Just as we were sitting at the lights on the way to the airport, I asked the taxi driver one last thing.
"Now," says I. "I've heard a rumour of a one legged hoor down at the harbour. Is this true?"
I've heard this for a few years now and always thought it was just a rumour, but...
"Oh aye. There certainly is. Her ma wheels her down and leaves here there. She just sits with a short skirt and a bottle to keep her warm..."
I'll leave you to consider this.
Well... Not that many years ago I lived above a brothel in the Grey Toon in Scotland. Out of a confused mixture of irritation and amusement, I started to blog about it.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
The Taxi Driver's Tale: "The Ugliest Hoors Imaginable!"
Of course our hoors are classy hoors. (Cheeky bitches though they may be) They work from a brothel and so are relatively clean. Unfortunately the ones on the streets aren't so fortunate. They tend to be out there because of their drug habits. Often they're out there because of their partner's habits. (Mutters about making it legal, yet tries not to get into the politics of it all).
But my taxi driver was right when he said (wait for it...)
"I've been in many a city and seen many a pro... but I have to say that The Grey Toon has the UGLIEST HOORS on earth!"
I almost fell over laughing. He finished this statement off with:
"They're lucky if they've got 10 teeth amonst them!"
But my taxi driver was right when he said (wait for it...)
"I've been in many a city and seen many a pro... but I have to say that The Grey Toon has the UGLIEST HOORS on earth!"
I almost fell over laughing. He finished this statement off with:
"They're lucky if they've got 10 teeth amonst them!"
Monday, January 24, 2005
The Taxi Driver's Tale Continued: "Illicit Earnings"
I liked this taxi driver. He was funny, drove properly, was polite and he was free and easy with his gossip...
"Of course, I've been drivin' this taxi for a good few years now and the hoorin' business has changed a lot up here! I aye mind the days when I used to mak an absolute fortune picking up these rich oil guys fae the airport or the station.
"They'd get intae my taxi and say 'Take me to a young lady' and aff we'd go. I'd tak them to one of the lassies I kent - they were mostly clean in those days and we had no problems dropping off their punters. This American guy once gave me 100 quid! And then the lassies would often gie ye mair money on top of that!"
We mourned the fact that hoorin' has changed a lot in the grey toon over the years. We now have the only tolerance zone (I've heard it called the "green light zone") in Scotland. Apparently the business is booming. Nice to see we've got a fine replacement for Fishing, Oil and Tourism!
"Of course, I've been drivin' this taxi for a good few years now and the hoorin' business has changed a lot up here! I aye mind the days when I used to mak an absolute fortune picking up these rich oil guys fae the airport or the station.
"They'd get intae my taxi and say 'Take me to a young lady' and aff we'd go. I'd tak them to one of the lassies I kent - they were mostly clean in those days and we had no problems dropping off their punters. This American guy once gave me 100 quid! And then the lassies would often gie ye mair money on top of that!"
We mourned the fact that hoorin' has changed a lot in the grey toon over the years. We now have the only tolerance zone (I've heard it called the "green light zone") in Scotland. Apparently the business is booming. Nice to see we've got a fine replacement for Fishing, Oil and Tourism!
Sunday, January 23, 2005
The Taxi Driver's Tale: "The Cheeky Bitch!"
So to continue my ride with the taxi driver.
"Aye," he says, "I wisnae going tae tak the call tae yer address! More often or not it's one of the lassies fae the ground floor and they have ye hanging around for aaaages when I could be oot makin' money"
"Damn right!" says I "Do you have to take them from the airport?"
"Aye. They come up from London, Liverpool, Manchester, Bristol, Birmingham. And there's one of them I just refuse tae tak! Right Cheeky Bitch she is too!"
There then followed a conversation about the said "Cheeky Bitch" from Liverpool who totally takes liberties. Swearing, offering something instead of money for the ride, um... I mean taxi journey. How he has to drop them off at other places in town so they can get their drugs, ken?
Many taxi drivers, especially the ones from his company, will check out calls from my street - first of all finding what number the call is for and then finding out the names.
So this is why I have such problems getting a taxi!
Damn Cheeky Bitch.
"Aye," he says, "I wisnae going tae tak the call tae yer address! More often or not it's one of the lassies fae the ground floor and they have ye hanging around for aaaages when I could be oot makin' money"
"Damn right!" says I "Do you have to take them from the airport?"
"Aye. They come up from London, Liverpool, Manchester, Bristol, Birmingham. And there's one of them I just refuse tae tak! Right Cheeky Bitch she is too!"
There then followed a conversation about the said "Cheeky Bitch" from Liverpool who totally takes liberties. Swearing, offering something instead of money for the ride, um... I mean taxi journey. How he has to drop them off at other places in town so they can get their drugs, ken?
Many taxi drivers, especially the ones from his company, will check out calls from my street - first of all finding what number the call is for and then finding out the names.
So this is why I have such problems getting a taxi!
Damn Cheeky Bitch.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
An interesting taxi ride
So this monday morning I left at very early hours to go to the airport. I'm away on business for a week. My taxi driver very patiently waited as I flapped about with my luggage and putting the bins out. We set off through the gloom of a rainy Grey Toon morning. ("Dreich" being the normal term.)
"Aff on business are we?"
"Aye!"
"Awa fur lang?"
"Jist a Wik"
(Translation for our friends in the New World:
"Going away on business then?"
"Yes!"
"Away for long?"
"Just a week"))
This is how to talk to a Grey Toon Taxi Driver. You'll get a bit of banter with most of them. This one was great!
More smalltalk followed.
"So!" says he. "Bin livin' in yer street fur a wee while then have ye?"
Oh aye, I think to myself. I know what this is building up to... The same thing all taxidrivers are wanting to talk about when they talk about my street.
So I say, "You'll be about to ask about the Hoors on the ground floor then?"
He looks shocked in a put-on way.
"Weel... I wisnae going tae mention onything. Only since you have!"
And henceforth we had a most interesting conversation! But seeing as how I'm at work and have to go to a meeting, that will have to wait for another post ;)
"Aff on business are we?"
"Aye!"
"Awa fur lang?"
"Jist a Wik"
(Translation for our friends in the New World:
"Going away on business then?"
"Yes!"
"Away for long?"
"Just a week"))
This is how to talk to a Grey Toon Taxi Driver. You'll get a bit of banter with most of them. This one was great!
More smalltalk followed.
"So!" says he. "Bin livin' in yer street fur a wee while then have ye?"
Oh aye, I think to myself. I know what this is building up to... The same thing all taxidrivers are wanting to talk about when they talk about my street.
So I say, "You'll be about to ask about the Hoors on the ground floor then?"
He looks shocked in a put-on way.
"Weel... I wisnae going tae mention onything. Only since you have!"
And henceforth we had a most interesting conversation! But seeing as how I'm at work and have to go to a meeting, that will have to wait for another post ;)
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Hoor: A definition
While I was looking up "punter" the other day, I was delighted to find this on urbandictionary.com.
So there ye are.
Normal hoor reports will return asap. Just had to get that post out of the way.
Hoor.
Irish. (although i'd argue and say it was scottish too) Can be used in both friendly and derogatory terms. (See!? I'm friendly!)
1. Whore/Prozzie.
2. Look at that young one dressed up like a hoor! And her not even 13 years old!
So there ye are.
Normal hoor reports will return asap. Just had to get that post out of the way.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
What is a Punter?
Following a short discussion on my comments, it has been brought to my attention that "Punter" is a British word. I had no idea! Here were all these poor folk thinking that the hoors were being visited by "the guy who kicks the oval ball in NFL football to land the extra point after a touchdown" or "a big homos" or "a fuck up."
Sorry. They don't actually have anything to do with funny American football or even men with sticks pushing boats along in Cambridge.
I shall henceforth endeavour to clear up this matter.
According to the Oxfort English Dictionary of All Things (TM)
That, ladies and gentlemen, was a html nightmare. (No idea what this "point in faro" is, but I digress."
So there we are. A Prostitute's Client.
This will also give you an explanation for the naming of the splendid "Punternet." Which is basically a "Who's Who in the world of hooring" or, if you like, "Which Hoor." (I reckon such a mag would sell very well on the top shelves of the Grey Toon).
(I wasn't going to put any links to it, in case my family read this, but I've gone over a year without them looking it up so far and I've got my Bloggy Nookie section in the sidebar, so why the hell not!)
Sorry. They don't actually have anything to do with funny American football or even men with sticks pushing boats along in Cambridge.
I shall henceforth endeavour to clear up this matter.
According to the Oxfort English Dictionary of All Things (TM)
Punter/’pΛntə(r)/n, 1 a person who gambles or lays a bet. 2a colloq. a customer or client. b colloq. a participant in any activity; a person. c sl. a prostitute's client. 3 a point in faro.
That, ladies and gentlemen, was a html nightmare. (No idea what this "point in faro" is, but I digress."
So there we are. A Prostitute's Client.
This will also give you an explanation for the naming of the splendid "Punternet." Which is basically a "Who's Who in the world of hooring" or, if you like, "Which Hoor." (I reckon such a mag would sell very well on the top shelves of the Grey Toon).
(I wasn't going to put any links to it, in case my family read this, but I've gone over a year without them looking it up so far and I've got my Bloggy Nookie section in the sidebar, so why the hell not!)
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Weather.
So.
Nothing has happened in the Hoor Palace for a couple of weeks.
So like any other typical Brit I will henceforth resort to discussing the WEATHER!
Ooooh what terrible gales we have! What terrible gusts and rattling of windowpanes!
And what a smashing of a chimney that just came down off our ageing tennement in the wind!
Onto the pavement.
Sadly missing the very posh car of some punter...
And any punters coming out of it...
And any hoors coming out to meet their punter.
Hence I present this photo entitled "NO DEAD HOORS OR PUNTERS"
(I told you it'd been quiet around here...)
Thursday, January 06, 2005
In other news...
It appears that Brian's Mum from "The Life Of Brian" has moved in downstairs.
I have no other explanation for the screeching and carrying on that was going on when I got back from the pub just now :|
"He's not a punter! He's a very naughty boy!"
Or whatever...
