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, October 01, 2006


For some bizarre reason, our wheelie-bin lid has been nicked. What neds can possibly find to do with the lid of a wheelie-bin at this time of year is beyond me... I mean, it's not even sledging season!

So for the past few days, in the late September sun, our wheelie-bin has been a veritable funfair for the seagulls, rats and other mysterious beasts of the Grey Toon. Which makes putting the bin bags out a bit more exciting than usual.

Yesterday, I risked a quick peek at the bin before I chucked our rubbish in (just in case a seagull launched an attack on me for disturbing its lunch...) Know what was in it? Go on guess. Go on. Go on go on go on...

Give up? A pair of pink knickers on a stick!

Now, I'm not sure if this was on purpose or by accident (discarded DIY offcuts, discarded tools of the trade) - but it really looked deliberate...

Barbers have a red and white striped pole, pawn shops have their three gold balls, our tenement has a pair of pink knickers on a stick.

Hurrah for advertising!

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