I spent a long time being too embarrassed to admit I was from Essex. When I went to university, I used to tell people I was from “north-east London”, rather than admit to the county of my birth.
It feels silly to admit it, now, but I felt distinctly haunted by the typical “Essex girl” tropes, even at 18. When I met my then-boyfriend’s family in Bristol, I still remember that the first thing his dad said was to tease me by asking if I’d driven down the M4 in a clapped out Ford Fiesta.