I have no other explanation for the screeching and carrying on that was going on when I got back from the pub just now :|
"He's not a punter! He's a very naughty boy!"
Or whatever...
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Open for Business!
Poor Hoors.
It seems they only got 4 days off. Just like my good self they were back to work today. I assume that's the only explanation for the over-enthusiastic noises I heard this morning on my way out.
Perhaps someone was lonely this Christmas.
It seems they only got 4 days off. Just like my good self they were back to work today. I assume that's the only explanation for the over-enthusiastic noises I heard this morning on my way out.
Perhaps someone was lonely this Christmas.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Twas the night before Christmas!
Yes, yes I know. I'm supposed to start this post with something like...
"Twas the night before Christmas!
When all through the house,
Nothing was stirring not even a hoor!"
Sadly, I'm off to the pub and I really can't be arsed rhyming tonight.
However, at this time of the year I am reminded of the story of lovely fluffy old Nick. No. Not the devil. The other one. St Nicholas of Myra. Friend of Children and reindeer, giver of gifts and climber of chimneys.
Being such a nice old biddy and notorious giver of gifts, he was wandering up some street or other when he heard a poor old man bemoan that he had three daughters for whom he could provide no dowry. As such they were unable to marry and would undoubtedly end up as prostitutes (ancient Turkey being as dramatic as your average soap opera, then.)
Preparing for such a life, the three daughters washed their finest nylons and hung them out to dry. (Well.. I always assumed this story was set in ancient turkey, not wartime Glasgow but hey...)
Good old St Nick took this opportunity to fill their stockings with bags of coins meaning that they could enjoy a happily married life instead of going a-hooring.
Yaay for St Nic! And yay for the tradition of filling stockings at Christmas! I'm interested to find out how the tradition of lovely bags of money in stockings has resulted in my good self recieving a couple of mouldy old satsumas and a Kit-Kat in a mouldy old sock though :P
(In response to various questions of what the Hoors are doing this Christmas, I can now report that there appears to be no celebration of the festive season whatsoever outside their flat. No garland, no "Merry Christmas," definitely no mistletoe. And yeah. I did check for stockings in the back garden. Result: Pas de Hoors stockings )
(In the festive spirit, I hope that this is because they've all gone off home to London/Leeds/Bristol or wherever to spend Christmas with their families and not because the Welsh Dumpling has told them "Humbug! Have Christmas Day off! But make sure you are here to work all the earlier the morrow!")
(p.s. thanks to The A-Z of Patron Saints for letting me know that Mary Magdalen is the Patron Saint of Reformed Hoors and not St Nic as I had thought. Also, who'd have known there are no less than THREE patron saints of pastry chefs!?)
(p.p.s. That is the first and last time I will be referring to a religious web page on this blog*. I thank you.)
*probably
"Twas the night before Christmas!
When all through the house,
Nothing was stirring not even a hoor!"
Sadly, I'm off to the pub and I really can't be arsed rhyming tonight.
However, at this time of the year I am reminded of the story of lovely fluffy old Nick. No. Not the devil. The other one. St Nicholas of Myra. Friend of Children and reindeer, giver of gifts and climber of chimneys.
Being such a nice old biddy and notorious giver of gifts, he was wandering up some street or other when he heard a poor old man bemoan that he had three daughters for whom he could provide no dowry. As such they were unable to marry and would undoubtedly end up as prostitutes (ancient Turkey being as dramatic as your average soap opera, then.)
Preparing for such a life, the three daughters washed their finest nylons and hung them out to dry. (Well.. I always assumed this story was set in ancient turkey, not wartime Glasgow but hey...)
Good old St Nick took this opportunity to fill their stockings with bags of coins meaning that they could enjoy a happily married life instead of going a-hooring.
Yaay for St Nic! And yay for the tradition of filling stockings at Christmas! I'm interested to find out how the tradition of lovely bags of money in stockings has resulted in my good self recieving a couple of mouldy old satsumas and a Kit-Kat in a mouldy old sock though :P
(In response to various questions of what the Hoors are doing this Christmas, I can now report that there appears to be no celebration of the festive season whatsoever outside their flat. No garland, no "Merry Christmas," definitely no mistletoe. And yeah. I did check for stockings in the back garden. Result: Pas de Hoors stockings )
(In the festive spirit, I hope that this is because they've all gone off home to London/Leeds/Bristol or wherever to spend Christmas with their families and not because the Welsh Dumpling has told them "Humbug! Have Christmas Day off! But make sure you are here to work all the earlier the morrow!")
(p.s. thanks to The A-Z of Patron Saints for letting me know that Mary Magdalen is the Patron Saint of Reformed Hoors and not St Nic as I had thought. Also, who'd have known there are no less than THREE patron saints of pastry chefs!?)
(p.p.s. That is the first and last time I will be referring to a religious web page on this blog*. I thank you.)
*probably
Sunday, December 19, 2004
The Case of the Very Loud Telly
It's been very quiet of late...
It's the week before Christmas...
Perhaps punter numbers are down and the hoors are having a night off. So what does a hoor do on a quiet night in?
They sit in with a nice cup of tea and a biscuit and they watch Miss Marple at very high volumes.
Awwww.
It's the week before Christmas...
Perhaps punter numbers are down and the hoors are having a night off. So what does a hoor do on a quiet night in?
They sit in with a nice cup of tea and a biscuit and they watch Miss Marple at very high volumes.
Awwww.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Look at that hoor!
Hehehe :)
I'm laughing as I type this.
So my friend and I were just in The Local. We sip our pints and discuss topical issues. We quietly observe the other clientele.
A woman enters. Short skirt, rather obvious cleavage, thigh high boots with heels you could cause excitement on a specialist porn page with, makeup Barbara Cartland would be impressed with and a swagger John Wayne could only dream of. A Trollop.
My friend raises an eyebrow and nods in her direction whilst sipping a pint. "My god! Look at that Hoor!"
I give her a quick glance. "Och. She's nae actually a Hoor. She's jist their maid." I sip my pint and look back down, then continue the previous conversation in our usual muted tones.
Apparently in normal company "My God! Look at that Hoor!" indicates that a young lady has just walked in who is wearing less clothing than one would expect.
Apparently the normal response would be "Min! Fit a clarty midden!" and not the one I gave.
Apparently I have been living with Hoors for too long.
I'm laughing as I type this.
So my friend and I were just in The Local. We sip our pints and discuss topical issues. We quietly observe the other clientele.
A woman enters. Short skirt, rather obvious cleavage, thigh high boots with heels you could cause excitement on a specialist porn page with, makeup Barbara Cartland would be impressed with and a swagger John Wayne could only dream of. A Trollop.
My friend raises an eyebrow and nods in her direction whilst sipping a pint. "My god! Look at that Hoor!"
I give her a quick glance. "Och. She's nae actually a Hoor. She's jist their maid." I sip my pint and look back down, then continue the previous conversation in our usual muted tones.
Apparently in normal company "My God! Look at that Hoor!" indicates that a young lady has just walked in who is wearing less clothing than one would expect.
Apparently the normal response would be "Min! Fit a clarty midden!" and not the one I gave.
Apparently I have been living with Hoors for too long.
Saturday, December 04, 2004
Out.
Is it normal to plan a long night out just because you saw your neighbour coming out of his car with a big smile and enough booze to invite the whole city to his party?
Friday, December 03, 2004
Nae Deid Hoors!
We're ok!
Everything is all right. It was merely a swap over.
I know this because I heard the voice of a cockney sparrer arguing on the phone yesterday when I came in from work.
(Either that or she was trying to sort out someone to remove the body)
Everything is all right. It was merely a swap over.
I know this because I heard the voice of a cockney sparrer arguing on the phone yesterday when I came in from work.
(Either that or she was trying to sort out someone to remove the body)
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
History Repeats Itself
So I was on my way out this morning and just like the incident I told you about in December '03, the door was open. No sign of any hoor. No noise. Nothing.
Now it may just be that they're swapping over and one hoor has left the door open so that the next hoor can take over without them having to meet face to face (possibly in case another cat-fight in the street ensues)...
It may even have been that the hoor of the moment had just popped out in her neglige to put the bins in the wheelie bin up the road...
However, I'm suspicious again. Hopefully when I get home the door will be shut - there will be noises of some kind or other and I will be comforted that the lassies haven't been stabbed in their beds.
I'll keep you posted.
Now it may just be that they're swapping over and one hoor has left the door open so that the next hoor can take over without them having to meet face to face (possibly in case another cat-fight in the street ensues)...
It may even have been that the hoor of the moment had just popped out in her neglige to put the bins in the wheelie bin up the road...
However, I'm suspicious again. Hopefully when I get home the door will be shut - there will be noises of some kind or other and I will be comforted that the lassies haven't been stabbed in their beds.
I'll keep you posted.
Sunday, November 28, 2004
Happy Birthday and a bit
Woo!
"My Neighbours Are Hoors" has been on the go for 1 year and 2 days!
This post was brought to you before the last post because I was out on the piss in The Burgh on friday.
"My Neighbours Are Hoors" has been on the go for 1 year and 2 days!
This post was brought to you before the last post because I was out on the piss in The Burgh on friday.
Friday, November 26, 2004
Happy Birthday!
OMG!!!
"My Neighbours Are Hoors!" is 1 year old today! :D
This post was brought to you by the people who like round numbers. :)
"My Neighbours Are Hoors!" is 1 year old today! :D
This post was brought to you by the people who like round numbers. :)
Sunday, November 21, 2004
"Someone Nicked Your Floorboards!?"
I have been asked following a previous post: "Someone nicked your floorboards!?"
Yes.
What really? Yes. Well... What happened was that once the smelly wee ned with the fucking fuck girlfriend (link) moved out, (read: were evicted) the flat owners sold it. They sold it to the nice man in fact. However, before they could do this, they had to get the wet rot seen to.
This involved renewing the joists and the floorboards for half of the front rooms.
Now I have to admit that for a couple of weeks my bed did seem to be at a bit of an angle and that it did creak and groan at the slightest provocation and that it certainly wasn't up to infantile trampolining fun. Nevertheless, it did take me about 3 weeks to actually get around to investigating it.
I pulled the bed back and there I saw... A HOLE.
