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...

Saturday, July 09, 2005


So that's me back from the Glastonbury Festival and subsequent fun in England. (Where it wasn't a case of My Neighbours Are Hoors, so much as My Neighbours were Washed Away).


The Dead Man (who is looking extremely grey today) just knocked on the door to see if I'm OK because he's not seen me about for a bit!

Makes a change. It's usually me sniffing at the suspicious smell and panicking that his corpse is lying there rotting.

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