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, 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.

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