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...

Sunday, August 27, 2006

In The Local

So we were in The Local on Saturday night.

I muscled my way past the man-with-the-twirly-moustache and the-man-whose-wife-comes-in-shouting-at-him-after-Eastenders and propped myself up at the bar waiting for the Blonde Bombshell to serve me with my usual glass of water and a winegum.

Who else was propped up against the bar next to me, but The Council Man With The Drainrods. (He had no drain rods on him at that particular point in time, but had a big grin and was pleasantly worse for the wear.)

After a short conversation in which he complained that The Boy was surly and should say Hello in the corridor, we discussed the overgrown back garden (lawn mower not mentioned) and did I see the state of the Hoors knickers that were hanging on the washing line? (No. I didn't. Had I seen the alledged "state" of them, I would undoubtedly have reported it here... Had they been newsworthy).

There was a pause as Council Man With the Drainrods giggled into his pint and I paid for my glass of water and a wine gum... Then Geoff Capes appeared to approach us and slap Council Man With The Drainrods on the back. (Thanks to the new smoking law, he'd been outside having a fag.) I was introduced to Mr Apparently Geoff Capes as "A Neighbour."

A big hairy Eyebrow Of Capes was raised. He looked questioningly at The Council Man With The Drainrods.

"Oh hey min. Naw. Nae aene o' THOSE neighbours!" Council man grinned, and emitted a laugh not unlike Sid James.

"This aene disnae get paid fur it."

Cheeky bugger.

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