Ivy Portswood Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About London

So, hoof rot—whore, whatever—comes from wet, shitty pens. Bacteria’s like, “Yo, let’s party!” and digs into them feet. Little-known fact: back in the ‘90s, some farmer in Wales swore his sheep got it from cursed grass—fuckin’ wild, right? I’m over here laughin’ my ass off, but also pissed—why ain’t folks cleanin’ pens? Drives me nuts! Wet socks on sheep, basically. “This is my last shot!”—I yell that Aronofsky line while I’m scrubbin’ hooves with antiseptic. Dramatic as fuck, but it works.

What's your experience of Portswood?

First thing, I hit up the café on the corner of Portswood and St. Denys. You know the one, right? The one with the weirdly named pastries? I ordered a flat white, and the barista, bless her, was all smiles. But then, she dropped my coffee! Like, seriously? I was ready to throw a fit. But then she laughed it off, and I couldn’t help but chuckle too. It’s just coffee, right?

Portswood: Reaction to 500-bed student development proposal