Wednesday, October 28, 2009
who'd have thought it! Geocities gone! (Yeah i knew the entire world knew and I know I couldn't be arsed doing anything about it) - when I started this blog up in 2003, you couldn't get comments attached to it, nevermind pics. Hence, all the lovely decorations to this blog have gone missing coz they were linked to in Geocitites.
Which means I get to spend hours looking for pics of Les Dawson, frilly knickers and Hogarth.
Not something you want to put into your average google search.
Friday, October 23, 2009
As regular readers will know - there is nothing better than a chatty taxi driver to inspire me to post more tales of hoors in the Grey Toon. Well, I've had a boring lot of taxi drivers of late - except maybe the one who told us (at length) about how he dresses up as a teddy boy at weekends and how it's just like the old days when he jitterbugs with the Laydeez. He was verging on sinister to be honest... But I digress.
And now I have the full permission of my other source of Grey Toon Hoor News - my hairdresser - to relate some gossip. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before that this hairdressers is the hub the community and so on my last trip, I was treated to not one, but two Grey Toon Hoor Tales!
And this is the first.
Now my hairdresser holds charity fund raising events in her wee salon which she invites her regulars to. And much money is raised, much wine is consumed and much fun is had. At one particular event, three well dressed young ladies who come to her for regular styling were invited.
Now these lassies have amazing hair. They probably spend on their hair what I spend on cheap 3 for £10 deals on wine at Asdas. And that's a LOT. These ladies hair would certainly bankrupt a few of the smaller eastern european countries and their smart styles would lead even the most cynical of us to believe that they are employed as Gok Wan's personal assistants at the very least.
So of course they were invited along!
After the event, a whole lot of ladies went off to the local pub and my hairdresser nipped oot for a quick fag. Out there was one of the locals who beckoned her over. "Hemmin, Hairdresser X*" he says. (Because ab'dy kens my hairdresser - her salon is like the laundrette in Eastenders... beingthe hub of the entire community and all. Best place in the Grey Toon to find out the latest gossip on local celebs (well, Northsound DJs anyway) and the latest topical jokes and humour).
"Fit ye daen wi them lassies?" He asks.
"Och ye ken, charity thing. And a couple of drinks after" she says. "Fit wye?"
"Well me and my mates were jist wunnerin... Since whan did you start hingin' aroon wi hoors?"
*(names have been changed to protect the innocent)
Thursday, July 16, 2009
The boy was making his way through the Wildes of Garthdee the other week and some kid came up to him.
The kid couldn't have been 10. And was blonde and might have been a girl. That's all the information that soaked into his brain. I did ask for further description for blogging purposes (not living near hoors any more, we have to put up with other local quirks for entertainment), but further descriptions were not forthcoming...
Put it this way... A chylde of his generation has been so immersed in relating to the outer world through computer games that unless it was a zombie threating his experience points, or nay, Lara Croft herself... i doubt he'd have any more descriptive details with which to enrich this post. So we move on...
Anyway, the kid approaches him and goes "Excuse me?"
Immediately struck by Doom-based paranoia, he looked around himself, like this angelic wean was some in built game-distraction and that he'd very soon be facing attack by a hoard of (quote)"all-sorts-of-demons".
He goes, "What?"
She goes, "How dae ye mak Lady Gaga cry?
He goes, "Fit?"
Wee Quine: Poke 'Er Face!*
*I swear this is the truth. Perhaps a member of the local shit-pun-massiv. Possibly responsible for the tagging of the Bridge o' Dee with "I say, I say, I say...!"
Saturday, April 11, 2009
I was going to do a big serious post about this and shove my opinions on legalisation down your collective throat... But on seeing this explanatory clip from the BBC news with the lovely Jackie Burrrd, I decided that this explanation followed by some Grey-Toon-Nedette flashing her tits would be a lot funnier.
*Yes, there are heaps of them! Just google it!
