St. Johns Wood is a strange, frozen, urban connurbation. How does it exist among the busy tides of Central London?
Many of its residents are life-long. Rather like a modern day Maachu Pichu, it exists on only the whimsy of fate, geography and luck.
London has been closing on the residents of St Johns Wood for many years now and the confused and ill-prepared residents huddle together fending off brown people from every angle. They congregate on the last of the souless pubs that fetishise the area, perhaps each one searching for one each/the london they thought they half remembered, maybe from a dream.
Had fragile circumstances not spared the belly fluff that is St. Johns Wood, its English residents most likely would be fetishising some other staus aspirational bucket.
On gets the feeling that it is not a real high street- a prop. A place to tether your corgi.
Empty headed professional wives drop dollar for meaningless crap as nothing really about anything occurs.
A wonderfull cemetry with some of the most delicate wildlife so central. read more