Steamy Windows

And on the way back to my flat from the pub, my friends tried to look in to see the aforementioned toiletries to see what had made me look so pale on my entrance to the pub.

But they couldn't see anything.

The windows were steamed up.

Nosy Neighbour

The nosy neighbour of the title being me.

Well if it's dark outside and the light is on inside (as my often naked neighbour proves) you can see in quite well. And who amongst you could resist a subtle peek?

OK, so passing the hoors window on the way out last night, the hoors had their light on and the curtain was caught on something. So, while I couldn't see into the flat, I could see the contents of the coffee table in front of the window.

One word: Ewwwwwwwwwww!

Very neat hoor this one. Perfectly lined up KY Jelly, Andrex and Baby Wipes.

By Popular Request... The Naked Man

Well, I do have some other stuff to post about, but as there have been so many requests... I will tell you about the Naked Neighbour.

No idea why I didn't post it before, I guess I just didn't bother because he's not in this building. I've been seeing him regularly for about 3 years now, and me and the nice neighbour with the cool hair were talking last week when I discovered nice neighbour had been seeing him too.

Put it this way, it's pretty hard not to see him as he puts on his kitchen lights and then parades around in "the altogether!" In the nudd!

He lives on the same floor as me in the tennement across the back gardens from us. And boy he thinks he's mighty fine!

Which he actually is. He's sort of like the fat naked guy from Friends, but not fat. He's really quite buff. But I'm getting distracted.

A typical morning will go like this:

alarm: beep beeep beeeeeep!
me: surely it's only 3am
alarm: naaah. it's 7. you have to get up. you have to get up and go to work
me: fuck.
body: noooooooo!
*gets up and goes to the kitchen*
*drinks water*
*looks up*
me: Oh my! there is a semi naked man in the flat accross from me drinking water too. except he is naked from the waist up!
semi naked man: mmmm I have such a well toned torso. this is nice cool water
me: he must have slept in. hence his lack of shirt.
semi naked man: time to go
*semi naked man turns round and walks out of his kitchen showing his perfectly formed (and naked) buttocks.
me: *gasps* !?!?!??!

Eight Days A Week (Cleaning the stairs contd.)

Following our chat about our neighbours (remind me to tell you about the naked guy), the nice guy next door went on upstairs for a nice cup of coffee.

I continued battering about on the stairs with my brush and mop in a vague attempt to get them clean. I was almost at the ground floor, my rubber gloves now a dirty shade of pink and my attractive headscarf at a slightly disheviled angle.

And I can now positively say that Cockney Hoors have been been knocked off the number-one-hoor Spot in my affection by... Liverpuddlian Hoors! (That's the ones from Liverpool for those of you not in the know).

A beautiful Amazonian Hoor (honestly, tall and smooth skinned and elegant) and a short, grinning, toothless, dumpy old woman with the general Nanny-Ogg look had just come through the door.

"Ello chuck!" Said Nanny, her eyes twinkling. "You're doin' a right grand job thur!"

I stood up and adjusted my headscarf, "Aye! Almost done, and it's good exercise"

The Amazonian Hoor gave me a big smile and said "Well it's lookin' just loovely! We're off to dew a bit of cleanin' ahrselves!"

Right enough, they were carrying Asda bags full of cleaning products. Off they went into the flat and after some happy Liverpuddlian banter I could hear the sounds of air freshener being liberally scooshed around the flat.

I'm delighted to be able to tell you that it was soon drowned out by the sound of The Beatles' Eight Days A Week.

(For as much as I love a clean hoor, I love a good stereotype even more.)

My Neighbours Are Hoors: A Glossary

Thanks to all my friends in the New World for their comments and feedback - apparently sometimes I get a bit carried away though. Hear me in real life and you'd need a translator! (Comparisons to fishwives are common). Thanks to all the commenters who helped me out with translations! (McFox, Kevin) If there are any more requests, I will oblige!

So henceforth, I proudly present...

THE MY NEIGHBOURS ARE HOORS GLOSSARY

Arsed Bothered. As in "I cannae be arsed" - I can't be bothered.

Baps Breasts or a floury bread roll.

Chav Definition once again from Urbandictionary.com. Now in the Oxford English Dictionary.

Corrie Coronation Street. A British soap opera.

Dour Of Miserable Countenance.

Foosty Rotten.

"Fuck You, You Fucking Fuck!" The best insult known to mankind.

Havering Speaking nonsense. Best word ever to appear in a song by The Proclaimers.

Hoor A Prostitute. I use it as a fond substitution for "whore." Also, a "maiden" in the Quran. That's not what this blog is about though...

