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, April 07, 2007


So yeah. In my last post I told you about the usual game on the way back from the cinema when you drive home through the tolerance zone. (Hoor spotting).

Well, we had just taken my friend's son to see some kids film or other and we were taking that route so we could get chips on the way home. Despite the heavy rain, there were quite a lot of street hoors out, pacing up and down in their thigh high boots, pouting and smoking and generally looking available for business.

"What are all these women doing standing around?" asked the wean as we drove past a group of about 3 of them huddling in the shelter of a phone box.

"Um. They're all waiting for taxis."

"That's a shame for them. They're not wearing very much... and it's raining" Aw. Bless.

"Ah yes. Well I'm sure some taxis will be along very soon"

"Oh, look! There's a nice man stopping to give one of them a lift!"


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