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, October 24, 2004

Lady In Red

I'm working away from home at the moment... But still have blog access, so here's something else memorable from the past about my neighbours.

Before the nice guy, before the wee ned with the girlfriend-of-limited-vocabulary, before my floorboards got nicked...

There lived a man. He lived next door to me just through the wall from my bedroom in his own wee 1 bedroomed tennement flat. He was a lovely chap and always said hello and how was I and all that stuff that people in tennements say to eachother to pretend they're being nice when in actual fact they just want to get into the sanctuary of their own home.

He was a bit of a romantic too, because I used to hear him bring his girlfriend back to his flat and... SERENADE her with some lovely tunes on this guitar. Usually this was fine and usually it was at a normal hour and usually his guitar playing was great and his singing wasn't bad either...

But this one time? This one time I think they'd been out somewhere romantic and had some glasses of wine and let's just say that they were having a better time listening to his singing than I was.

It was all bearable and I could put up with it until...

"I never shawwwww you loookin' as loooovely asssh ye diid t'niiight!"

I wake up.
Cue embarrassed giggling through the wall.
I grind my teeth.

"I never shawwwwwwww you lookin' sooooooo brrrshhhhrrright!"

More giggling. Slightly polite giggling I think, but I'm too busy trying to bury my head under the pillow and stuff cotton wool in my ears to concentrate on the tone of her coquettish laughter.

"Laaaaaady In Reeeeeeddddddd!"

Now I liked this neighbour! I did! He was a nice chap and he was the guy who used to escort punters out of the building when we found them knocking on our doors instead of the hoors. But this was enough.

"Is daaaanccinggg with..."


*plinkering of guitar playing slowing to a halt*
*stunned silence*
There was then the muffled embarrassed apology... "Sorry lassie! mumble mumble thin walls mumble"
and then to his wumman:
"Let's go through to the kitchen."

(Far be it from me to say he missed out on a romantic opportunity but... the kitchen!?!?)

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