My big hug of a suburb never wants for anything. Who cares if it’s boring and bland?

Years ago, a friend told me she’d bought a house in Bentleigh East. My now husband and I, long-term St Kilda renters, smiled indulgently at the news and agreed to visit. We joked we’d need a packed lunch for the trip. Blame it on youthful ignorance.

And now, here I am, a resident of Bentleigh East for more than 20 years – first as a renter then, because we liked it so much, as a home owner. The road I live on literally ends at the beach, a fact I didn’t twig to initially because, homing pigeon-style, I returned to St Kilda when I craved sea views.

Ages ago, my husband started calling our suburb “God’s country”. It was tongue in cheek at first, mostly because he finally had off-street parking and a shed big and solid enough for beer brewing and guitar practice alike. He was smitten by the time he discovered his St Kilda barber, Dmitry, had a brother called Roman with a shop in walking distance from our new place. Hence, the same family has been cutting his locks for 30 years now.

The more I see what’s going on in the world, the more the moniker fits. Returning to the housing commission estate where I grew up in the west, I see the neglected, broken swings and grassless playgrounds, and feel angry for the local children.

Should I mention that come election time, Bentleigh is labelled a bellwether seat? There’s a certain irony to all this largesse given the area’s namesake, Thomas Bent, is considered one of Victoria’s most dubious premiers. Politician and land speculator, he was notorious for buying land cheaply, just before infrastructure projects increased property values.

Bentleigh East’s streets teem with schoolkids and dog walkers. This place is fit. We seem to have more outdoor exercise stations, ovals, parks, sports grounds and clubrooms than you can poke a Nike at.

I’m not suggesting we’re spoilt or overindulged, but you’d be hard-pressed to find a patch of public green without shaded seating and a selection of play equipment. We’ve got GESAC, the Glen Eira Sports and Aquatic Centre, and I’ve personally jogged alongside Cathy Freeman. OK, she was whipping around Duncan McKinnon athletics track, technically on the border of Bentleigh East, and I stopped to watch her go. Who wouldn’t?

Bentleigh East sometimes feels like a catalogue photoshoot for healthy family living, modern Australian style. We’ve got good schools, big parks, busy local shopping strips, and a strangely abundant choice of healthcare providers. I can walk down the road and get an ultrasound, an X-ray, have my blood taken and get a dose of radiation.

Admittedly, I might not survive the walk if I need all that stuff at once, but you get my drift. It’s a safe, well-serviced, big hug of a place. Yes, you’ll see homelessness, drug abuse and other tragedies of life as you move about – it’s not Disneyland – but all anchors for pleasant living are firmly in place. I wish it was the standard everywhere.

Midway between Southland and Chadstone (shout out to the shopaholics), Bentleigh East is on the “wrong side” of the Nepean Highway to be considered a bayside suburb. Indeed, many of my favourite neighbourhood haunts are not officially within postcode 3165. But I am OK with the fact my suburb is close to shops, the beach and many other great places in Melbourne’s south-east without being a star in its own right. It’s like that talented back-up singer who’s lauded by the music industry yet anonymous to the public.

Am I not “bigging” 3165 up enough? We do have loads of wonderful small businesses, with more coming every day. I get the best egg sandwich in the world from ex-Caffé e Cucina chef Ronnie at Monet’s Grocer in Centre Road, and there’s herring salad to take home from the new European deli around the corner. Oasis Bakery insists it’s in Murrumbeena, but I’m claiming it. If I can walk to you, you’re mine!

Benn’s Books is technically in Bentleigh but the family-run bookstore created a special display during lockdown, so I got to see my debut novel in at least one shop window. The women at the IGA are kind to my 91-year-old mum and the boys at the Boundary Hotel give my dog Schmackos in the drive-through. Sydney hospitality kingpin Justin Hemmes paid $33 million for the pub in 2021 so we might get too cool for all this daggy suburban carry-on. But I sincerely hope not.

Even on the map, our suburb presents as neat and solid (apart from a carve-out for Tucker Road Bentleigh Primary School), bounded by four key roads: North, Warrigal, South and Tucker. A housing boom in the 1950s saw market gardens and orchards replaced by schools and yellow brick houses, many of which have survived. Some still have the odd fruit tree out front, giant hair nets repelling the birds, but these clinkers are disappearing at pace. Every week another vanishes, replaced by at least two townhouses hosting young families. Basketball rings go up, trampolines appear, and little Bentleigh East, which is a lot larger than Bentleigh “proper”, swells to accommodate. With median house prices here edging towards $1.5 million, I don’t know how these families cope.

Bentleigh East’s secret sauce is its solidity. What the younger me saw as boring and bland, I now recognise as reassuring, comfortable and privileged. So what if there’s no grit? If I never have to drink a coffee while sitting on a milk crate again, I’ll survive.

Jacquie Byron is a Melbourne writer. Her debut novel is Happy Hour.

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