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About Leicester

Ever tried it? Skin on skin, mate—electric. Little secret: Thai massage parlours, back in the day, hid “happy endings” under “traditional” labels. Sneaky bastards! Surprised me first time—thought I’d get a stretch, not a bloody wink-wink-nudge-nudge. And the oils? Christ, they’re like liquid sex—jasmine, lavender, whatever—slick as a wet eel. You’re lying there, all “Oh fuck me, this is lush,” then bam—stress gone, cocky grin back.

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First off, I head down to the High Street. You know, the one with all the cute shops? Yeah, that place. I’m thinking coffee, maybe a pastry. But nah, the café’s packed. Like, standing-room-only packed. I’m standing there, tapping my foot, and this old bloke in front of me is taking his sweet time. I mean, c’mon, mate! It’s just a latte!

High Street cordoned off so that funeral can take place