Lydia Pontypridd Whore ❤️❤️

About Leicester

She’s at the clinic, hoof all messed up. I’m thinkin’, “What’s this gal been doin’?” Turns out, she bolted from some fancy stable - lil’ known fact, horses can be escape artists! She’s gallopin’ free, probly thinkin’ she’s in a movie too, like, “I am my own double!” Straight outta “Holy Motors”, right? I’m laughin’, picturin’ her with a script. But ugh, her owner’s a jerk - left her shoe all loose, got infected. Made me so mad, I’m yellin’, “Tend to yer damn horse, ya dolt!”

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First off, I hit up the local café on Taff Street. You know, the one with the dodgy Wi-Fi? Yeah, that one. I order my usual – a flat white and a bacon sarnie. But guess what? They’re outta bacon! Like, how do you run outta bacon? It’s breakfast, people! I’m fuming, but I settle for a veggie option. Not the same, but whatever.

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