Not any sort of mysterious portal to another dimension or anything... No. Just a space. A space where my lovely sanded, treated, stained and varnished floorboards should have been.
Bloody builders next door had been pulling out the old floorboards from next door and guess what? had bloody well heaved my floorboards out from underneath me from beneath the partition wall. Bloody thick bastards hadn't even noticed that half the floorboards were nice and red and shiney!
So this is a warning to you all : BEWARE THE FLOORBOARD THIEVES! THEY ARE OUT TO GET YOU!!!
fin.
Yes.
What really? Yes. Well... What happened was that once the smelly wee ned with the fucking fuck girlfriend (link) moved out, (read: were evicted) the flat owners sold it. They sold it to the nice man in fact. However, before they could do this, they had to get the wet rot seen to.
This involved renewing the joists and the floorboards for half of the front rooms.
Now I have to admit that for a couple of weeks my bed did seem to be at a bit of an angle and that it did creak and groan at the slightest provocation and that it certainly wasn't up to infantile trampolining fun. Nevertheless, it did take me about 3 weeks to actually get around to investigating it.
I pulled the bed back and there I saw... A HOLE.
Not any sort of mysterious portal to another dimension or anything... No. Just a space. A space where my lovely sanded, treated, stained and varnished floorboards should have been.
Bloody builders next door had been pulling out the old floorboards from next door and guess what? had bloody well heaved my floorboards out from underneath me from beneath the partition wall. Bloody thick bastards hadn't even noticed that half the floorboards were nice and red and shiney!
So this is a warning to you all : BEWARE THE FLOORBOARD THIEVES! THEY ARE OUT TO GET YOU!!!
fin.
Saturday, November 13, 2004
My Neighbours Are... Really Quite Cultured Acutally
Flying past the brothel this morning on a way to a doctors appointment, guess what I heard coming from the flat?
Whiplashes and anguished moans?
Grunts and groans?
The comedy bedsprings of passion?
No! OPERA!
Nothing like a nice bit of moving emotional opera first thing in the morning to get you ready for the day's work ahead...
Whiplashes and anguished moans?
Grunts and groans?
The comedy bedsprings of passion?
No! OPERA!
Nothing like a nice bit of moving emotional opera first thing in the morning to get you ready for the day's work ahead...
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
A Little Upset.
Following the Chimp's Tea Party, I think the 24 Hour Party People (if it is indeed them and not just some other drug taking simians that have moved in) have pissed off one of the other tennement residents.
In strange angular letters, someone has carved "JUST DIE!" on their door.
In strange angular letters, someone has carved "JUST DIE!" on their door.
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Suzi Quattro Investigates
I was thundering into the building with a big armful of stuff today and out came... in a fluster of black leather and cheap jewellery... Suzi Quattro!
I've still not established if she's maid/madame or hoor but I think she has other talents as well.
Such as... Ninja Crime Investigator. The way she flew out of her flat towards me as if she was about to apprehend me perhaps makes me think this.
Such as... Top Actress. The way she innocently pretended she wasn't stampeding out of the flat after something or someone. The way she spotted me and camly smiled and walked past me to the door and casually looked up and down the street before regally returning back to her flat.
I didn't ask about her other talents :P
I've still not established if she's maid/madame or hoor but I think she has other talents as well.
Such as... Ninja Crime Investigator. The way she flew out of her flat towards me as if she was about to apprehend me perhaps makes me think this.
Such as... Top Actress. The way she innocently pretended she wasn't stampeding out of the flat after something or someone. The way she spotted me and camly smiled and walked past me to the door and casually looked up and down the street before regally returning back to her flat.
I didn't ask about her other talents :P
Thursday, November 04, 2004
My Neighbours Are... Chimps!
After a very restless night waking up every hour and looking at the clock, I got out of my bed this morning. I think I know now why I was waking up every hour.
For it appears that My Neighbours are not only Hoors, Suzi Quattro, Junkies, or Dead Old Men... But Chimps also.
Which is lovely.
Except that they appear to have left their teacups and car tyre swings alone last night and had a gay old time with the piles of post that was sitting at the bottom of the stairs.
Free newspapers have been gaily festooned all over the place, electricity bills have been shredded and hung from the bannister and other really bits of important mail (for all those people who want a loan etc) have been scattered to all four corners of the stair well.
Little bastards.
Bad Chimps! No bananas!
P.S. 2001 Hits to my blog! :)
For it appears that My Neighbours are not only Hoors, Suzi Quattro, Junkies, or Dead Old Men... But Chimps also.
Which is lovely.
Except that they appear to have left their teacups and car tyre swings alone last night and had a gay old time with the piles of post that was sitting at the bottom of the stairs.
Free newspapers have been gaily festooned all over the place, electricity bills have been shredded and hung from the bannister and other really bits of important mail (for all those people who want a loan etc) have been scattered to all four corners of the stair well.
Little bastards.
Bad Chimps! No bananas!
P.S. 2001 Hits to my blog! :)
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
My Neighbours Are... Suzie Quattro!
Blearily crawling out of my bed yesterday morning, I made my way to my car. Getting in to it I spotted a laaady. Now. I'm not sure if she is
a) a new madam
b) the maid
c) one of the smacked arse jobs I was talking about earlier
but bloody hell. She has been given a MAKEOVER!!!
As... Suzie Quattro!
(Good pun title suggestions always welcome)
a) a new madam
b) the maid
c) one of the smacked arse jobs I was talking about earlier
but bloody hell. She has been given a MAKEOVER!!!
As... Suzie Quattro!
(Good pun title suggestions always welcome)
Sunday, October 31, 2004
I Can Still See You!
Well...
So much for me saying nothing ever happened round here any more. I knew that would be tempting fate.
So I am skipping merrily down the stairs on saturday morning and pause on the landing to browse the big piles of mail for people who don't live here any more... (more on that later)
And I hear the Hoors' buzzer go.
And into the building comes this young lad. He spies me. He pulls his tshirt over his face and stands there until I have passed him.
You know how when you're playing peek-a-boo with young kids and they think that if they hide themselves in their jumper and they can't see you then thus they have magically dissapeared? It seems that this young punter (and he was undoubtedly a punter) was SO young that he still thought this is what happens.
Poor laddie.
So much for me saying nothing ever happened round here any more. I knew that would be tempting fate.
So I am skipping merrily down the stairs on saturday morning and pause on the landing to browse the big piles of mail for people who don't live here any more... (more on that later)
And I hear the Hoors' buzzer go.
And into the building comes this young lad. He spies me. He pulls his tshirt over his face and stands there until I have passed him.
You know how when you're playing peek-a-boo with young kids and they think that if they hide themselves in their jumper and they can't see you then thus they have magically dissapeared? It seems that this young punter (and he was undoubtedly a punter) was SO young that he still thought this is what happens.
Poor laddie.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
"They're Hoors!"
Coming home from work early yesterday gave me the opportunity of meeting 2 fine gentlemen from the electricity company.
I got out of my car and spied these two geezers looking at the buzzers and as I walked towards the tennement door, they turned and smiled at me.
"Hello there!" grinned one.
"We're trying to get hold of Mrs Simpson," said the other.
"Oh right, well, ah. Mrs Simpson doesn't actually live here. She just rents the flat out. It's that one there." I point to the flat.
"That doesn't matter. We're here to change the meter" grinned the first. "We've tried pressing all the buzzers you see. Can you let us in to the building so we can try knocking on the door?"
"Ah. Well... Aye! Of course I can. But I should tell you, um. Let you know... Warn you in case you disturb them. Well you see, they're working girls..."
"Working girls eh?" chuckled the grinning one.
"Sorry?" said the other.
"THEY'RE HOORS!" said his grinning friend turning to him, looking delighted.
Honestly. He did say "Hoors." That cracked me up :D
I got out of my car and spied these two geezers looking at the buzzers and as I walked towards the tennement door, they turned and smiled at me.
"Hello there!" grinned one.
"We're trying to get hold of Mrs Simpson," said the other.
"Oh right, well, ah. Mrs Simpson doesn't actually live here. She just rents the flat out. It's that one there." I point to the flat.
"That doesn't matter. We're here to change the meter" grinned the first. "We've tried pressing all the buzzers you see. Can you let us in to the building so we can try knocking on the door?"
"Ah. Well... Aye! Of course I can. But I should tell you, um. Let you know... Warn you in case you disturb them. Well you see, they're working girls..."
"Working girls eh?" chuckled the grinning one.
"Sorry?" said the other.
"THEY'RE HOORS!" said his grinning friend turning to him, looking delighted.
Honestly. He did say "Hoors." That cracked me up :D
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Lady In Red
I'm working away from home at the moment... But still have blog access, so here's something else memorable from the past about my neighbours.
Before the nice guy, before the wee ned with the girlfriend-of-limited-vocabulary, before my floorboards got nicked...
There lived a man. He lived next door to me just through the wall from my bedroom in his own wee 1 bedroomed tennement flat. He was a lovely chap and always said hello and how was I and all that stuff that people in tennements say to eachother to pretend they're being nice when in actual fact they just want to get into the sanctuary of their own home.
He was a bit of a romantic too, because I used to hear him bring his girlfriend back to his flat and... SERENADE her with some lovely tunes on this guitar. Usually this was fine and usually it was at a normal hour and usually his guitar playing was great and his singing wasn't bad either...
But this one time? This one time I think they'd been out somewhere romantic and had some glasses of wine and let's just say that they were having a better time listening to his singing than I was.
It was all bearable and I could put up with it until...
"I never shawwwww you loookin' as loooovely asssh ye diid t'niiight!"
I wake up.
Cue embarrassed giggling through the wall.
I grind my teeth.
"I never shawwwwwwww you lookin' sooooooo brrrshhhhrrright!"
More giggling. Slightly polite giggling I think, but I'm too busy trying to bury my head under the pillow and stuff cotton wool in my ears to concentrate on the tone of her coquettish laughter.
"Laaaaaady In Reeeeeeddddddd!"
Now I liked this neighbour! I did! He was a nice chap and he was the guy who used to escort punters out of the building when we found them knocking on our doors instead of the hoors. But this was enough.
"Is daaaanccinggg with..."
"GIVE IT A BLOODY BREAK, MIN!!!!"