Ken Not a guy called Kenneth, but "to know." As in "Ah ken!" - I know! Often added on to the end of a sentance as in "I think my neighbours are running a brothel, ken?" ie "I think my neighbours are running a brothel, you know?"

Jings, Crivvens and Help Ma Boab! Exclamation used originally in the Oor Wullie/Broons comics in the terrible Scottish newspaper, The Sunday Post. Now in common use.

Laddie Also "Loon" - a young man, a boy.

Michty Me! "Oh my goodness me!" (often said with a sharp intake of breath). Used to convey shock or exhaustion.

Min Man. As in, "Give me a break, man!" Often stuck in sentences by residents of the Grey Toon for no good grammatical reason (also Like, Ken, and Fit)

Ned See also "Chav" - A young hooligan, a waster, possibly a bit like Trailer Trash. When Britney got married in a tracksuit and ate burgers, she was a Ned.

Numpti Pronounced, "Nump-Tae" - a person of limited intellect, an eejit (stupid person), someone who continually makes (the same) mistakes.

Pissed/Pished Drunk. I could write a whole new blog on the amount of words Scots have for being drunk. and hence...

Pissheid Pronounced "Piss-heed" - a person who is a frequent visitor to drinking establishments and slavers (talks with little sense being made).

Peuk To Vomit. Something you do if you have been Pished. Something little kids like to do all over our stairwell. Grrrrrrrrrrr!

Polis Police. Pronounced, "Pole-isss"
- strangers who kick down your door in the middle of the night and shout "fuck, wrang hoos!" (meaning they have had a navigational error and are in the wrong premises.


Punter A Prostitute's Client. I've been told "John" is the American equivalent.

Quine A young lady, a girl.

Slag Slut. Woman of loose morals.

Slagging Bad-mouthing. "Slagging someone off" means you're not saying very nice things about them.

Journey Home

Now I can tell you about the journey home, one week later, from the airport!

For once the taxi was organised by the company and met me at the airport. We drove home with the usual taxi driver banter and chit-chat.

Almost all the way home and I tell him where to stop. "It's easier for you to turn the taxi round here. Just drop me off here."

He pauses. (I have to sign a chit if the company is to pay for my taxi fare). I suppose he is just calculating the cost of the fare, but no. He is THINKING.

He looks me in the eye. He hands me the chit to sign.

"Tell me..." he says edgily... "I'm new to the Grey Toon. I really don't mean to be rude, but is this a Red Light District!?"

I laugh. I pick up my bags ready to leave the taxi.

"You'll be talking about the brothel on the ground floor of my tennement then?" I give him the door number.

He looks horrified. He apologies, "Oh I'm so sorry! If I'd known it was true and that you lived there, I'd never have said anything"

So I laughed. "Yes. They are working girls."

He looks a bit white in the face, like he's going to get the sack for harassing a customer. "Only, I've picked girls up from there before and they were dressed like.... like... well! I can only say they were dressed like Prostitutes!"

(There are some words only a Scot can pronounce with such utter comedy that one would see in a 1940's Ealing comedy. I have to say that he didn't say "Prostitutes!" so much as "pRRRRosTiTutes!!!!!!" like he was about to quote from the bible)

"Aye. That'll be them." I agreed.

"Haven't you reported them to the Polis!?" he askes, quite clearly shocked at how calm I am.

"They keep the hallway clean, they smile at me, they say good evening, they provide an essential service and they cause me so much less hassle than the guy below me with the stereo and the psycho friends... The police know about them. But to be honest, there's more out there for them to bother themselves about."

He replies "Ohhhh! I didnae mean ony offence... I was just suspicious. You know! I've picked up a few lassies. Drop offs. And they were... Well... Well... They were dressed like... pRRRRosTiTutes!!!!!!

"Ah just suspected. Tha's all." He grinned.

I grinned. I wished him good day.

And went to the pub.

(p.s. we passed through the red light district on the way home from the cinema last night. Hoors were out in full force. However no one legged hoor was spotted.)

The Taxi Driver's Tale: "The One Legged Hoor!"

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.

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!"

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!

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.

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 ;)

Hoor: A definition

While I was looking up "punter" the other day, I was delighted to find this on urbandictionary.com.

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.

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)

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!)

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...)

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...

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.

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

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.

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.

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?

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)

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.

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.

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. :)

"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.

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...

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.

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

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! :)

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)

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.

"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

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!?!?)

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.

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? :)

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 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 ;)

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 !

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."

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?

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! :)

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

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

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)

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?

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?

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!?!?

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!

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!

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.)