Hoors? Yeah... Hoors. Prostitutes, Tarts, Hookers, Ladies of Negotiable Affection, call them what you will. For 8 years or so I lived in granite tenement. My Neighbours Were Hoors. Sadly for us all (!?) the brothel was closed down and I moved out of the area. I never did get around to writing about the court case though...

Sunday, January 25, 2004

Sunday, January 18, 2004

One at a time - PLEASE!

So we have one of those big comunal wheely bins outside our tennement... (

And I'm using the muscles of a good friend to help me get rid of my old rusty microwave and replace it with the new, shiny, green and heavy new one...

Well, I would be... but for the two curious Little Britain-appearanced men outside my tennement. One is fat and bald and wearing a stripy polo shirt with stains on. The other is tall, thin, and hairy in manner of an inbred rottweiler. They stand outside my tennement and peruse the choice of buzzers. Hmm! would it be the 8 innocent character-free ones with sir-names on them? or would it be the big shiny las vegas one, with "PROSTITUTION" suggested by the titilating blank buzzer button?

Hmm. Let us just press them all whilst the angstful duo with the green microwave accross the street stand glaring at us waiting for us to enter the building.

So ... that's what they did. and eventually they got let into the building, allowing us to set up the new, sparkly, microwave (yay!)

So. We plug in the microwave, sneak down the stairs and hear someone leave the building. The two gentlemen are nowhere to be seen. Just a sad, hairy man ambling down the street ON HIS OWN. Can it be true!? Can the hoors be so discerning that they only service one at a time?

Surely they'd get discount if there are two of them?

Or does Jasmine dislike hairy backs?

Perhaps we will never know :(

Thursday, January 01, 2004

New Years Drama

Not only have I got prostitutes for neighbours... I have also got an assortment of other entertaining neighbours. Visits from one of the 3 emergency services appear to be commonplace in our tennement. Today I returned from New Year festivities in the country to discover an ambulance and a police car in the street outside. What Now?
I've made a couple of trips to the car to get those vital few items I accidentally left in my car, I've asked the various people hanging round the tennement door if "everything is ok?" and I've peered into the ground floor flat as much as I can without looking like I'm TOTALLY nosy... but I still don't know why someone is currently screaming out loud in agony.
I'd make a rubbish private detective. The little old lady accross the road is practically hanging out her bedroom window trying to get gossip.