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, October 28, 2004

"They're Hoors!"

Coming home from work early yesterday gave me the opportunity of meeting 2 fine gentlemen from the electricity company.

I got out of my car and spied these two geezers looking at the buzzers and as I walked towards the tennement door, they turned and smiled at me.

"Hello there!" grinned one.
"We're trying to get hold of Mrs Simpson," said the other.

"Oh right, well, ah. Mrs Simpson doesn't actually live here. She just rents the flat out. It's that one there." I point to the flat.

"That doesn't matter. We're here to change the meter" grinned the first. "We've tried pressing all the buzzers you see. Can you let us in to the building so we can try knocking on the door?"

"Ah. Well... Aye! Of course I can. But I should tell you, um. Let you know... Warn you in case you disturb them. Well you see, they're working girls..."

"Working girls eh?" chuckled the grinning one.
"Sorry?" said the other.
"THEY'RE HOORS!" said his grinning friend turning to him, looking delighted.

Honestly. He did say "Hoors." That cracked me up :D

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