*plinkering of guitar playing slowing to a halt*
*stunned silence*
There was then the muffled embarrassed apology... "Sorry lassie! mumble mumble thin walls mumble"
and then to his wumman:
"Let's go through to the kitchen."
(Far be it from me to say he missed out on a romantic opportunity but... the kitchen!?!?)
Before the nice guy, before the wee ned with the girlfriend-of-limited-vocabulary, before my floorboards got nicked...
There lived a man. He lived next door to me just through the wall from my bedroom in his own wee 1 bedroomed tennement flat. He was a lovely chap and always said hello and how was I and all that stuff that people in tennements say to eachother to pretend they're being nice when in actual fact they just want to get into the sanctuary of their own home.
He was a bit of a romantic too, because I used to hear him bring his girlfriend back to his flat and... SERENADE her with some lovely tunes on this guitar. Usually this was fine and usually it was at a normal hour and usually his guitar playing was great and his singing wasn't bad either...
But this one time? This one time I think they'd been out somewhere romantic and had some glasses of wine and let's just say that they were having a better time listening to his singing than I was.
It was all bearable and I could put up with it until...
"I never shawwwww you loookin' as loooovely asssh ye diid t'niiight!"
I wake up.
Cue embarrassed giggling through the wall.
I grind my teeth.
"I never shawwwwwwww you lookin' sooooooo brrrshhhhrrright!"
More giggling. Slightly polite giggling I think, but I'm too busy trying to bury my head under the pillow and stuff cotton wool in my ears to concentrate on the tone of her coquettish laughter.
"Laaaaaady In Reeeeeeddddddd!"
Now I liked this neighbour! I did! He was a nice chap and he was the guy who used to escort punters out of the building when we found them knocking on our doors instead of the hoors. But this was enough.
"Is daaaanccinggg with..."
"GIVE IT A BLOODY BREAK, MIN!!!!"
*plinkering of guitar playing slowing to a halt*
*stunned silence*
There was then the muffled embarrassed apology... "Sorry lassie! mumble mumble thin walls mumble"
and then to his wumman:
"Let's go through to the kitchen."
(Far be it from me to say he missed out on a romantic opportunity but... the kitchen!?!?)
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
The Best Insult I Ever Heard
Before I had the nice guy next door to me, there was a ned. A horrible wee smelly noisy manky druggie little ned. He was a right wee shite.
And he had friends. Friends that came round and had parties for days and days on end and it was obvious none of them had a job because they obviously never had to sleep. And the police were always on their doorstep trying to get them to shut up.
Well this ned had a girlfriend. Actually, he probably had more than one. There was often a consumptive looking goth girl smoking frantically outside my flat and stubbing her fag-ends out on the brand new lino with her horrible dirty boots. But I don't think this was her. Because this other girl I'm talking about was actually animated.
I'm not talking animated in a sort of lah-lah-lah-floating-about-like-a-Disney-flower-pixie kind of way. I mean in a sort of over-dramatic-shouting-and-creating-hell-over-the-slightest-thing kind of way. And over-dramatisation went on quite often.
I'm not saying she wasn't bright. She may well have been, I don't know. They didn't argue about quantum physics... I'm just saying that she had a bit of a limited vocabulary.
And this is a perfect example:
I wake up. 2am. The rain hitting the window and the wind howling is doing nothing to drown out the mad howling that is going on next door.
The argument has been going on for about 5 minutes in what normal people would call raised voices. For the drama queen next door, this is probably normal volume.
She throws an insult...
He throws one back...
She screams and his insult is returned at a louder volume...
I'm about to bang on the wall and tell them to shut up when...!
He roars and asks her if that's the best she can do. I wonder to myself... Well, Is it?
There is a silence... (Obviously to give her time to think)
And then comes the most phenomenal insult EVER KNOWN TO MAN...
Pray readers, some respectful silence for this all-hallowed insult...
...
...
FUCK YOOUUUUU! YOU FUCKKING FUUUUUCK!
A door is slammed.
And somewhere... Somewhere deep deep inside me, a very very small part of me is really quite impressed.
And he had friends. Friends that came round and had parties for days and days on end and it was obvious none of them had a job because they obviously never had to sleep. And the police were always on their doorstep trying to get them to shut up.
Well this ned had a girlfriend. Actually, he probably had more than one. There was often a consumptive looking goth girl smoking frantically outside my flat and stubbing her fag-ends out on the brand new lino with her horrible dirty boots. But I don't think this was her. Because this other girl I'm talking about was actually animated.
I'm not talking animated in a sort of lah-lah-lah-floating-about-like-a-Disney-flower-pixie kind of way. I mean in a sort of over-dramatic-shouting-and-creating-hell-over-the-slightest-thing kind of way. And over-dramatisation went on quite often.
I'm not saying she wasn't bright. She may well have been, I don't know. They didn't argue about quantum physics... I'm just saying that she had a bit of a limited vocabulary.
And this is a perfect example:
I wake up. 2am. The rain hitting the window and the wind howling is doing nothing to drown out the mad howling that is going on next door.
The argument has been going on for about 5 minutes in what normal people would call raised voices. For the drama queen next door, this is probably normal volume.
She throws an insult...
He throws one back...
She screams and his insult is returned at a louder volume...
I'm about to bang on the wall and tell them to shut up when...!
He roars and asks her if that's the best she can do. I wonder to myself... Well, Is it?
There is a silence... (Obviously to give her time to think)
And then comes the most phenomenal insult EVER KNOWN TO MAN...
Pray readers, some respectful silence for this all-hallowed insult...
...
...
FUCK YOOUUUUU! YOU FUCKKING FUUUUUCK!
A door is slammed.
And somewhere... Somewhere deep deep inside me, a very very small part of me is really quite impressed.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Punter
Today when I was coming home from work, I saw a punter coming out of the brothel.
Bless him...
He looked so bewildered.
I wonder why? :)
Bless him...
He looked so bewildered.
I wonder why? :)
Sunday, October 10, 2004
THE "MY NEIGHBOURS ARE HOORS" FAQ
Ladies and Gentlemen... This is a work in progress.
The following FAQ is based on things I very often get asked about my neighbours... But it's not finished! So... ask me anything you want! Use the comments at the bottom and who knows, I may answer ;)
"THE MY NEIGHBOURS ARE HOORS FAQ"
Your neighbours are WHAT!?
Hoors. They're Hoors. Now, I am vaguely aware that "Hoors" may be lovely Islamic virgins and if someone can put me right on this, I'd be very grateful. Dictionary and google searches have been unsuccessful! MY Hoors are Prostitutes. Ladies of the Night. Hoors is my affectionate term for them. I'm scottish and find the wh word an insulting description for them.
So your neighbours are prostitutes?
Yes.
Really?
Uh... Yes. It's a brothel.
What... with a madam and everything?
Well, they have had a madam, she was known as the Welsh Dumpling in fact - lovely woman... I don't know if she's still there, but they take the calls there and see the men there and there is more than one girl so, yes. It's legally defined a brothel.
So how much do they cost!?
Well... I covered this in a previous post. Here's the link
Do you get discounts or freebies?
They're hoors. Don't be stupid.
But have any of the hoors offered you any free services?
No. But you never know. Perhaps they're secretly good at plumbing or something. If they ever offered to fix my dripping kitchen tap, they'd be welcome.
Can I come and stay with you?
If you don't mind sleeping in a shed...
Really?
No!
Where do you live?
You think I'm going to tell you that!?
Bah. So where are the hoors from?
Well... mainly London, Leeds, Birmingham, Bristol that sort of place. My favourites are the cockney hoors. Awright Dahlin'!
What bra size are you?
Oh god. Not this again. I've refused to enter this childish discussion once before and guess what... I'm refusing again! :P
so what kind of hoors are they? the crackhoor type with all the imagerty that implies? Or just regular looking women whom one would never suspect such a profession seeing them out of a brothel context?
Now that I've figured out how to link to a previous post... read this
Assuming of course your only dealings with the hoors are seeing them and what not, would you be able to make a guess if they're worth the money?
Well... based on the following evidence, I think so?
I suppose most of them are quite pretty... Some of them are very good looking and could be off modelling somewhere. One or two have a face like a smacked arse however, but they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
From what I've heard... they provide a wide range of services and get enthusiastic response. Let's just leave it at that, eh ? :D
They have their own flat and don't work on the streets and are therefore relatively clean I suppose...
All the ones I have seen have two legs.
They're good agony aunts (witnessed on a number of occasions)
They know where to take your mum for a good night out in London.
They get birthday cards from their punters.
Tell me what area you live in. Tell me more about you. Devulge it.
Lawks! You're not getting more than A Tennement in Scotland there ;) I don't want cockney hoors banging on my door at all hours demanding to know whether they're the "off modelling somewhere" type or if they look like they have a face like a smacked arse...
We need a picture of you!
Nae Chunce.
Have you ever considered handling any surplus trade from the Hoors?
Ah. Well I guess I knew I'd have to answer a question of this nature at some point... And the answer is No. Not because I consider it below me or anything (the concept of becoming a hoor, not the brothel which is 3 floors below me)... But having read some of the other Hoor Blogs available for our reading pleasure, I reckon I'd follow suit and turn into a man-hater. And we don't want that... do we?!
Have you ever found any punters in compromising situations outside of the hoor-palace?
lol! Hoor Palace! I love that :)
Thankfully the answer to that is NO. I honestly can't imagine the blogging that would follow that kind of thing ! :D
Have any punters, or any hoors for that matter, ever nicked your smalls off the washing line?
Not mine personally... I tend not to hang anything out the back due to the fact it's a jungle. However. I'm pretty sure that the Hoors do cater for that sort of thing as I was once on my way out to sit in the sun one day when what did I see but a thong hanging from the line which could only be describe as "scanty." Later on I went upstairs to my flat to get some juice and on my way back down there was some dodgy looking geezer coming on his way back through from the back garden with a huge leery smile on his face. The scanty thong was gone!!! There's a haiku there I'm sure...
Would you describe yourself as model material or smacked arse?
