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...

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.

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