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, November 23, 2008

My Neighbours Throw Like Girls

The first snow of winter and doesn't my new neighbourhood look great! It's so clean and quaint looking and there are kids out sledging and making snowmen and there's a dachsund out walking with it's owner that's having to hop skip and jump over the snow. I can just see it muttering "Slow down you long legged bastard" under its breath.

We made it through Hallowe'en without getting eggs off our windows... We made it through Bonfire Night* without getting bangers through our letterbox and yesterday on a snowy walk to the local supermarket, a Ned came up to me and non-threateningly said "Wow! Your hair is ace!"

And I thought, "what a LOVELY place we've moved to" and let out an extremely saccharine sigh.

So I was starting to let my guard down a bit last night and was just about to make myself a mug of Horlilcks (do you like this cosy Waltons-like home life I'm painting?) when...



"Hahahahaha" (sound of running feet)

Yes. The local neds found our kitchen window too much of a target to ignore, had idle hands and just had to test out their snowball flinging abilities.

"Ah Bless." I thought to myself and thought back to those days when we used to ring Annie Lennox's dad's doorbell and run away... "Little tykes"

I peered out my net curtains and had to look a bit smug though. The deep snow had left footprints you see, and it was quite clear that they'd had to come as close as a metre to hit the window.

My Neighbours Throw Like Girls.

*For you Americans out there, Bonfire Night is an annual celebration of explosives being readily available in shops around the UK.

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