Hmm... I'm not exactly model material no no no... Nor smacked arse either. Mind you... I did look pretty bad this morning :P
how much buisness do they get :P
Weeellll... I'm pretty sure they do a "good turn of trade" down there (excuse the pun). It's not as obvious as it used to be because they appear to have regular punters now who know which buzzer to press. i.e. I'm not being woken up at all hours these days by people desperate for some negotiable affection ;)
What do the hoors wear? Are we talking S&M or jist baps hingin oot? (as observed one hoor down the harbour in broad daylight!!)
Well! It depends on the hoor. The time my upstairs neighbour and I were out the back cutting down a tree (see this post), the hoor was wearing saggy black fishnets, scuffed black stillettoes and a stretchy old maroon jumper that only just covered her (equally saggy) bum. The ebony diva hoors are always very classy when you see them (usually leaving the tennement) and always have a lot of bling... There is one hoor that could do with a bit of advice from Trinny and Susanna though. (She's the one with the face like a smacked arse I was talking about). She's more your traditional black miniskirt, corned beef legs, stilletto ankle boots, and bright pink top wi' baps hingin' oot! I was looking for an online dressing-up doll so I could do regular "Today the Hoors are Mostly Wearing...! posts complete with pics, but I've not found a good enough one yet. If anyone knows of a good one... let me know!
Is Suzie Quattro REALLY your neighbour!?
Uh. No? That was a joke? It's just someone that looks like her. *makes a blank face*
You appear to be spending an unhealthy amount of time writing about your neighbours
Honestly! Look at how often I post. Once a week? It takes about... hmmmm. Half an hour per post maximum? (And that's if I'm having a REAL rant).
Do your sums.
(And then calculate how often YOU spend blogging my friends!)
What is a punter?
I didn't know this wasn't part of American-speak! :D So I did a post about it especially for you guys. And here it is! :)
Is there REALLY a one-legged-hoor down at the harbour?
Yes. I heard this rumour about 2 years ago but didn't believe it. Thanks to a gossiping taxi driver I now know the truth. Apparently the poor girl lost her leg through drug mis-use :(
Are You John?
Uh. No. *looks confused*
The following FAQ is based on things I very often get asked about my neighbours... But it's not finished! So... ask me anything you want! Use the comments at the bottom and who knows, I may answer ;)
"THE MY NEIGHBOURS ARE HOORS FAQ"
Your neighbours are WHAT!?
Hoors. They're Hoors. Now, I am vaguely aware that "Hoors" may be lovely Islamic virgins and if someone can put me right on this, I'd be very grateful. Dictionary and google searches have been unsuccessful! MY Hoors are Prostitutes. Ladies of the Night. Hoors is my affectionate term for them. I'm scottish and find the wh word an insulting description for them.
So your neighbours are prostitutes?
Yes.
Really?
Uh... Yes. It's a brothel.
What... with a madam and everything?
Well, they have had a madam, she was known as the Welsh Dumpling in fact - lovely woman... I don't know if she's still there, but they take the calls there and see the men there and there is more than one girl so, yes. It's legally defined a brothel.
So how much do they cost!?
Well... I covered this in a previous post. Here's the link
Do you get discounts or freebies?
They're hoors. Don't be stupid.
But have any of the hoors offered you any free services?
No. But you never know. Perhaps they're secretly good at plumbing or something. If they ever offered to fix my dripping kitchen tap, they'd be welcome.
Can I come and stay with you?
If you don't mind sleeping in a shed...
Really?
No!
Where do you live?
You think I'm going to tell you that!?
Bah. So where are the hoors from?
Well... mainly London, Leeds, Birmingham, Bristol that sort of place. My favourites are the cockney hoors. Awright Dahlin'!
What bra size are you?
Oh god. Not this again. I've refused to enter this childish discussion once before and guess what... I'm refusing again! :P
so what kind of hoors are they? the crackhoor type with all the imagerty that implies? Or just regular looking women whom one would never suspect such a profession seeing them out of a brothel context?
Now that I've figured out how to link to a previous post... read this
Assuming of course your only dealings with the hoors are seeing them and what not, would you be able to make a guess if they're worth the money?
Well... based on the following evidence, I think so?
I suppose most of them are quite pretty... Some of them are very good looking and could be off modelling somewhere. One or two have a face like a smacked arse however, but they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
From what I've heard... they provide a wide range of services and get enthusiastic response. Let's just leave it at that, eh ? :D
They have their own flat and don't work on the streets and are therefore relatively clean I suppose...
All the ones I have seen have two legs.
They're good agony aunts (witnessed on a number of occasions)
They know where to take your mum for a good night out in London.
They get birthday cards from their punters.
Tell me what area you live in. Tell me more about you. Devulge it.
Lawks! You're not getting more than A Tennement in Scotland there ;) I don't want cockney hoors banging on my door at all hours demanding to know whether they're the "off modelling somewhere" type or if they look like they have a face like a smacked arse...
We need a picture of you!
Nae Chunce.
Have you ever considered handling any surplus trade from the Hoors?
Ah. Well I guess I knew I'd have to answer a question of this nature at some point... And the answer is No. Not because I consider it below me or anything (the concept of becoming a hoor, not the brothel which is 3 floors below me)... But having read some of the other Hoor Blogs available for our reading pleasure, I reckon I'd follow suit and turn into a man-hater. And we don't want that... do we?!
Have you ever found any punters in compromising situations outside of the hoor-palace?
lol! Hoor Palace! I love that :)
Thankfully the answer to that is NO. I honestly can't imagine the blogging that would follow that kind of thing ! :D
Have any punters, or any hoors for that matter, ever nicked your smalls off the washing line?
Not mine personally... I tend not to hang anything out the back due to the fact it's a jungle. However. I'm pretty sure that the Hoors do cater for that sort of thing as I was once on my way out to sit in the sun one day when what did I see but a thong hanging from the line which could only be describe as "scanty." Later on I went upstairs to my flat to get some juice and on my way back down there was some dodgy looking geezer coming on his way back through from the back garden with a huge leery smile on his face. The scanty thong was gone!!! There's a haiku there I'm sure...
Would you describe yourself as model material or smacked arse?
Hmm... I'm not exactly model material no no no... Nor smacked arse either. Mind you... I did look pretty bad this morning :P
how much buisness do they get :P
Weeellll... I'm pretty sure they do a "good turn of trade" down there (excuse the pun). It's not as obvious as it used to be because they appear to have regular punters now who know which buzzer to press. i.e. I'm not being woken up at all hours these days by people desperate for some negotiable affection ;)
What do the hoors wear? Are we talking S&M or jist baps hingin oot? (as observed one hoor down the harbour in broad daylight!!)
Well! It depends on the hoor. The time my upstairs neighbour and I were out the back cutting down a tree (see this post), the hoor was wearing saggy black fishnets, scuffed black stillettoes and a stretchy old maroon jumper that only just covered her (equally saggy) bum. The ebony diva hoors are always very classy when you see them (usually leaving the tennement) and always have a lot of bling... There is one hoor that could do with a bit of advice from Trinny and Susanna though. (She's the one with the face like a smacked arse I was talking about). She's more your traditional black miniskirt, corned beef legs, stilletto ankle boots, and bright pink top wi' baps hingin' oot! I was looking for an online dressing-up doll so I could do regular "Today the Hoors are Mostly Wearing...! posts complete with pics, but I've not found a good enough one yet. If anyone knows of a good one... let me know!
Is Suzie Quattro REALLY your neighbour!?
Uh. No? That was a joke? It's just someone that looks like her. *makes a blank face*
You appear to be spending an unhealthy amount of time writing about your neighbours
Honestly! Look at how often I post. Once a week? It takes about... hmmmm. Half an hour per post maximum? (And that's if I'm having a REAL rant).
Do your sums.
(And then calculate how often YOU spend blogging my friends!)
What is a punter?
I didn't know this wasn't part of American-speak! :D So I did a post about it especially for you guys. And here it is! :)
Is there REALLY a one-legged-hoor down at the harbour?
Yes. I heard this rumour about 2 years ago but didn't believe it. Thanks to a gossiping taxi driver I now know the truth. Apparently the poor girl lost her leg through drug mis-use :(
Are You John?
Uh. No. *looks confused*
Thursday, October 07, 2004
The Plan
Well it seems I'm all alone in the tennement. Things have been really quiet for weeks now.
The Brothel has been suspiciously free of bitch-fights in the street, agonised screams and accompanying whipping noises, and the comedy springs of passion...
The 24 Hour Party People appear to have been evicted. In retrospect this might be down to a disgruntled conversation the Dead Man and I had with a stern looking man in a raincoat who came looking for them with a clipboard and an official looking envelope...
In fact I've not even seen The Dead Man lately and there IS a bit of a strange smell coming from the 1st floor... Hmmm
Anyway! Until something fun happens, I'm have formulated a PLAN. And that plan is this:
1) Do something about that lawnmower
2) Once the lawnmower has gone, do something about the Hoors gift from Vegas
3) tell you about the "Best Insult Ever"
4) Tell you about the "Lady In Red"
5) Tell you about the "Screaming and the Cross-Eyed-Bruiser"
6) Tell you about some of the other neighbours of note that I've had (namely the Wife Killer and The Missionaries)
7) Tell you about what people search on to find my blog
8) THE FAQ!
Now. In order to have a FAQ... One needs questions and this is where you come in! :) It will be very much a work in progress and to start off it'll be SHIT. I'll put a link to it in the sidebar and update it whenever anyone asks a question. It'll be up to me whether or not I answer it, like ;)
The Brothel has been suspiciously free of bitch-fights in the street, agonised screams and accompanying whipping noises, and the comedy springs of passion...
The 24 Hour Party People appear to have been evicted. In retrospect this might be down to a disgruntled conversation the Dead Man and I had with a stern looking man in a raincoat who came looking for them with a clipboard and an official looking envelope...
In fact I've not even seen The Dead Man lately and there IS a bit of a strange smell coming from the 1st floor... Hmmm
Anyway! Until something fun happens, I'm have formulated a PLAN. And that plan is this:
1) Do something about that lawnmower
2) Once the lawnmower has gone, do something about the Hoors gift from Vegas
3) tell you about the "Best Insult Ever"
4) Tell you about the "Lady In Red"
5) Tell you about the "Screaming and the Cross-Eyed-Bruiser"
6) Tell you about some of the other neighbours of note that I've had (namely the Wife Killer and The Missionaries)
7) Tell you about what people search on to find my blog
8) THE FAQ!
