Poor Hoors.
It seems they only got 4 days off. Just like my good self they were back to work today. I assume that's the only explanation for the over-enthusiastic noises I heard this morning on my way out.
Perhaps someone was lonely this Christmas.
Well... Not that many years ago I lived above a brothel in the Grey Toon in Scotland. Out of a confused mixture of irritation and amusement, I started to blog about it.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Friday, December 24, 2004
Twas the night before Christmas!
Yes, yes I know. I'm supposed to start this post with something like...
"Twas the night before Christmas!
When all through the house,
Nothing was stirring not even a hoor!"
Sadly, I'm off to the pub and I really can't be arsed rhyming tonight.
However, at this time of the year I am reminded of the story of lovely fluffy old Nick. No. Not the devil. The other one. St Nicholas of Myra. Friend of Children and reindeer, giver of gifts and climber of chimneys.
Being such a nice old biddy and notorious giver of gifts, he was wandering up some street or other when he heard a poor old man bemoan that he had three daughters for whom he could provide no dowry. As such they were unable to marry and would undoubtedly end up as prostitutes (ancient Turkey being as dramatic as your average soap opera, then.)
Preparing for such a life, the three daughters washed their finest nylons and hung them out to dry. (Well.. I always assumed this story was set in ancient turkey, not wartime Glasgow but hey...)
Good old St Nick took this opportunity to fill their stockings with bags of coins meaning that they could enjoy a happily married life instead of going a-hooring.
Yaay for St Nic! And yay for the tradition of filling stockings at Christmas! I'm interested to find out how the tradition of lovely bags of money in stockings has resulted in my good self recieving a couple of mouldy old satsumas and a Kit-Kat in a mouldy old sock though :P
(In response to various questions of what the Hoors are doing this Christmas, I can now report that there appears to be no celebration of the festive season whatsoever outside their flat. No garland, no "Merry Christmas," definitely no mistletoe. And yeah. I did check for stockings in the back garden. Result: Pas de Hoors stockings )
(In the festive spirit, I hope that this is because they've all gone off home to London/Leeds/Bristol or wherever to spend Christmas with their families and not because the Welsh Dumpling has told them "Humbug! Have Christmas Day off! But make sure you are here to work all the earlier the morrow!")
(p.s. thanks to The A-Z of Patron Saints for letting me know that Mary Magdalen is the Patron Saint of Reformed Hoors and not St Nic as I had thought. Also, who'd have known there are no less than THREE patron saints of pastry chefs!?)
(p.p.s. That is the first and last time I will be referring to a religious web page on this blog*. I thank you.)
*probably
"Twas the night before Christmas!
When all through the house,
Nothing was stirring not even a hoor!"
Sadly, I'm off to the pub and I really can't be arsed rhyming tonight.
However, at this time of the year I am reminded of the story of lovely fluffy old Nick. No. Not the devil. The other one. St Nicholas of Myra. Friend of Children and reindeer, giver of gifts and climber of chimneys.
Being such a nice old biddy and notorious giver of gifts, he was wandering up some street or other when he heard a poor old man bemoan that he had three daughters for whom he could provide no dowry. As such they were unable to marry and would undoubtedly end up as prostitutes (ancient Turkey being as dramatic as your average soap opera, then.)
Preparing for such a life, the three daughters washed their finest nylons and hung them out to dry. (Well.. I always assumed this story was set in ancient turkey, not wartime Glasgow but hey...)
Good old St Nick took this opportunity to fill their stockings with bags of coins meaning that they could enjoy a happily married life instead of going a-hooring.
Yaay for St Nic! And yay for the tradition of filling stockings at Christmas! I'm interested to find out how the tradition of lovely bags of money in stockings has resulted in my good self recieving a couple of mouldy old satsumas and a Kit-Kat in a mouldy old sock though :P
(In response to various questions of what the Hoors are doing this Christmas, I can now report that there appears to be no celebration of the festive season whatsoever outside their flat. No garland, no "Merry Christmas," definitely no mistletoe. And yeah. I did check for stockings in the back garden. Result: Pas de Hoors stockings )
(In the festive spirit, I hope that this is because they've all gone off home to London/Leeds/Bristol or wherever to spend Christmas with their families and not because the Welsh Dumpling has told them "Humbug! Have Christmas Day off! But make sure you are here to work all the earlier the morrow!")
