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...

Tuesday, April 05, 2005


How entertaining is it to follow a trail of blood on your way home from the pub?

Most amusing! Well I found it to be amusing after a few pints... Sort of like a sordid version of Hansel and Gretel.

Skip, skip, skip! Follow the blood! Follow it past the post office, past the chipper, past the strange shop with the begonias in the window. Skip past the newsagent, still following those little red spots. Skip towards my block of flats (tennnemmmment for those of you who like to criticise my drunken spelling!) Marvel at how the trail of blood actually stops at our door.

*Stop and ponder for a while*

*Unlock the door and tear up the stairs like Freddy Kreuger himself is hot on your heals*

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