I live on an Instagram-famous street where half-naked influencers twerk in people's gardens, pick my magnolias and cause thousands of pounds of damage. It's become a living hell
'Excuse me, you're in the shot,' a woman barks at me as I shuffle past. No, I'm not trying to get onto a rush-hour bus, I'm simply attempting to enter my own home.
She's adorned with four empty Harrods bags, stilettos and a tweed mini dress, which I spy a price tag hanging out the back of.
She starts cat walking down the street, through the luxury cars, to lounge across someone's pastel columned doorway.
I creep past the sea of tripods, suitcases and light reflectors, feeling quite miffed.
This isn't a one-off, and I am not on a film set. This is a weekly inconvenience, because I live on an Instagram Street.
While this may sound a glamorous place to reside, it's become utter hell.
At any given time, influencers will pour into the street and set up shop for hours on end.
Saturdays are the busiest with queues around the corner, as Instagrammers and TikTokers eagerly await their turn.
Annette Kellow lives on an Instagram-famous street in Notting Hill - but influencers have made her life a nightmare
Now it's magnolia and blossom season, they've gone into a full-blown frenzy.
And as the temperature rises? They get more and more naked.
They can be seen twerking in neighbours' gardens, draping themselves over vintage cars, I've even spotted one rearranging plant pots to dance against a door.
They sometimes arrive at 7am, spend hours applying full glam, and change in pop-up tents, all to achieve an effortless model mood.
Some neighbours have become so distressed that they've started painting their beautiful doorways a bland brown or black to try to deter them. But it doesn't work.
Like a flock of obsessed seagulls, they terrorise day after day.
They particularly like my street with its white stucco houses, splendid magnolia and cherry blossom trees, spiced with the knowledge that a possible glimpse of a few celebs may emerge - a famous supermodel, an international footballer and a TV presenter, all top the highlights.
I enjoy turning up the style stakes like anyone else, but these constant photoshoots are affecting everyone's lives.
I've witnessed a neighbour coming home to four girls sitting on his steps. They had the audacity to ask him to wait until they'd finished their video.
It is not unusual to see awkward Instagram husbands down on all fours, desperately trying to get 'the shot' like some sort of submissive camera servant.
Annette has witnessed influencers climbing over walls and picking flowers from front gardens
Queues of up to 60 'digital divas' arrive daily to pose in front of the blossom and magnolia trees
I always wonder where they trail back to after, as none of them live in Kensington or Notting Hill.
I feel thankful I don't live in a Georgian 'whopper,' (much to my son's protests) and instead reside in a tiny '50s box flat more akin to student digs.
My small door is not as eye-catching as the others, but still, that doesn't stop me from feeling the wrath of their constant clicks and photo ops.
Instead, they use my doorway as a dumping ground for all their stuff.
I do have a pretty pink camelia bush in my front garden. On occasion, they've happily climbed over the wall to shoot against, picking off the pink flowers and throwing them in the air, squealing.
I'm now so livid I'm tempted to attack it with the shears.
One of my neighbours, Peter Lee, 80, despite having £2,000 of damage done to his property by senseless snappers, admits to me wearily, 'I'm used to it now, I've had it for years.'
Across the road, a local decided to start filming the influencers back, forming an instantly viral TikTok account @influencersinthewild, with fans and critics alike.
I'm all for taking a pretty picture, but on someone else's property? It's pure harassment.
If I were the neighbours, I'd start chucking buckets of water out of the window, although I fear they'd only turn that into a photo opportunity too.
Annette poses against the 'mother of all blossom trees' on Stanley Crescent
Locals are forced to weave through the crowds when exiting their properties
On Stanley Crescent sits the mother of all blossom trees. Queues of up to 60 digital divas arrive daily, and as the owner leaves, I ask her how she's feeling. 'I'm not commenting,' she snaps, but looks stressed as she weaves through the crowds to dip into a black cab.
Another local estate agent who wishes to remain anonymous shared that he even believes it could affect buyers' choices.
'Every day I toot my horn as they're all over the roads. When people visit, this is what they see. It used to be beautiful streets, but it's now turning people off.'
I'm very curious to know what the influencers are trying to emulate? A picture-perfect life and elite aesthetic?
I ask a young man, Tao, who loftily replies that, 'It's spring, it's the birth awakening, this is why I come to shoot with flowers.'
Hardly a birth awakening when you're doing the splits in between someone's boxed topiary, but here we are.
The reality is the people who live in these houses wouldn't dream of doing photoshoots and half-naked dancing vids on their own doorstep.
Instead, my more opulent neighbours prefer to keep a low profile, work quietly and not share anything too revealing online.
For many of the wealthier ones, the London abode is just ONE of their many houses, with a robust property portfolio to boot.
But still, they'd rather not see a stranger hanging onto their brass knocker with a cocked leg every day.
One would assume us locals will get some relief when the blossom finally begins to descend, but alas. Next, it's wisteria hysteria season, then summer street style.
In September, leafy autumnal vibes emerge, and when the temperature cools, the winter fur comes out.
I hope these content creators are making money… otherwise, really, what is the point? Because the lifestyles they so slavishly wish to procure are not for the show-offs.