Now. In order to have a FAQ... One needs questions and this is where you come in! :) It will be very much a work in progress and to start off it'll be SHIT. I'll put a link to it in the sidebar and update it whenever anyone asks a question. It'll be up to me whether or not I answer it, like ;)
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Blissful Silence!
With the one exception of the Lawnmower (which I am quickly developing an unhealthy obsession with), there has been an amazing period of PEACE in the tennement.
Silence!
I'm loving it.
It does make the blog look a bit abandoned though. I am still here! I am still alive! It's just that this is sort of dependant on my neighbours being entertaining. I guess they're all having some time off :)
So. What do I do in the meantime? It's up to you...
a) An FAQ. Would you like to see an FAQ? First of all, I'd actually need to see some Q's. (That's questions for the uninitiated amongst you)
b) Do you want to know about other neighbours I've had? Although they weren't quite as interesting as the current ones, we have had others. (And that's not even starting on the flatmates). I could tell you all about The Missionaries
c) I could get all arty and tell you about Great Hoors In History
d) Or I could reveal the scary statistic of WHO exactly is looking at this site. *sniggers*
Let me know !
Silence!
I'm loving it.
It does make the blog look a bit abandoned though. I am still here! I am still alive! It's just that this is sort of dependant on my neighbours being entertaining. I guess they're all having some time off :)
So. What do I do in the meantime? It's up to you...
a) An FAQ. Would you like to see an FAQ? First of all, I'd actually need to see some Q's. (That's questions for the uninitiated amongst you)
b) Do you want to know about other neighbours I've had? Although they weren't quite as interesting as the current ones, we have had others. (And that's not even starting on the flatmates). I could tell you all about The Missionaries
c) I could get all arty and tell you about Great Hoors In History
d) Or I could reveal the scary statistic of WHO exactly is looking at this site. *sniggers*
Let me know !
Thursday, September 30, 2004
The Dodgy Screw (aka Gaaaah! part 4!)
Bloody Door.
Bloody Lock.
Bloody banging of door in the wind, bloody lack of security and bloody missing underwear (which has never turned up, by the way)
So the knackered old door has now been kicked in by stupid fecking neds so many times that nothing short of 3 Giant Screws of Death will be needed to hold the lock on. As I said before, there's already one of these protruding out onto the street side of the door but I'm tempted to go to B&Q after work and get some more.
And then putting up a notice.
The notice will go something like this.
"The security of residents and businesses in this tennements is important to us all, I'm sure you'll agree.
This door and it's lock will not take any more kicking-in.
Thus I suggest that you PLEASE tell all your dodgy ned mates, alcoholic uncles, drug dealers and PUNTERS to please stop kicking the sodding thing in!
And while I'm at it. Would whoever has blocked the back door with a gargantuan lawnmower for the past three months please remove it? It is bigger than our ACTUAL FUCKING GARDEN
Thank you very much."
Bloody Lock.
Bloody banging of door in the wind, bloody lack of security and bloody missing underwear (which has never turned up, by the way)
So the knackered old door has now been kicked in by stupid fecking neds so many times that nothing short of 3 Giant Screws of Death will be needed to hold the lock on. As I said before, there's already one of these protruding out onto the street side of the door but I'm tempted to go to B&Q after work and get some more.
And then putting up a notice.
The notice will go something like this.
"The security of residents and businesses in this tennements is important to us all, I'm sure you'll agree.
This door and it's lock will not take any more kicking-in.
Thus I suggest that you PLEASE tell all your dodgy ned mates, alcoholic uncles, drug dealers and PUNTERS to please stop kicking the sodding thing in!
And while I'm at it. Would whoever has blocked the back door with a gargantuan lawnmower for the past three months please remove it? It is bigger than our ACTUAL FUCKING GARDEN
Thank you very much."
Monday, September 20, 2004
Nae Oor Hoors!
David asked me in a comment on the 18th september, "so what kind of hoors are they? the crackhoor type with all the imagerty that implies? Or just regular looking women whom one would never suspect such a profession seeing them out of a brothel context?"
Well! How do I answer this?
Some of them are stunning... Stunning like they could do something with their looks rather than selling themselves for a living. In an Ebony Diva kind of way they kind of stick out round here but I wouldn't say it's obvious what they do for a living...
Some of them... Well. I _was_ going to do this post a month back when I met one of the cockney hoors (as opposed to the ones from Leeds or Bristol or wherever) coming out of the flat. Lets just say 'pink lycra, peroxide and a face to match her cowboy boots.' A little old before her time perhaps. But still, I wouldn't say she was a crack hoor, no.
They tend to hang about down at the harbour. They tend to be young, thin, pale and a bit mingin' looking. Except for the one that looks like Stevie Nicks. She always manages to have a bit of class about her.
Now. I have heard a rumor. And that rumor is this:
Apparently... there's a one-legged hoor down at the harbour. I'm trying really hard to think of one of my usual crap puns. But so far they have evaded me.
If you can think of a suitable pun or have heard the one-legged-hoor rumour yourself - do let me know, sweeties?
Well! How do I answer this?
Some of them are stunning... Stunning like they could do something with their looks rather than selling themselves for a living. In an Ebony Diva kind of way they kind of stick out round here but I wouldn't say it's obvious what they do for a living...
Some of them... Well. I _was_ going to do this post a month back when I met one of the cockney hoors (as opposed to the ones from Leeds or Bristol or wherever) coming out of the flat. Lets just say 'pink lycra, peroxide and a face to match her cowboy boots.' A little old before her time perhaps. But still, I wouldn't say she was a crack hoor, no.
They tend to hang about down at the harbour. They tend to be young, thin, pale and a bit mingin' looking. Except for the one that looks like Stevie Nicks. She always manages to have a bit of class about her.
Now. I have heard a rumor. And that rumor is this:
Apparently... there's a one-legged hoor down at the harbour. I'm trying really hard to think of one of my usual crap puns. But so far they have evaded me.
If you can think of a suitable pun or have heard the one-legged-hoor rumour yourself - do let me know, sweeties?
Saturday, September 18, 2004
The sad demise of Belle De Jour!
Sadly, I've just found out by comment from McFox that the fantastic Belle De Jour (aka Diary Of A London Callgirl) is to end!
This is a fantastic blog, probably one of the first I ever read - but sadly the writer has decided to call it a day.
BBC news report
Now tantalisingly, there is a link at the top of her blog to amazon... click here.
Does this mean she's got a book deal? Does anyone know for sure? Let me know! If so, YOU GO GIRL! I've preordered it.
Maybe some day soon my hoors downstairs will write a book...
Anyway. Cheers lassie! :)
This is a fantastic blog, probably one of the first I ever read - but sadly the writer has decided to call it a day.
BBC news report
Now tantalisingly, there is a link at the top of her blog to amazon... click here.
Does this mean she's got a book deal? Does anyone know for sure? Let me know! If so, YOU GO GIRL! I've preordered it.
Maybe some day soon my hoors downstairs will write a book...
Anyway. Cheers lassie! :)
Hoor Haiku 2
My muse Angela (who looks good in a sack!) has informed me that a Haiku has to have something to do with the seasons.
So!
I present a second attempt!
Hoor Haiku 2
Hoors live below me
Knickers fall like autumn leaves
If they wear them, like
So!
I present a second attempt!
Hoor Haiku 2
Hoors live below me
Knickers fall like autumn leaves
If they wear them, like
Friday, September 17, 2004
Hoor Haiku #1
Well the hoors have been quiet for a wee while now... So I thought I'd brighten up my blog a little by the introduction of a new medium: The Haiku.
According to http://home.clara.net/pka/haiku/haiku.htm,
- a haiku usually has 17 syllables, often in the form 5-7-5.
- a haiku can describe almost anything
- you seldom find complicated themes in a haiku.
In fact, according to http://www.toyomasu.com/haiku/#howtowritehaiku, "some of the most thrilling haiku poems describe daily situations in a way that gives the reader a brand new experience of a well known situation.
Thus educated, I present here my first attempt:
my neighbours arehoors
men they service in their flat
cockney hoors are they
According to http://home.clara.net/pka/haiku/haiku.htm,
- a haiku usually has 17 syllables, often in the form 5-7-5.
- a haiku can describe almost anything
- you seldom find complicated themes in a haiku.
In fact, according to http://www.toyomasu.com/haiku/#howtowritehaiku, "some of the most thrilling haiku poems describe daily situations in a way that gives the reader a brand new experience of a well known situation.
Thus educated, I present here my first attempt:
my neighbours arehoors
men they service in their flat
cockney hoors are they
Thursday, September 16, 2004
Search Engines
This is going to be a very short one... I've just signed up for this thing where you can find out how people are linking to your site... and I found a lot of funny stuff - thanks to everyone linking to me! :)
But the best was this...
A google search on "brothel" and "interior decorating"...
...
...
...
(stifles a giggle)
But the best was this...
A google search on "brothel" and "interior decorating"...
...
...
...
(stifles a giggle)
Monday, September 13, 2004
Interesting Social Experiment
Coo!
According to Blogshares, My Neighbours Are Hoors is categorised as "Social Commentary."
Does this put me in the same league as The Baghdad Blog and Charles Dickens?
According to Blogshares, My Neighbours Are Hoors is categorised as "Social Commentary."
Does this put me in the same league as The Baghdad Blog and Charles Dickens?
GAAAAH! part 3.
Well...
The door HAS been fixed.
But it has been fixed by a Bloody Great Screw of Death which is protruding through the outside of the door by at least 1 1/2 sharp centimeters... I'm considering going down with a wee hammer and flattening it's sharp nastiness or just sawing the tip off. (I feel you men cringe).
Hmm. I wonder...
If you're in Asdas and there's a foosty old cabbage on the floor and you stand on it and go skiting off into the display of chicken curry pies thus dislocating your shoulder... Then you can sue them right? And I assume they must have some sort of insurance?
So. If you're a punter and there's a foosty old sharp screw sticking out of the brothel door and you lacerate your hand on it... What then? Can you sue a Hoor? Do they have insurance for bad screws?
