Epsom: the not-so-salubrious suburb

If you’re a young professional attracted by the hour-ish commute to central London, STAY AWAY. Epsom can be characterised by walking down the road to the station and being gassed by the permanent smell of weed. Good luck opening your windows because it’ll come into your flat and make everything stink.

Expect to be cat called by the groups of trackie wearing yobs circling on their BMX bikes, and if it’s a Friday watch out for the washed up students who think they’re talented because they go to UCA tottering drunkenly past you in primark dresses and cheap heels. Find your way to the high street, and you’ll find yourself constantly rammed in the ankles by big-bottomed single mummies gnashing their teeth together as they chew their gum, hair scraped back in an elastic band tied ponytail.

If you commute, your train will be delayed because some self-obsessed ingrate will have ripped open the train doors or activated the emergency alarm. Your quiet days at home will be ruined by the whine of cheap scooters whizzing past as the 21 year old boys who think they’re all that, place an order for more weed and more coke to keep you awake with because not a single one of them can handle their drink.

Burglaries are rife too, so don’t bother buying anything nice or expensive for yourself or your home. This is a town for ne’er-do-wells only. I’ve never lived anywhere that has made me feel so unsafe before.

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