(p.s. thanks to The A-Z of Patron Saints for letting me know that Mary Magdalen is the Patron Saint of Reformed Hoors and not St Nic as I had thought. Also, who'd have known there are no less than THREE patron saints of pastry chefs!?)
(p.p.s. That is the first and last time I will be referring to a religious web page on this blog*. I thank you.)
*probably
Sunday, December 19, 2004
The Case of the Very Loud Telly
It's been very quiet of late...
It's the week before Christmas...
Perhaps punter numbers are down and the hoors are having a night off. So what does a hoor do on a quiet night in?
They sit in with a nice cup of tea and a biscuit and they watch Miss Marple at very high volumes.
Awwww.
It's the week before Christmas...
Perhaps punter numbers are down and the hoors are having a night off. So what does a hoor do on a quiet night in?
They sit in with a nice cup of tea and a biscuit and they watch Miss Marple at very high volumes.
Awwww.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Look at that hoor!
Hehehe :)
I'm laughing as I type this.
So my friend and I were just in The Local. We sip our pints and discuss topical issues. We quietly observe the other clientele.
A woman enters. Short skirt, rather obvious cleavage, thigh high boots with heels you could cause excitement on a specialist porn page with, makeup Barbara Cartland would be impressed with and a swagger John Wayne could only dream of. A Trollop.
My friend raises an eyebrow and nods in her direction whilst sipping a pint. "My god! Look at that Hoor!"
I give her a quick glance. "Och. She's nae actually a Hoor. She's jist their maid." I sip my pint and look back down, then continue the previous conversation in our usual muted tones.
Apparently in normal company "My God! Look at that Hoor!" indicates that a young lady has just walked in who is wearing less clothing than one would expect.
Apparently the normal response would be "Min! Fit a clarty midden!" and not the one I gave.
Apparently I have been living with Hoors for too long.
I'm laughing as I type this.
So my friend and I were just in The Local. We sip our pints and discuss topical issues. We quietly observe the other clientele.
A woman enters. Short skirt, rather obvious cleavage, thigh high boots with heels you could cause excitement on a specialist porn page with, makeup Barbara Cartland would be impressed with and a swagger John Wayne could only dream of. A Trollop.
My friend raises an eyebrow and nods in her direction whilst sipping a pint. "My god! Look at that Hoor!"
I give her a quick glance. "Och. She's nae actually a Hoor. She's jist their maid." I sip my pint and look back down, then continue the previous conversation in our usual muted tones.
Apparently in normal company "My God! Look at that Hoor!" indicates that a young lady has just walked in who is wearing less clothing than one would expect.
Apparently the normal response would be "Min! Fit a clarty midden!" and not the one I gave.
Apparently I have been living with Hoors for too long.
Saturday, December 04, 2004
Out.
Is it normal to plan a long night out just because you saw your neighbour coming out of his car with a big smile and enough booze to invite the whole city to his party?
Friday, December 03, 2004
Nae Deid Hoors!
We're ok!
Everything is all right. It was merely a swap over.
I know this because I heard the voice of a cockney sparrer arguing on the phone yesterday when I came in from work.
(Either that or she was trying to sort out someone to remove the body)
Everything is all right. It was merely a swap over.
I know this because I heard the voice of a cockney sparrer arguing on the phone yesterday when I came in from work.
(Either that or she was trying to sort out someone to remove the body)
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
History Repeats Itself
So I was on my way out this morning and just like the incident I told you about in December '03, the door was open. No sign of any hoor. No noise. Nothing.
Now it may just be that they're swapping over and one hoor has left the door open so that the next hoor can take over without them having to meet face to face (possibly in case another cat-fight in the street ensues)...
It may even have been that the hoor of the moment had just popped out in her neglige to put the bins in the wheelie bin up the road...
However, I'm suspicious again. Hopefully when I get home the door will be shut - there will be noises of some kind or other and I will be comforted that the lassies haven't been stabbed in their beds.
I'll keep you posted.
Now it may just be that they're swapping over and one hoor has left the door open so that the next hoor can take over without them having to meet face to face (possibly in case another cat-fight in the street ensues)...
It may even have been that the hoor of the moment had just popped out in her neglige to put the bins in the wheelie bin up the road...
However, I'm suspicious again. Hopefully when I get home the door will be shut - there will be noises of some kind or other and I will be comforted that the lassies haven't been stabbed in their beds.
I'll keep you posted.
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