The door HAS been fixed.
But it has been fixed by a Bloody Great Screw of Death which is protruding through the outside of the door by at least 1 1/2 sharp centimeters... I'm considering going down with a wee hammer and flattening it's sharp nastiness or just sawing the tip off. (I feel you men cringe).
Hmm. I wonder...
If you're in Asdas and there's a foosty old cabbage on the floor and you stand on it and go skiting off into the display of chicken curry pies thus dislocating your shoulder... Then you can sue them right? And I assume they must have some sort of insurance?
So. If you're a punter and there's a foosty old sharp screw sticking out of the brothel door and you lacerate your hand on it... What then? Can you sue a Hoor? Do they have insurance for bad screws?
Gaaaaah Again
Since last night, the rest of the lock has been ripped off the door and thrown on the ground.
The hall outside the Hoors and Council Man is flooded.
I mean... WTF!?!?
The hall outside the Hoors and Council Man is flooded.
I mean... WTF!?!?
Sunday, September 12, 2004
Gaaaah!
Just before I went away for the weekend, I was delighted to find the door to the tennement had been fixed. I was going to fluff happily on about it when I got back. I was going to stick up a notice thanking the fix-er for his/her hard work. That was on friday.
BUT!!!
I come home today and what do i find? Some bloody bastard has kicked the door in again! I mean... HELLO!?!
Just because your druggie mates don't have a key to the tennement it doesn't mean you can just kick in the newly fixed door!
GAAH!
BUT!!!
I come home today and what do i find? Some bloody bastard has kicked the door in again! I mean... HELLO!?!
Just because your druggie mates don't have a key to the tennement it doesn't mean you can just kick in the newly fixed door!
GAAH!
Thursday, September 09, 2004
help wanted
So... does anyone know of a web page where you can "dress up" a "doll" ?
You know... like when you were a kid you got those cardboard doll things and then cut out clothes to put on them with silly paper tags... They always fell off and then got sucked up the hoover leaving poor cardboard dolly displaying her carboard qualities to the world...
Anyway. Somewhere on the net there MUST be something like that... If anyone knows of on - then I can have a dress up hoor dolly and copy our hoor's outfits everytime I pass them in the hallway.
Let me know!
You know... like when you were a kid you got those cardboard doll things and then cut out clothes to put on them with silly paper tags... They always fell off and then got sucked up the hoover leaving poor cardboard dolly displaying her carboard qualities to the world...
Anyway. Somewhere on the net there MUST be something like that... If anyone knows of on - then I can have a dress up hoor dolly and copy our hoor's outfits everytime I pass them in the hallway.
Let me know!
Sunday, September 05, 2004
Gardyloo!*
My Neighbours are Hoors - and 18th Century Peasants!!!
Or so it seems anyway. You come home from a wedding. You park your car. You get out of your car and as you are locking it, you sigh as you hear the 24 Hour Party People partying with the window open. You grumble as you make your way down the street to your tennement. You panick as you hear them go "Heymin! Dinna bother waitin' fur him tae get oot! Just CHUCK IT OOT THE WINDAE!"
Was I being paranoid that I panicked and crossed the road and waited 5 minutes in the shadows before daring to tiptoe across the road and up to my flat? I didn't get covered in a bucket of pee though.
* Gardlyloo. (gär' dè lòò'). interj. (a cry formerly used in Scotland to warn pedestrians when slops were about to be thrown from an upstairs window.) [Anglicized form of F gare (de) l'eau beware of the water] (Webster's New Universal Unabridged Dictionary, © 1989 - Dilithium Press, Ltd.)
Or so it seems anyway. You come home from a wedding. You park your car. You get out of your car and as you are locking it, you sigh as you hear the 24 Hour Party People partying with the window open. You grumble as you make your way down the street to your tennement. You panick as you hear them go "Heymin! Dinna bother waitin' fur him tae get oot! Just CHUCK IT OOT THE WINDAE!"
Was I being paranoid that I panicked and crossed the road and waited 5 minutes in the shadows before daring to tiptoe across the road and up to my flat? I didn't get covered in a bucket of pee though.
* Gardlyloo. (gär' dè lòò'). interj. (a cry formerly used in Scotland to warn pedestrians when slops were about to be thrown from an upstairs window.) [Anglicized form of F gare (de) l'eau beware of the water] (Webster's New Universal Unabridged Dictionary, © 1989 - Dilithium Press, Ltd.)
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
I'm Not Alone!
J, who used to be my upstairs neighbour just mailed me the following article which appeared in the local paper while I was away.
It seems that I am not alone in being teh neighbour of teh hoors... perhaps I should keep my eye out for similar blogs in my city! :D
Placenames have been changed... to protect the, um. City reputation (?)
"POLICE IN CRACKDOWN ON RENTED FLATS USED BY CITY'S PROSTITUTES
16:00 - 21 August 2004
Police have launched a crackdown on brothels in The Grey Toon.
Letters have been sent to solicitors and letting agents after police found people are letting properties for themselves then sub-letting them to prostitutes. Two women have been reported to the procurator fiscal as a result of the crackdown.
Three addresses were given in the Hardgate and Union Grove area of the city, where flats were being sub-let to prostitutes who were using them as brothels.
Grampian Police's Detective Chief Inspector Eric Leslie said: "As a result of this information we found that people are renting properties, which they themselves are leasing from agencies, to prostitutes to make money.
"In effect these people are party to habitual prostitution, which is an offence.
"We sent out the letters to raise awareness among businesses in The Grey Toon who are letting flats in the city.
"I felt it was important that they were made aware of what was happening.
"Officers have been calling round as well to let them know.
"The letter tells them that if they are aware that this kind of activity is going on they could be committing an offence."
Police discovered that some people are sub- letting the flats to the prostitutes for around £600 to £700 a week, more than they would be paying the letting agent in rent.
Investigations are continuing into the problem. But police are also hoping that if any solicitors or letting agents discover that people are breaking the law that they will contact them.
Another part of their ongoing investigation is newspaper advertisements placed by prostitutes. Hookers are using some newspapers to advertise "massages".
Within minutes of contacting one of the adverts in a national newspaper we found that a massage could cost around £40 but a range of "extra" services were on offer. Without further prompting a list of extras was given, including sex for £50 for half an hour. One woman who answered another line said that for an hour with one of the women it would cost £100. She said they had a number of women on offer. We passed our information on to the police.
DCI Leslie said those sub-letting the properties were charging the prostitutes a fortune in rent.
He said: "They are making a lot of money from it.
"It is a problem which we are addressing and, with the assistance of many others it is a problem that should go away.
"As you have discovered some girls advertise in newspapers with mobile phone numbers under different services.
"This is also something we are looking at."
DCI Leslie said that most of the prostitutes operating in The Grey Toon were from London, Manchester and Liverpool. But police have also found foreign nationals working as prostitutes in the city.
Prostitution is not just a problem within flats in the city. The Grey Toon still has a problem with prostitutes working the streets around the harbour. The Grey Toon has introduced an experimental tolerance zone to combat the street prostitution in the city. The zone covers St Clement Street, Miller Street and Church Street. If girls stick to working in these areas they are left along by police - if they step outside it they are arrested. A prostitute drop-in centre has also been introduced in the harbour area. The centre provides information about stopping or reducing drug-taking, employment and housing. The centre has two members of staff who are aiming to build up a trust with visitors.
However, a similar tolerance zone in Edinburgh no longer operates. The zone in Leith was axed after complaints by locals. But Independent MSP Margo MacDonald says that since the tolerance zone was scrapped assaults on prostitutes had soared 10-fold.
My conclusions?
1) I'm really quite privileged to have these fine women as my neighbours
2) You don't need good grammar or spelling to work for the local paper...
It seems that I am not alone in being teh neighbour of teh hoors... perhaps I should keep my eye out for similar blogs in my city! :D
Placenames have been changed... to protect the, um. City reputation (?)
"POLICE IN CRACKDOWN ON RENTED FLATS USED BY CITY'S PROSTITUTES
16:00 - 21 August 2004
Police have launched a crackdown on brothels in The Grey Toon.
Letters have been sent to solicitors and letting agents after police found people are letting properties for themselves then sub-letting them to prostitutes. Two women have been reported to the procurator fiscal as a result of the crackdown.
Three addresses were given in the Hardgate and Union Grove area of the city, where flats were being sub-let to prostitutes who were using them as brothels.
Grampian Police's Detective Chief Inspector Eric Leslie said: "As a result of this information we found that people are renting properties, which they themselves are leasing from agencies, to prostitutes to make money.
"In effect these people are party to habitual prostitution, which is an offence.
"We sent out the letters to raise awareness among businesses in The Grey Toon who are letting flats in the city.
"I felt it was important that they were made aware of what was happening.
"Officers have been calling round as well to let them know.
"The letter tells them that if they are aware that this kind of activity is going on they could be committing an offence."
Police discovered that some people are sub- letting the flats to the prostitutes for around £600 to £700 a week, more than they would be paying the letting agent in rent.
Investigations are continuing into the problem. But police are also hoping that if any solicitors or letting agents discover that people are breaking the law that they will contact them.
Another part of their ongoing investigation is newspaper advertisements placed by prostitutes. Hookers are using some newspapers to advertise "massages".
Within minutes of contacting one of the adverts in a national newspaper we found that a massage could cost around £40 but a range of "extra" services were on offer. Without further prompting a list of extras was given, including sex for £50 for half an hour. One woman who answered another line said that for an hour with one of the women it would cost £100. She said they had a number of women on offer. We passed our information on to the police.
DCI Leslie said those sub-letting the properties were charging the prostitutes a fortune in rent.
He said: "They are making a lot of money from it.
"It is a problem which we are addressing and, with the assistance of many others it is a problem that should go away.
"As you have discovered some girls advertise in newspapers with mobile phone numbers under different services.
"This is also something we are looking at."
DCI Leslie said that most of the prostitutes operating in The Grey Toon were from London, Manchester and Liverpool. But police have also found foreign nationals working as prostitutes in the city.
