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, May 28, 2004

A couple of licks and we're done!

PAINT. You filthy perverts... Paint.

The poor dears! Slander! I come home from the pub one night (as these blogs so often begin) and someone has sprayed something on the tennement door! "PROS" it says... And I don't think they're talking about the professional environmental consultants, dentists and lawyers living in the area.

"SLU"... another word begins... but happily I cannot read it! For the Hoors have a troglodyte! A troglodyte with an apologetic grin and a paintbrush. He smiles and shrugs nodding towards the cringing Hoor who is overseeing the graffitti removal. "Sorry 'bout this luv" she says, taking a draw on her cigarette with her bright red lips... Her red nails gripping her other elbow in a classic old-woman-with-hairnet-off-1960's-Coronation-Street pose.

I giggle drunkenly and totter off upstairs. (As so many of these blogs end...)

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