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Of course it's a good thing. How else are we to stalk people on the other side of the earth.
However, I notice that certain parts of the Grey Toon have not yet been completed.
So nae chunce of looking up the one legged hoor on Cotton Street then...
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
PROBLEM WITH VIGILANTES
Risks of taking law into your own hands
Hardly a week goes by without us reading about another case where someone has taken the law into their own hands only for it to end in tragedy.
The problem with vigilantes is that they lack the judgment, training and self-control which the real enforcers of the law must have.
This is why vigilante cases inevitably involve excessive behaviour, mob rule, violence and even death.
We now read about the case of xxxxx, a former oil worker, who carried out a terrifying attack on a prostitute as part of a bizarre attempt to rid the streets of drugs.
His case is complicated by issues about his mental health, but the fact remains that prostitutes involved in such a hazardous occupation deserve the same support from the law as anyone else. They are easy targets as a number of recent notorious murder cases have proved.
Other cases have also shown quite graphically how people who take the law into their own hands, motivated by revenge, often end up committing a worse crime. It is not unusual for innocent victims to pay with their lives in cases of mistaken identity.
This is why the courts must continue to take a hard line in such cases to deter others from following suit.
(original link here - http://www.pressandjournal.co.uk/Article.aspx/989442)
(An artist's impression, courtesty of http://marvelkids.marvel.com/create_your_own_superhero. Check them rigboots.)
I don't think he thought it out too well. For a start if you're going to rid the Grey Toon of drugs... surely you should be targeting the Drug Dealers. Not the toothless innocents of Cotton Street...
Also, I think we can all agree that if you're going to be a Vigilante in the Grey Toon then at the very least you need a costume. Preferably a nice thermal one. Possibly a mask too - those winds can be quite biting when you're up on top of the Sally Army Citadel looking down on the city you guard.
Next you're going to need a name. Something powerful, yet connecting you to the place you look after. How about Captain Mince for example? That would go particularly well - especially if at some point in the future you're going to need a sidekick. Who other than Buttery Boy!?
Of course if you're going to go for a more edgy feel - perhaps you could look to the oil industry for inspiration. "Roughneck." Or simply, "The Derrick"
Being a closet geek, I could go on and on with this subject. For example, good weaponry is often associated with vigilantes. Y'know, it's amazing what you can do with a sharpened seagull...
Saturday, February 07, 2009
In this second post, my Hoors Towers Correspondent tells of a typical day working in her hotel by the harbour.
My next run-in with a prostitiute happened a month or so later when a hotel guest tried to smuggle one into the room.
Working in a hotel, you'd expect to have a certain amount of duties you didn't particularly like. Dealing with particularly difficult customers for example. Drunk customers perhaps. Folk that think that trashing hotel rooms is still the thing to do...
Lucky me, I very quickly found out part of my job was to throw prostitutes out.
Here there lies a problem. I was always worried about how I was supposed to recognise them – I mean, I would be mortified if I threw out a real girlfriend who just happened to wear slutty clothes!
However, on this particular occasion there was no doubt in my mind.
The young woman tried to sneak past unnoticed (which is not that easy when you're wearing a belt for a skirt and a neon boob tube - classy!) and when I called her over her posture became immediately defensive and threatening.
Me, the little student girl from down south, tried to forget how much she could kill me if she wanted, put on my sweetest smile and said that I was “terribly sorry but it was hotel policy not to allow guests into our rooms, however, if the customer and his friend would like to talk in the public lounge that would be fine.”
It seemed to work; she swore a little bit, pulled her prey and headed back down the stairs. Feeling quite proud of the way I had handled it, I phoned up my Mum immediately.
“I just threw out my first prostitute,” I gushed, trying to make myself sound braver than I actually was. I'm sure my Mum was very impressed.
A week later I received a very strange phonecall. It went something along these lines:
“Good morning, Hoors Towers, Perfectly Polite Hotel Assistant X speaking. How can I help?”
