Decorating

Going by the plaster in the hallway and the flatpack packaging outside their door, it appears that the Hoors are getting some decorating done in their flat. Perhaps they pay good attention to my blog... and thus got to know that their flat is "a bit early Ikea."

It begs the questions:

1) Do they do their own decorating or do they "get a man in?"

2) If they've "got the painters in..." does that mean they can't work for a few days?

I was just pondering...

Wha-tssssssssh!

Do I ever hear the sounds of passion? I was asked.

Not from my flat up here. Not above the bloody racket of the psycho raver downstairs anyway. However, you do occasionally hear the comedy-springs-of-passion. You never hear them in Hollywood movies.

Eeeh-ee! Eeeh-ee! Eeeh-ee! Eee-eee-eee-eee-eee-eeeeehhh!

Then there was another time... the mail falls down behind the tennement door and i had to bend down to pick it up. It must have been something about that particular spot in the wall I was bending down next to, because all I heard was "Wha-tsssssh!" "uh!" "What-tssssssh!" "ow!" "Wha-tssssssh!"

They must be branching out...

A vital and neccessary service

Not just the obvious I mean...

One day I came down the stairs to where a sad little man (sort of a cross between Rigsby and Roy Cropper off Corrie) was being bid farewell by what (one has to admit) was a rather matronly Hoor. I hovered looking at the post on the landing to give them some privacy.

"BahBye then," she said, giving him a (matronly) hug... "And I hope everything goes well with the wife..."

"Yes." he nodded sadly... "so do I. And... thanks. For everything..."
He left. She waved. She smiled up at me and went back into her boudoir.

Hoor or amateur agony aunt? Who needs Claire Rayner when you have loveable matronly hoors.

Why I don't want my candle back

Now... Let me get things straight.

I do not in anyway hate the hoors. I respect them for what they do, for their choice in how to make a living, for the services (both the councilling service they provide and the obvious) and also as the nice friendly lovely people that they are.

OK, I usually only see them occasionally when we happen to be coming or going at the same time and we pass briefly in the entrance hall... but they smile prettily and they are very pleasant and likeable in a cockney daaahlin' kind of way.

I mean this, I really do... and I don't want anyone to think I'm slagging them off or thinking myself better than them in anyway.

I am the first to admit I'm not the most practical person around and that common sense is not always at the front of my mind...

However. There's this one hoor? I'm not saying she's stupid! No! Just that she may not actually *think* Perhaps she was the same one with the dog turd and the doormat... I don't know. Anyway...

It is very dark in my street in the winter. Now, there are security lights that occasionally come on when you enter the tennement. Which is nice. If anyone is lurking in the stairwell... I'd like to know about it before they stab me repeatedly, who wouldn't? Quite often it's pitch black however, and I inch up the stairs in the manner of some stupid teenager from some horror film.

It was one of these times when I was coming in from work. 4.30 and it's already pitch black... So I tentatively feel around in the dark for my post and then continue my brave ascent into the unknown. And I hear something from below. "Coooeeeeeee!" "Coooeeeee Luv!"
'Lawks!' could there be a loveable country witch selling firewood in the hallway? aaaaah no. It'll be a loveable cockney hoor!
I dump my stuff in my flat (aaaah light!) and go back down where said loveable cockney hoor can just be made out in the streetlight coming in from the small window above the tennement door. She is wearing something that can only be described as "flimsy." Now get this...

"Hallo Luv! Ave you got a torch I can borrah? Only me lectric's ran aht and I cahn't see to put more money in me metah!"
"Sure" I'll go find you something, and I leave to head back up the stairs. Will a hoor laugh at the fact I have a teletubby torch? I wonder...
But before i go, she continues. "Me lectrics run aht and I've been trying to get this light out ere ta go on. It won't go on! it must be broke! Why won't it go on?"
Me: "Ummm. did you say your electricity's run out"
Her: "Yer"
Me: "Only, your light in the hall will be run from your lectric, I mean, electricity... So if you've got no electricity then the light won't go on"
Her: "Yer! but it wahn't go on! I tried it! It won't go on and without it I can't get me lectric back on cos i cahn't see inter the flat and I can't put me money in the lectric metah! I've been trying wiv this switch! It must be broke!"
Me: Yeah. But you have no electricity therefore it CAN'T go on. It's probably not broken at all.
Her: "Yer! but it must be broke! It won't go on!"
Me: I'll get you that torch.

So I gave up explaining and went upstairs to get her some light. Except I'll be buggered if she's borrowing my teletubbie torch. She'll probably not be able to switch it on and thus proclaim it "broke." I got her a candle and some matches and she promised to put them in my mailbox later on once she'd sorted the broken light outside. (All of a sudden someone who couldn't grasp the concept of a light not going on because she'd run out of lectric seemed to have turned into some sort of master electrician).

Anyway. The candle never appeared in my mailbox. And though it was a very nice candle, a gift, with all dragons up one side.... I don't think I want it back. You never know where it has BEEN. I've heard about hoors and candles... and i'm not talking about wax :|

Keep the bloody candle stupid loveable cockney wench.