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, July 25, 2004

The most entertainment a neighbour could wish for!

One night... Not so long ago... there was a Fracas.

Now this is the kind of Fracas that used to happen almost all the time "chez hoors." This was the reason I started this blog. This was the reason people used to tell me all the time that I should write a book! Somehow I never got around to blogging this particular incident.

The Hoors appear to have _Fallen Silent_ the past few months and our weekly entertainment comes from the 24 Hour Party People (The thieving bastards. I'm still very angry).

But in the past, barely a night went past when SOMETHING was going on. Barely a night went past when there was some reason to gawk out the window for a few hours entertainment. And this was one of those occasions...

The first I know of it (when I am awakened at the usual time of "about 2 am") is when a hoor cries "Get Out! Get Out! Get out of here!!!" and there is a door slammed. There is the scuffing noise of stilettoes being worn by a drunken, tottering female.

There is some shouting! "Ere!" cries a voice. "I'm in 'ere now! You shouldn't be 'ere! Get Aht!"

I lie in bed wondering if it's worth getting out of bed... or if this one will be as good just hearing it. I decide to take a wee peek.

A Hoor arrives into the street. The drunken, younger blonde (now established, in my mind, to be a work-mate (for lack of a better word) of the first hoor) stands up. They Brawl.

They Brawl! They have a cat fight! In the STREET! I can only see parts of it, because it's on the pavement and I'm a couple of floors up (I wasn't desperate enough to go up on my windowsill to open the window and peer down.) Hair is pulled, insults are thrown and eventually Young Tottering Blonde Hoor is thrown down in the street. Older Residential Hoor stomps back into the building. The tennement door is slammed and so is their flat door.

I look up and around and see that there is the usual rows of ringside seats filled up by my various neighbours peering out of their windows.

There is silence. A tumbleweed blows past. (Artistic licence.)
The Drunken Tottering Blond Hoor (DTB Hoor) stands up and crosses the road. She sits down. She finds a brick. You can practically see the collective look of horror form slowly on my neighbours faces.

"Smash!" goes the window! "Haaaaaaaaaah!" goes DTB Hoor! And then the hoor moves back towards the flat. And... I'm pretty sure that she tries to get into the flat through the broken window... (couldn't see from where I was. At this point i should have stood on the windowsill and gawked out the window but I didn't.)

So there is a scream and quite a bit of silence...

"Nee naw Nee naw Nee naw" goes the police siren. Some wise person (probably one of the ringside faces with the phone in his hand) accross the road has phoned the police. It then follows:

"Allo Allo Allo" (artistic licence again)
"Are you all right? Your arm is all bleeding!"
"Yer... I wuz just tryin' to get inta me flat!"
"You're obviously very drunk. I think you should come with us and go to the hospital"
"Naaaaaaaahr... i wanna stay 'ere - I gotta get inta me flat!"
"Have you been out drinking? You don't sound like you're from around here"
"Naaahr! I'm up here ta work - this is me flat... i cahn't get in!"
"You're working up here you say? Do you work from this flat?"
(Brief pause as something dawns on TDB Hoor)
"Um naaah. I don't WORK up 'ere... I'm from Leeds! Yer. That's it. Leeds! I'm up 'ere for a bitta fun!"
"Oh you are, are you? You came up all the way up to The Grey Toon for a night's drinking?"
"Yer! that's it! A night's drinkin'! I like it up ere... Everyone's so nice to ya. You're being nice in't ya?"
"So this isn't your flat? Do you have a hotel room booked?"
"UM naaaaaah. This in't me flat nah. It's me.... (thinks) friends!"
"your friend's? Is this who you were out drinking with?"
"Naaaaah. It's me mum's flat!"
"Your mum's. I thought you just said it was your friend's flat"
"Yerrrrrrr! It's me mummmmm's! Me Mum IS me friend! I luv 'er"
"Right. So. You're not working from this flat but your mum lives here. And you came up here for one night to go out drinking. So why aren't you in the flat?"
"I wanna get inta me flaaaaaaaaaat!"
"Well we need to do something about your bleeding. Have you cut your stomach?"
"Naaaahr... it's just blood from me arms! Loooooook"
(TDB Hoor presumably partially removes top)
"Right. Ok. You can get dressed again now. Please."
"Can you give me your name and address please?" (Hoor gives name)
"It's 'ere! I live 'ere!"
"Now we both know that's not true. Don't we Hoor X?"
(Softly like a child who's been caught out)"Nope"
"So what's your real address?"
"52 Carnaby Street"
"Carnaby street."
"Yer. In Lahndahn"
(nb - this is the address of the Smash Hits offices - I boggle silently)
Deep sighs from both policemen
"Right. Are we going to take you off to hospital or off to the police station where you can sober up and spend the night?"
(Panicking) " Naw ! Naw! I gotta get inta me flat!!!"
"So if we leave you here you'll be ok?"
At this point, Older Resident Hoor appears to come out and drag her into the flat cursing quietly.
Police drive off.

The next morning I tiptoe downstairs. The street is covered in blood, glass and a lace curtain. (Like some sort of russian tradgedy)

I dare to peek through the broken, curtainless windows. A straggly hoor lies sleeping on a bed in the corner. She flinches. I leg it back to my car.

(The decor was, indeed, early Ikea).

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