I Can Still See You!

Well...
So much for me saying nothing ever happened round here any more. I knew that would be tempting fate.

So I am skipping merrily down the stairs on saturday morning and pause on the landing to browse the big piles of mail for people who don't live here any more... (more on that later)

And I hear the Hoors' buzzer go.

And into the building comes this young lad. He spies me. He pulls his tshirt over his face and stands there until I have passed him.

You know how when you're playing peek-a-boo with young kids and they think that if they hide themselves in their jumper and they can't see you then thus they have magically dissapeared? It seems that this young punter (and he was undoubtedly a punter) was SO young that he still thought this is what happens.

Poor laddie.

"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

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..."

"GIVE IT A BLOODY BREAK, MIN!!!!"

*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!?!?)

The Best Insult I Ever Heard

Before I had the nice guy next door to me, there was a ned. A horrible wee smelly noisy manky druggie little ned. He was a right wee shite.

And he had friends. Friends that came round and had parties for days and days on end and it was obvious none of them had a job because they obviously never had to sleep. And the police were always on their doorstep trying to get them to shut up.

Well this ned had a girlfriend. Actually, he probably had more than one. There was often a consumptive looking goth girl smoking frantically outside my flat and stubbing her fag-ends out on the brand new lino with her horrible dirty boots. But I don't think this was her. Because this other girl I'm talking about was actually animated.

I'm not talking animated in a sort of lah-lah-lah-floating-about-like-a-Disney-flower-pixie kind of way. I mean in a sort of over-dramatic-shouting-and-creating-hell-over-the-slightest-thing kind of way. And over-dramatisation went on quite often.

I'm not saying she wasn't bright. She may well have been, I don't know. They didn't argue about quantum physics... I'm just saying that she had a bit of a limited vocabulary.

And this is a perfect example:

I wake up. 2am. The rain hitting the window and the wind howling is doing nothing to drown out the mad howling that is going on next door.

The argument has been going on for about 5 minutes in what normal people would call raised voices. For the drama queen next door, this is probably normal volume.

She throws an insult...

He throws one back...

She screams and his insult is returned at a louder volume...
I'm about to bang on the wall and tell them to shut up when...!

He roars and asks her if that's the best she can do. I wonder to myself... Well, Is it?

There is a silence... (Obviously to give her time to think)
And then comes the most phenomenal insult EVER KNOWN TO MAN...

Pray readers, some respectful silence for this all-hallowed insult...

...

...
FUCK YOOUUUUU! YOU FUCKKING FUUUUUCK!

A door is slammed.

And somewhere... Somewhere deep deep inside me, a very very small part of me is really quite impressed.

Punter

Today when I was coming home from work, I saw a punter coming out of the brothel.

Bless him...

He looked so bewildered.

I wonder why? :)

THE "MY NEIGHBOURS ARE HOORS" FAQ

Ladies and Gentlemen... This is a work in progress.

The following FAQ is based on things I very often get asked about my neighbours... But it's not finished! So... ask me anything you want! Use the comments at the bottom and who knows, I may answer ;)

"THE MY NEIGHBOURS ARE HOORS FAQ"

Your neighbours are WHAT!?
Hoors. They're Hoors. Now, I am vaguely aware that "Hoors" may be lovely Islamic virgins and if someone can put me right on this, I'd be very grateful. Dictionary and google searches have been unsuccessful! MY Hoors are Prostitutes. Ladies of the Night. Hoors is my affectionate term for them. I'm scottish and find the wh word an insulting description for them.

So your neighbours are prostitutes?
Yes.

Really?
Uh... Yes. It's a brothel.

What... with a madam and everything?
Well, they have had a madam, she was known as the Welsh Dumpling in fact - lovely woman... I don't know if she's still there, but they take the calls there and see the men there and there is more than one girl so, yes. It's legally defined a brothel.

So how much do they cost!?
Well... I covered this in a previous post. Here's the link

Do you get discounts or freebies?
They're hoors. Don't be stupid.

But have any of the hoors offered you any free services?
No. But you never know. Perhaps they're secretly good at plumbing or something. If they ever offered to fix my dripping kitchen tap, they'd be welcome.

Can I come and stay with you?
If you don't mind sleeping in a shed...

Really?
No!

Where do you live?
You think I'm going to tell you that!?

Bah. So where are the hoors from?
Well... mainly London, Leeds, Birmingham, Bristol that sort of place. My favourites are the cockney hoors. Awright Dahlin'!

What bra size are you?
Oh god. Not this again. I've refused to enter this childish discussion once before and guess what... I'm refusing again! :P

so what kind of hoors are they? the crackhoor type with all the imagerty that implies? Or just regular looking women whom one would never suspect such a profession seeing them out of a brothel context?
Now that I've figured out how to link to a previous post... read this

Assuming of course your only dealings with the hoors are seeing them and what not, would you be able to make a guess if they're worth the money?
Well... based on the following evidence, I think so?
I suppose most of them are quite pretty... Some of them are very good looking and could be off modelling somewhere. One or two have a face like a smacked arse however, but they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
From what I've heard... they provide a wide range of services and get enthusiastic response. Let's just leave it at that, eh ? :D
They have their own flat and don't work on the streets and are therefore relatively clean I suppose...
All the ones I have seen have two legs.
They're good agony aunts (witnessed on a number of occasions)
They know where to take your mum for a good night out in London.
They get birthday cards from their punters.

Tell me what area you live in. Tell me more about you. Devulge it.
Lawks! You're not getting more than A Tennement in Scotland there ;) I don't want cockney hoors banging on my door at all hours demanding to know whether they're the "off modelling somewhere" type or if they look like they have a face like a smacked arse...

