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...

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Hooer's Flooer

I should have posted this last week, but I was aff gettin' pished in London.

I was saddened to observe, last wednesday the 15th February, a rose. A crushed rose lying in the gutter outside the hoors window.

I shan't spoil the bittersweet feeling you're all undoubtedly having right now by making any smug observations.

(P.S. Where is our favourite hostie's blog?)

Friday, February 10, 2006

My Readers Are Plumbing Fanatics

Never did I think I'd get so many questions about drain rods! There have been other questions which I suppose I could answer too.

I could just add these to the FAQ, but can't be arsed.


What is a drain rod?
Well! I'm glad you asked. I bet there are 1000's out there who don't know what a drain rod is. I think it's kind of like a pipe cleaner. In the same way that a pipe cleaner cleans pipes, I believe drain rods clean drains that are blocked. You can see some lovely pictures of drain rods here you deviants. By the way, I didn't realise until I was old-enough-to-know-better that pipe cleaners are for pipes that you smoked. For years i wondered how such a tiny bit of fuzzy wire could clean water pipes. OK. You can laugh at me now.

What is The Council?
They're the guys that run the grey toon. Yeah. kind of like a local government. Very good at spending taxpayers money and getting into scandal and stuff like that. Council man works for the council. I'm not quite sure what he does, although I'm pretty sure he does something useful for them like fixing broken things or cutting grass or something, rather than wearing a chain round his neck and having affairs with secretaries.

Am I John?

I got the comment "If your neighbors are hoors, then you must be john" (sic)
I'm not sure if this is a pun on the word John? Or if you think I'm some bloke called John who also lives above a brothel in A Grey Toon. I am not John. I reserve the right to my anonymity and the right to go on with my life without ending up with a hoors fist through my osmond-perfect teeth.

Ok. That's your lot for now. I will get on to what else I heard about our neighbours at that meeting eventually!

Monday, February 06, 2006

What People Have Been Googling To Find Me This Week

Right. OK. So a lot of us bloggers have sitemeter to track where most of our hits are coming from?

These can be very englightening. This is how I know that a surprising amount of you find me through our common inability to spell Suzie Quatro properly.

Today someone in New Zealand found my blog by Googling for "My Neighbour Just Hung Himself."


If you're old enough to connect to the internet, then you're old enough to know that when your neighbour commits suicide, you should be calling the emergency services. Uncle Google may be everyone's friend, but in this case, not your first port of call.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

Frozen Punter

It has been a touch on the chilly side of late. The rivers have been frozen for the first time I can remember and there are all Victorian people skating about. (OK. There aren't, but the bus journey to work is a long one and my imagination gets a bit out of control sometimes).

I've explained in the past how I can come home from work and see a punter at the door waiting to be let in. Sometimes I just hang around accross the road, giving them privacy, until they go in. Sometimes I'm too impatient and just shove past them with a bad attitude. Sometimes you can play with them too!

Like yesterday. I approach from accross the road wrapped up against the -7C breeze. A man in one of those very thin white shirts (and trousers and shoes too obviously) is outside looking like he's going to go up and press the buzzer. I'm in one of those "Sod you pal, it's too cold for me to be concerned about your shyness for paying for sex" moods. So he sees me coming and shows a great deal of interest in a drainpipe. I approach and get my keys out, wrap my scarf even tighter round me as my cold fingers fumble for the lock. He shivers. His teeth chatter.

Then the little devil on my left shoulder nudges naughty thoughts into my head. The little angel on my right shoulder actually appears to be on the little devil's side too and eggs me on as well. Oh! What's that? Is my mobile ringing? Cue lenghthy fumbling in bag. Oh me oh my! I seem to have forgotten how to use it! Seconds pass. Frozen punter has lost attention in the drainpipe and is now avoiding my glance by examining the wheels of a parked car.

The little devil on my left shoulder giggles and prods me on with his spikey red fork thing. Time to fumble for my keys again. Oh! Maybe I should check the wheelie bin. Chatter chatter. Shiver shiver. Stampy stampy of feet.

I eventually felt sorry for him and let myself into the block of flats so he could approach the hoors' buzzer again. Poor guy. I went inside and flicked that little devil off my shoulder.

So. Lesson for all you punters out there. LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHERS. It's a bit nippy out. If you're going out looking for a hoor, wrap warmly or you will CATCH A CHILL!

That is all.