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About Leicester

So, picture this: me, green lil’ me, cruisin’ some dusty road. “Where’s the body?”—nah, scratch that, “Where’s the gal?” I’d be all nervous, ribbitin’ to myself, “Kermit, don’t screw this up!” Prolly spot her leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’, lookin’ bored as heck. I’d roll up, all polite—Hi-ho, miss!—and she’d smirk, like, “What’s a frog want?” Ha! I’d die laughin’ inside.

Inside the Red Light District in a Welsh city where sex is for sale 24 hours a day

First off, High Street is where it all goes down. Bustling, loud, and weirdly calm at times. You got quirky cafés, pubs with neon signs, and dodgy little corners where you might bump into an ex or, hell, your soulmate. I swear one night I met a girl on High St, whose laugh sounded like a broken clock tickin’... and boom, headless moment, like something outta Martel’s film.

One-way overnight closure of Welshpool Road in Shrewsbury