“Yes, hello,” the voice replied, in a strange accent. Immediately I was alerted, was this a prank call or just someone with a very weird accent. Weird accents do happen in the hotel industry you know... “I would like to book a room please.”
“Is that for tonight?”
“Well I have a standard, a club or an executive.”
“And how much is the standard?”
“Would you accept forty-two?” I was really suspicious now. Someone must know the hotel's bottom line for haggling. But could I risk saying anything? No. Better take the details just in case.
“Is that a double room?” the other speaker asked,
“Yes it is. Is the booking for two people?”
“Well the thing is I’m a prostitute and would like to entertain my guests in the room.” This was definitely a prank call but who could it be? I’d better carry on speaking to buy myself some time.
Putting on my best professional voice, I replied. “Well, the thing is we acually have a non-prostitution policy….” I couldn't finish explaining the hotel policy because the other speaker had burst into laughter.
“How long have you known it was me?!!!!” She guffawed!
Mother! Well! Who would have thought that my mother would do that!
From then on, of course, it became a joke between us. Everytime I phoned her she would answer the phone with “Birmingham brothels, how can I help,” and when she phoned me I would say “Hello Sluthouse! What can I do for you today?”
This was all very well apart from the day when I phoned my Mum when she was down south visiting my Grandmother. I was chatting to her at work when a customer arrived, “Oh sorry Mum,” I said, “There’s a customer, I’ll just be a minute.”
But unfortuntely it wasn’t one of those customers that only took up a minute of my time. It was one of those customers that wanted to complain about everything and get all the faulty things in their room fixed. It was a full half an hour before I got to phone my mother back.
“Hello?” she picked up the phone,
“Hello,” I replied, “Sorry I was ages the customer wasn’t happy that his hot water didn’t work.”
“I am going to kill you,” she told me in a dangerous voice,
“Um… how come?”
“Well, two minutes after you hung up the phone rang again. I answered it with 'hello, Birmingham brothels' but it wasn’t you! It was one of you grandmother’s eighty-year-old friends. She was so confused! I had to spend about twenty minutes explaining to her that it was a joke I had with my daughter!”
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Right. According to Uncle Google, there's at least 6 in that area so we should be ok!
So recently, this friend and I went on holiday in Eastern Europe... and on one fine evening enjoying the honey vodka, she agreed to "serialize" her experiences.
In her own words, here is my friend's first story about "Hoor Towers":
“Check out that slut! You won’t get any customers at this time in the morning luv,” the other night-receptionist jeered. I vaguely responded by looking out of the window.
Prostitutes hanging around weren’t a big deal to me any more – it was all just part of a usual night working at a harbour hotel in the Grey Toon. At first, of course, when I told my Mum the hotel was situated in the red light district she was a bit alarmed, but didn’t think it would really bother me.
Then one day as I was walking to work at 6:45am a man on the other side of the road called out to me,
“You got the time, love,”
“Its 6:45am” I replied, innocently,
“Are you a working girl?”
Luckily, I recognised the question straight away, said no and hurried on my way. You see my mate the night-receptionist had warned me of this question as she had once been asked the same question and had said yes.
She said yes because she worked in the hotel. She was very hard working... Perfectly reasonable answer I'd say! A young innocent back then, she was very shocked when she was then asked “how much?”
Oh well... Strange punters, I thought, asking girls dressed in ugly hotel uniforms on their way to work in the mornings whether they were into prostitution...
Maybe the uniforms did something for them...
Sunday, January 04, 2009
A bit late I must admit, but we were all still recovering here at No-Hoors-Here-Towers. A good few days that saw not much movement at all,
I was first fitted by Mr Aberdeen Tramps though, who doesn't have internet access and therefore asked me to take over the admin of "Aberdeen Tramps And Ither Weel Kent Fowk". So I've even more provarocation to do now :P