line at 08:15?

Would I miss the late-night hollering of disaffected youths and my bi-monthly trip to the garage to have my kicked-off wing mirrors replaced?

Is the last train out of ‘town’ at 01:11, and does this leave plenty of room for Soho booze-hounding, whilst also allowing the option of a genteel, countrified night on the tiles if the mood so grasps me?

And there it was.

I realised that what I really wanted was to live in a sedate, picturesque, Waitrosey town but without removing the possibility of spontaneous, Central London debauchery.

I found it in Hertford, and, nine months on, can say with hand firmly on heart, that it’s the best move I’ve made since I slapped Gary Kasparov with a checkmate at the 1998 World Chess Championship held at Macclesfield Leisure Centre, before absconding to Gretna Green to marry Keira Knightley [citation needed].

Rob Phillipson is National Key Client Manager for FindaProperty.com
Related Tags: General, Commuting, Diary

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