Prostitution is not just a problem within flats in the city. The Grey Toon still has a problem with prostitutes working the streets around the harbour. The Grey Toon has introduced an experimental tolerance zone to combat the street prostitution in the city. The zone covers St Clement Street, Miller Street and Church Street. If girls stick to working in these areas they are left along by police - if they step outside it they are arrested. A prostitute drop-in centre has also been introduced in the harbour area. The centre provides information about stopping or reducing drug-taking, employment and housing. The centre has two members of staff who are aiming to build up a trust with visitors.
However, a similar tolerance zone in Edinburgh no longer operates. The zone in Leith was axed after complaints by locals. But Independent MSP Margo MacDonald says that since the tolerance zone was scrapped assaults on prostitutes had soared 10-fold.
My conclusions?
1) I'm really quite privileged to have these fine women as my neighbours
2) You don't need good grammar or spelling to work for the local paper...
Sunday, August 22, 2004
A Falling Out
I'll keep this brief because, to be quite honest, I haven't a bloody clue what was going on last night...
I was woken up at about half three in the morning by bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang... (of the slamming on door kind, not of any other banging the hoors might be doing) and to start off with i didn't even realise the screaming was in english...
So it took me ages to wake up and figure out what was happening (as usual) and I figured out it was this:
1) two hoors work in the ground floor flat together (rather than one hoor and one welsh dumpling).
2) Hoor one has nicked 100 quid and run off with it.
3) Hoor one has shacked up with the 24 hour party people and is refusing to come out.
4) This is why Hoor two is now banging furiously on the door of the 24 hour party people and why I am not getting any sleep.
Evidence for this conclusion:
1) hoor number two banging on door of 24 hour party people in what I figured out to be a Yorkshire accent going "Come out ya bitch! That's my money too you know!"
2) Hoor number two going "If you don't come out I'm phoning the
police!"
3) Hoor number one and 24 hour party people keeping very still and silent.
4) Hoor number two making a very loud and pointed phonecall to the police featuring the following quotes:
- "Hi yes. My friend has stolen 100 quid and has shacked up with the wierdo druggie upstairs. She's not coming out"
- "No, we're both from leeds. We're just staying here with a... friend."
- "What do i want you to do about it? I want you to go in there and get me bloody munnee!"
I got names and ages and everything... but I won't use them. That'd be crass.
I was woken up at about half three in the morning by bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang... (of the slamming on door kind, not of any other banging the hoors might be doing) and to start off with i didn't even realise the screaming was in english...
So it took me ages to wake up and figure out what was happening (as usual) and I figured out it was this:
1) two hoors work in the ground floor flat together (rather than one hoor and one welsh dumpling).
2) Hoor one has nicked 100 quid and run off with it.
3) Hoor one has shacked up with the 24 hour party people and is refusing to come out.
4) This is why Hoor two is now banging furiously on the door of the 24 hour party people and why I am not getting any sleep.
Evidence for this conclusion:
1) hoor number two banging on door of 24 hour party people in what I figured out to be a Yorkshire accent going "Come out ya bitch! That's my money too you know!"
2) Hoor number two going "If you don't come out I'm phoning the
police!"
3) Hoor number one and 24 hour party people keeping very still and silent.
4) Hoor number two making a very loud and pointed phonecall to the police featuring the following quotes:
- "Hi yes. My friend has stolen 100 quid and has shacked up with the wierdo druggie upstairs. She's not coming out"
- "No, we're both from leeds. We're just staying here with a... friend."
- "What do i want you to do about it? I want you to go in there and get me bloody munnee!"
I got names and ages and everything... but I won't use them. That'd be crass.
Saturday, August 21, 2004
Google Whacking
Sadly "Welsh Dumpling" is not a true Google Whack. Use inverted commas and this web page is the only result, but if you don't use them... This is the 12th result.
ooh and if you put in Hoors and Neighbours, I am most of the results! Me and religion.
God I'm bored.
+
ooh and if you put in Hoors and Neighbours, I am most of the results! Me and religion.
God I'm bored.
+
The Welsh Dumpling
I was thinking about The Welsh Dumpling and how she's not been seen for so long.
She used to be the Madame of the House (of Negotiable Affection) and, sadly, I only ever had one encounter with her.
I was happily skipping down the stairs in my steel toe caps (which I wear for work, not for kicking people) at 7am and poor sleepy-headed Welsh Dumpling opened the door to the Hoor's flat.
"Good Morning" she croaked in a beautiful Valley lilt (honestly, she did!) "Do you live above me?"
I stopped on the bottom stair. I was Torn between being amused at the Welsh Dumpling (whom I'd read about on the "Which Hoor" webpage - see my post on 15 March 2004) and being guilty about waking the poor woman up. "No, I'm two floors up," I said.
"Oh right," she said sleepily. "It's just that... Well. I know that we ladies here can hardly complain, but whoever lives up there (she points), makes an AWFUL noise - and we're lacking our beauty sleep you see." (You have to read this in your head like Gladys from Hi De Hi to get the full effect)
I apologised for skipping about in my doc martens and told her he (the guy on the first floor) had sanded his floorboards and that was what was making the noise. She smiled and vanished back into her boudoir.
Now. I was delighted to find that the Welsh Dumpling was actually Welsh... and I can imagine that, in the eyes of some old punter, she could be a dumpling... but I have been thinking... And the results of my thoughts were this:
An equation. To describe the welsh dumpling (who is in one word, matronly.) And this can be summed up by the following graphic:
The Welsh Dumpling = Annie Walker off Coronation Street in the 80's + Peggy Mitchell off Eastenders in the 90's + Wales. (There may have been a bit of Tammy Wynette in there too, but I can't imagine the Welsh Dumpling standing by any man for more than 45 minutes.)
She used to be the Madame of the House (of Negotiable Affection) and, sadly, I only ever had one encounter with her.
I was happily skipping down the stairs in my steel toe caps (which I wear for work, not for kicking people) at 7am and poor sleepy-headed Welsh Dumpling opened the door to the Hoor's flat.
"Good Morning" she croaked in a beautiful Valley lilt (honestly, she did!) "Do you live above me?"
I stopped on the bottom stair. I was Torn between being amused at the Welsh Dumpling (whom I'd read about on the "Which Hoor" webpage - see my post on 15 March 2004) and being guilty about waking the poor woman up. "No, I'm two floors up," I said.
"Oh right," she said sleepily. "It's just that... Well. I know that we ladies here can hardly complain, but whoever lives up there (she points), makes an AWFUL noise - and we're lacking our beauty sleep you see." (You have to read this in your head like Gladys from Hi De Hi to get the full effect)
I apologised for skipping about in my doc martens and told her he (the guy on the first floor) had sanded his floorboards and that was what was making the noise. She smiled and vanished back into her boudoir.
Now. I was delighted to find that the Welsh Dumpling was actually Welsh... and I can imagine that, in the eyes of some old punter, she could be a dumpling... but I have been thinking... And the results of my thoughts were this:
An equation. To describe the welsh dumpling (who is in one word, matronly.) And this can be summed up by the following graphic:
The Welsh Dumpling = Annie Walker off Coronation Street in the 80's + Peggy Mitchell off Eastenders in the 90's + Wales. (There may have been a bit of Tammy Wynette in there too, but I can't imagine the Welsh Dumpling standing by any man for more than 45 minutes.)
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Silence
The text equivalent of a tumbleweed rolls across my weblog.
I have been away for 3 weeks and there has been nothing broken, nothing stolen, no grafitti daubed, no car scratched, no credit cards nicked, no dead hoors in the newspapers, no windows smashed and no dog turds on the doorstep.
As part of my Pavlovian response... am I happy? Am I relaxed? Comfortable in my home environment? Chilled out? Pleased to see no death, vandalism, theft, vice or other chaos?
No. I'm bloody Suspicious. That's what.
I have been away for 3 weeks and there has been nothing broken, nothing stolen, no grafitti daubed, no car scratched, no credit cards nicked, no dead hoors in the newspapers, no windows smashed and no dog turds on the doorstep.
As part of my Pavlovian response... am I happy? Am I relaxed? Comfortable in my home environment? Chilled out? Pleased to see no death, vandalism, theft, vice or other chaos?
No. I'm bloody Suspicious. That's what.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Massage
I can't believe I've never told this story!
So...
This one day I was coming down the stairs about 4pm. It was a bright and breezy saturday afternoon and I was absorbed in checking my mail. I trotted down the tennement stairs and I took a bite of my apple and read a postcard as I approached the tennement door. (Artistic licence). I flipped the latch and opened it... still absorbed by my (genius) postcard.
Outside there stood a meek and gentle man. He was short in stature with a childish chubby face and a puzzled expression. He was perusing the buzzers.
I stopped on the step for a brief second as I saw him. He looked confused, guilty, panicky and then appeared to reach some sort of conclusion all in the space of one second.
"Aaaah... ehhhh... Hello!" He said. He grinned. It's a stereotype, I know. but it was a sheepish grin.
"Hello." He said again. "I was told there was a... ehhh... Massage Parlour! In this here building" he grinned again, this time triumphantly.
I admit to rolling my eyes and pointing to their buzzer. If I was a liar as well as a storyteller, I'd have told you I pointed to the buzzer of the 6ft 4 bodybuilder on the 3rd floor.
So...
This one day I was coming down the stairs about 4pm. It was a bright and breezy saturday afternoon and I was absorbed in checking my mail. I trotted down the tennement stairs and I took a bite of my apple and read a postcard as I approached the tennement door. (Artistic licence). I flipped the latch and opened it... still absorbed by my (genius) postcard.
Outside there stood a meek and gentle man. He was short in stature with a childish chubby face and a puzzled expression. He was perusing the buzzers.
I stopped on the step for a brief second as I saw him. He looked confused, guilty, panicky and then appeared to reach some sort of conclusion all in the space of one second.
"Aaaah... ehhhh... Hello!" He said. He grinned. It's a stereotype, I know. but it was a sheepish grin.
"Hello." He said again. "I was told there was a... ehhh... Massage Parlour! In this here building" he grinned again, this time triumphantly.
I admit to rolling my eyes and pointing to their buzzer. If I was a liar as well as a storyteller, I'd have told you I pointed to the buzzer of the 6ft 4 bodybuilder on the 3rd floor.
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