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, April 11, 2004

Sausage Rolls

"Do you get discounts or freebies?" asks a friend.

"Discounts!? Freebies!? What in the hell would I want with discounts and freebies!?" I reply.

"Well. Next to where I work is a deli and sometimes they give me free sausage rolls..."

Me: Blank Look.

Saturday, April 10, 2004

Trans-Hoor Convention

I often wondered if they just came up here for a couple of weeks and slaved away with no nights off... Like they were offshore.

But it seems that our lovely ladies DO INDEED get a night off!

My friend and I (the one who helped me lift my microwave the other month) were putting the world to rights in The Local. The Local is a really nice pub with all comfy chairs, wooden tables, a well stocked bar and a creepy old drunk at the bar who gave young ladies like myself Cadbury's Cream Eggs (that you politely took from him despite the fact they were probably injected with Ruphanol...) They also have a stupid 6ftx6ft "dancefloor" put in so that people could dance to the dodgy karaoke that turns up every saturday.

I daren't name it in case the buxom blonde behind the bar reads this and scowls at me EVEN MORE when I order my two pints of Carlsberg (only 1.75 a pint and hence why we drink there.)

So after an hour or so my friend points out the good looking chinese girl at the bar wearing octopus trousers (those unneccessary things that 12 year old goth girls and Pink wear) that is getting so much attention. "She's cute. I'm not so sure about her mate though. She has an air of 'I look so good' about her"

Sure enough. There is a leggy black woman with bleached blonde curls at the bar smiling winningly at everyone. She is so good looking and so feminine in a totally over the top kind of way she could be a man (in manner of the woman that works in Whiplash Trash on Cockburn St in Edinburgh). We look. I frown. She looks familiar. "I think it's one of my neighbours!" I say. We ponder. They sit down next to a group of 3 similar looking women (similar in a leggy-self-confident-glamorous-we're-fabulous! kind of way). Then I realise the familiarity... It's my lovely neighbours! Or at least a couple of them are.

Now we realise everyone at the table behind us (potentially including Federico from Big Brother 4 going by his tshirt, suit jacket and white trainers) is discussing them. Other tables in the pub are also looking at them. One guy is having his arm stroked by the good looking chinese girl. His girlfriend is scowling.

Thing is, our brothel usually only has a couple of girls there at one go. So perhaps they're having a hoor convention! With the Westhill Hoors or the Great Western Road Hoors!

It's good to see they get to let their hair down occasionally.

Friday, April 02, 2004


Every now and again, something bloody wierd happens and you never quite find out exactly what's been going on. Sometimes there is the odd dent in the pannelling on the stairs, sometimes there is blood on a doorframe...

Tonight I really want to go to the chinese for some chicken. But there is NO WAY I am setting foot out that door...

I was having a snooze when a door slams and some screaming begins. Well... screaming isn't really the word. Neither is shouting. It was more like roaring or bellowing... Full-on angst-ridden terrifying bellowing right outside my door. It went on for about 5 minutes while I didn't dare move and then stopped... I haven't heard anyone move since and that was half an hour ago. And more importantly, I haven't heard anyone leave the tennement. Sod the chicken.

It was like someone had Father Jack Hackett in a cage...