Leicester is the best place to live right now
What a time to be alive
Up until recently, the vast majority of the country had no interest in my little Leicester, but as a result of the dramatic upturn of the local football team, Leicester has suddenly been put on the map. Now all anyone wants to talk about is Leicester, but they won’t tell you about the true Leicester. I am going to prove to you why little ol’ Leicester deserves a place in your hearts.
Before I came to university, I had been a season ticket holder from the tender age of seven. Back then it was easy; win or lose, I would still trundle back home perfectly content, oblivious to what had just occurred. These days, football is less of a passion and more of a life choice. But this season, my beloved Leicester are cruising to their first ever Premier League title while the so called “heavyweights” battle it out for the Europa league.
Gone are the days where I had to watch Elvis Hammond inexplicably miss for the umpteenth time, or Alan Maybury hack a defenceless bloke down inside the area. If you knew how bad these guys were (and if you do, congratulations) you would understand how unbelievable this season is. Now I see Premier league record breaker Vardy run by another ambling defender, while Mahrez saunters around doing whatever, and leaving defenders in his wake. The noise inside the stadium is electric, largely due to those irritating but very effective clappers, with the stands literally bouncing and with it the rest of the city. It is very much a once in a lifetime, and I will cherish it right to the end.
It is unlikely you have watched a Leicester game and not wondered to yourself “what is that incessant banging?” No, it is not the sound of you slowly losing your mind, it is, in fact, the affectionately known Jobber. For Leicester fans, he is as synonymous with football as doner meat is to kebabs. A very recognisable figure due to his numerous tattoos, including the Leicester badge plastered across his back and, my personal favourite, “wide load” on his stomach. A cult figure in the stands, he can often be spotted shirtless, rallying the Leicester faithful. Who wouldn’t want to live in the same city as him?
After knocking back copious amounts of “dry cider” and a couple of Vardy bombs (look ‘em up!) with the lads, Mosh is where you want to end up, especially if you wish to avoid being grinded on by numerous 40-year-old women in Yates (not as fun as it sounds) and avoid the carnage that is Republic. With its three floors, it is the biggest nightclub in the world (probably), and offers an eclectic mix of bangers from 80’s rock ballads to Taylor Swift, meaning on a Tuesday night, every fucker you’ve ever had the misfortune to be introduced to will be sweating it out on the main dance floor. What more could you ask for? However, on a Friday night stay as far away from possible, because Friday night is emo/punk night. As Super-Hans once said “it’s the heart of darkness” and that’s all that needs to be said.
If you are in the city centre, there is pretty decent chance you’ll stumble across the outdoor market. Around 800 year’s old, it’s the only place to get “10 bananas for a poond” and enough sweets to fuel a 12 hour library binge for just 50 pence. And it all comes in metal dog bowls that look almost as old as the market itself. It also boasts two stalls dedicated to selling “tobacco” related products. How edgy!
Food is obscenely cheap
Just as much of our architecture dates back to pre 1990s, apparently so do our food prices. I challenge you to go to any other city in the country and buy a burger and chips for less than £2. Yes it may taste like arse and it’s probably made from pigeon but, staggering back at 3am, it could very well have been knocked up by Michel Roux. Add to that the traditional Melton Mowbray pork pie, or an ice cream float at Bruccianis and the less traditional “Samosa cob” and you have the perfect mix of culinary delights.
Although you wouldn’t believe it, we have our fair share of celebrities occupying our great city. Within our ranks we have a winner of the X Factor, the national face of crisps, the man who presents all the nature documentaries and the only English footballer we love more than Vardy: Emile Heskey. And that is just the tip of the iceberg. I, for example, have shared a kebab with Kasabian frontman Tom Meighan. You’d have paid £50 for that privilege in London!
There you have it, the best parts of Leicester that you won’t read about in the papers. If I haven’t convinced on the wonders of Leicester then you are more than welcome to continue to inhale the pollution in your smog filled London penthouse.