Steely grey pavements underfoot. The air thick with noise.

Cars and bikes jostle alongside big red buses as they edge slowly towards the traffic lights. Colourful shop fronts litter the horizon, their cheap wares spilling out on to the street like a wave of produce lapping against a concrete shoreline.

I weave in and out of the crowd, expertly carving a route between the disparate bodies that litter my path. I turn left at the electrical shop and keep walking as the cacophony of urban noise gradually slips out of earshot.

The alleyway that leads me home is quieter. I am alone as I traverse the dimly lit, narrow walkway. Light dances through a canopy of leaves as I dodge upturned paving slabs, displaced by the roots of trees growing wildly out of control.

To my right I can see unkempt gardens peeking through broken fences. On the left, the neglected playground stands empty, forlorn and unloved, an edifice of peeling paint and abandoned beer bottles. The scent of urine and dirt and damp vegetation invades my nostrils.

The alley opens on to the tree lined street I call home. I pass the familiar trio of graffiti that has adorned this final stretch of the passageway’s weather-beaten wall for as long as I can remember. ‘Fuck. Shit. Socks.’ it says in black spray paint.

Urban life is about contrasts. Good streets melt into bad ones. Green spaces are framed by busy roads heaving with traffic. Old buildings sit alongside new architecture and different cultures wind and twist together like plants vying for sunlight in a crowded garden.

As a child growing up in London, the countryside was an exotic destination filled with unusual sights and sounds. I think I preferred the manicured lawns of city parks to the wide open spaces and rolling hills offered up by family holidays to the Lake District or Cornwall. I felt more at ease in the wilderness found in forgotten corners of my suburb. Overgrown and untouched, miniature forests thrive beside disused railways and derelict buildings.

When I moved to Exeter 8 years ago, I missed the buzz of big city living from the moment I arrived. Living in what I will forever consider a glorified town took some getting used to. I grew to love our new home, but I always knew I would need to return to my natural habitat eventually.

With our move to Bristol finally within reach, I’ve found myself pondering what it will mean to raise our children in a big city. For all the advantages {diversity, culture, opportunity}, I can think of an equal number of disadvantages {crowds, pollution, crime}. I know we have no choice other than to take a risk and hope for the best, but I can’t help wondering how this is all going to play out.

Are you a city dweller or a proud advocate of all the countryside has to offer? Do you crave the hustle and bustle of urban living or the slower pace of life in the sticks? Most importantly, do you think we’re crazy to trade our idyllic Devon home for an altogether more urban existence?

Love Audrey xxx

The beautiful images in this post were provided by Stephanie Sadler of Little London Observationist. Not only does Stephanie write a wonderful blog, but she has produced some of the most beautiful photographs of London I have ever seen. Head over to Flickr for further evidence of this.