We need a picture of you!
Nae Chunce.

Have you ever considered handling any surplus trade from the Hoors?
Ah. Well I guess I knew I'd have to answer a question of this nature at some point... And the answer is No. Not because I consider it below me or anything (the concept of becoming a hoor, not the brothel which is 3 floors below me)... But having read some of the other Hoor Blogs available for our reading pleasure, I reckon I'd follow suit and turn into a man-hater. And we don't want that... do we?!

Have you ever found any punters in compromising situations outside of the hoor-palace?
lol! Hoor Palace! I love that :)
Thankfully the answer to that is NO. I honestly can't imagine the blogging that would follow that kind of thing ! :D

Have any punters, or any hoors for that matter, ever nicked your smalls off the washing line?
Not mine personally... I tend not to hang anything out the back due to the fact it's a jungle. However. I'm pretty sure that the Hoors do cater for that sort of thing as I was once on my way out to sit in the sun one day when what did I see but a thong hanging from the line which could only be describe as "scanty." Later on I went upstairs to my flat to get some juice and on my way back down there was some dodgy looking geezer coming on his way back through from the back garden with a huge leery smile on his face. The scanty thong was gone!!! There's a haiku there I'm sure...

Would you describe yourself as model material or smacked arse?
Hmm... I'm not exactly model material no no no... Nor smacked arse either. Mind you... I did look pretty bad this morning :P

how much buisness do they get :P
Weeellll... I'm pretty sure they do a "good turn of trade" down there (excuse the pun). It's not as obvious as it used to be because they appear to have regular punters now who know which buzzer to press. i.e. I'm not being woken up at all hours these days by people desperate for some negotiable affection ;)

What do the hoors wear? Are we talking S&M or jist baps hingin oot? (as observed one hoor down the harbour in broad daylight!!)
Well! It depends on the hoor. The time my upstairs neighbour and I were out the back cutting down a tree (see this post), the hoor was wearing saggy black fishnets, scuffed black stillettoes and a stretchy old maroon jumper that only just covered her (equally saggy) bum. The ebony diva hoors are always very classy when you see them (usually leaving the tennement) and always have a lot of bling... There is one hoor that could do with a bit of advice from Trinny and Susanna though. (She's the one with the face like a smacked arse I was talking about). She's more your traditional black miniskirt, corned beef legs, stilletto ankle boots, and bright pink top wi' baps hingin' oot! I was looking for an online dressing-up doll so I could do regular "Today the Hoors are Mostly Wearing...! posts complete with pics, but I've not found a good enough one yet. If anyone knows of a good one... let me know!

Is Suzie Quattro REALLY your neighbour!?
Uh. No? That was a joke? It's just someone that looks like her. *makes a blank face*

You appear to be spending an unhealthy amount of time writing about your neighbours
Honestly! Look at how often I post. Once a week? It takes about... hmmmm. Half an hour per post maximum? (And that's if I'm having a REAL rant).
Do your sums.
(And then calculate how often YOU spend blogging my friends!)

What is a punter?
I didn't know this wasn't part of American-speak! :D So I did a post about it especially for you guys. And here it is! :)

Is there REALLY a one-legged-hoor down at the harbour?

Yes. I heard this rumour about 2 years ago but didn't believe it. Thanks to a gossiping taxi driver I now know the truth. Apparently the poor girl lost her leg through drug mis-use :(

Are You John?
Uh. No. *looks confused*

The Plan

Well it seems I'm all alone in the tennement. Things have been really quiet for weeks now.

The Brothel has been suspiciously free of bitch-fights in the street, agonised screams and accompanying whipping noises, and the comedy springs of passion...

The 24 Hour Party People appear to have been evicted. In retrospect this might be down to a disgruntled conversation the Dead Man and I had with a stern looking man in a raincoat who came looking for them with a clipboard and an official looking envelope...

In fact I've not even seen The Dead Man lately and there IS a bit of a strange smell coming from the 1st floor... Hmmm

Anyway! Until something fun happens, I'm have formulated a PLAN. And that plan is this:

1) Do something about that lawnmower
2) Once the lawnmower has gone, do something about the Hoors gift from Vegas
3) tell you about the "Best Insult Ever"
4) Tell you about the "Lady In Red"
5) Tell you about the "Screaming and the Cross-Eyed-Bruiser"
6) Tell you about some of the other neighbours of note that I've had (namely the Wife Killer and The Missionaries)
7) Tell you about what people search on to find my blog
8) THE FAQ!

Now. In order to have a FAQ... One needs questions and this is where you come in! :) It will be very much a work in progress and to start off it'll be SHIT. I'll put a link to it in the sidebar and update it whenever anyone asks a question. It'll be up to me whether or not I answer it, like ;)

Blissful Silence!

With the one exception of the Lawnmower (which I am quickly developing an unhealthy obsession with), there has been an amazing period of PEACE in the tennement.

Silence!

I'm loving it.

It does make the blog look a bit abandoned though. I am still here! I am still alive! It's just that this is sort of dependant on my neighbours being entertaining. I guess they're all having some time off :)

So. What do I do in the meantime? It's up to you...

a) An FAQ. Would you like to see an FAQ? First of all, I'd actually need to see some Q's. (That's questions for the uninitiated amongst you)

b) Do you want to know about other neighbours I've had? Although they weren't quite as interesting as the current ones, we have had others. (And that's not even starting on the flatmates). I could tell you all about The Missionaries

c) I could get all arty and tell you about Great Hoors In History

d) Or I could reveal the scary statistic of WHO exactly is looking at this site. *sniggers*

Let me know !