The threshold — the strip between public pavement and private house — is where suburbia quietly reveals itself. Bins out on collection day, a doormat with an opinion, a garden gnome, a doorbell camera, a 'no cold callers' sign, a parcel abandoned on the step. This semi-private edge is full of unguarded detail, and nobody thinks of it as being on display.

Look for: the front door and the objects around it, wheelie bins lined up like a still life, the small territorial signals, and the gap between the immaculate garden and the one that has given up.

Best time: bin collection day for the comedy and the repetition; any quiet hour for the details.