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About Leicester

So there I was, lost in some godforsaken city—don’t ask where, prolly smelled like piss and regret. Needed a guide, not for mountains, but for... y’know, *company*. Streets twistin’ like that faun’s maze, eyes everywhere, judgin’. Found this lass, right? Skinny, eyes like Ofelia’s—haunted, but sharp. “Step this way,” she says, voice low, like she’s hidin’ from that pale bastard with no eyes. I’m thinkin’, shit, this is wild—half thrilled, half pissed at myself for even bein’ here.

Charles Lyell, Geologist

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So, I hit the streets, right? I’m strolling down Brodick’s main drag, feeling all kinds of good vibes. The smell of fresh scones from the bakery hit me like a freight train. I had to stop. I mean, who can resist a warm scone? Not me! I grabbed one, and it was like a hug in pastry form.

Protests in 'ghost town' where £400m ferries don't fit the harbour