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...

Thursday, August 19, 2004


The text equivalent of a tumbleweed rolls across my weblog.

I have been away for 3 weeks and there has been nothing broken, nothing stolen, no grafitti daubed, no car scratched, no credit cards nicked, no dead hoors in the newspapers, no windows smashed and no dog turds on the doorstep.

As part of my Pavlovian response... am I happy? Am I relaxed? Comfortable in my home environment? Chilled out? Pleased to see no death, vandalism, theft, vice or other chaos?

No. I'm bloody Suspicious. That's what.

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