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...

Friday, March 12, 2004

A vital and neccessary service

Not just the obvious I mean...

One day I came down the stairs to where a sad little man (sort of a cross between Rigsby and Roy Cropper off Corrie) was being bid farewell by what (one has to admit) was a rather matronly Hoor. I hovered looking at the post on the landing to give them some privacy.

"BahBye then," she said, giving him a (matronly) hug... "And I hope everything goes well with the wife..."

"Yes." he nodded sadly... "so do I. And... thanks. For everything..."
He left. She waved. She smiled up at me and went back into her boudoir.

Hoor or amateur agony aunt? Who needs Claire Rayner when you have loveable matronly hoors.