It occurred to me as I trimmed my rose bush at the weekend just how much of a suburban gay I have become – I mean, I have roses! This suburban creep has been going on for some time, since I first moved to Brighton for university a whole decade ago and lived in the epicentre of the gay village up until now when I find myself right on the edge of the city living among the hedgerows and immaculate lawns.

As I said, it hasn’t always been this way and my first years in the city are now an endless blur of drinking, partying, clubbing, not going home, ending up on floors, being skint and occasionally fitting in a bit of uni work. It was great; I was really young and it didn’t feel like I had any responsibilities. And I was living right in the centre of the city, among all the action.

Over the years, as my situation changed – leaving uni, more grown-up jobs, long-term relationship, friends fading in and out – I would every so often up-sticks and move to a new place, tracing a very rough line that stretches from the centre of Brighton to the outer suburbs, passing through some nice and not so nice areas along the way. So whereas at the start of this progression my main worry was staying sober enough to find my way home at the end of a night out, now I find myself preoccupied with pruning the plants.

The thing is, while part of me misses being right in the middle of everything, with so many gay bars and clubs just a stones throw away, I really like living in suburbia. And all those gay bars and clubs are still only as far as a ten minute taxi ride, although I have to admit to more than once making an excuse not to join friends because it seemed too much of a trek. And after living in flats with neighbours above, below and to the side who seemed to communicate by crashing and banging things – or just shouting, I love the quietness that comes from living on a street of old ladies.

I know Rich and me aren’t alone out here in suburbia – if you walk into any leafy neighbourhood you’ll notice a distinct shade of pink amongst all the grey. Whether gays moving into the suburbs is a new thing or not, I am noticing it more and more; I only need to walk a quarter mile block and I can see evidence of suburban gay couples making happy home – you can spot the gay houses (or more likely, bungalows), because they’re the ones with all the expensive paving, miniature bushes in pots, and the neatest hedges. Maybe gay couples and little old ladies are a good fit? We certainly get along with the ones on our side of the street.

I wonder if this breakaway group of suburban homos will start to evolve differently from their urban cousins, in the same way that homosapiens broke away and developed along a different evolutionary path to other primates. Could homosuburbians and homo-urbans become very distinct species? Maybe us out-of-town gays will develop longer arms for trimming those high branches.

Oh dear, or perhaps I’m just approaching middle age prematurely. Shit, definitely time for a big night on the town come Friday …and probably Saturday and Sunday too. Maybe I’ll even leave my secateurs at home.