Not exactly Amsterdam –

The Kerryman rang me, said: ‘I’m just finished work. Fuckin mad day.’
‘What happened?’
‘Shtop. I was up a ladder, drilling a hole in the wall, everything was goin grand…’
‘Right…’
‘Next thing, I heard this screamin comin from somewhere.’
‘Where?’
‘I looked around, up, down, behind me, and I seen nothin, so I just kept goin. Next thing I could hear someone knocking, like knocking on a window, so I looked up. And what did I see?’
‘What?’
‘A woman there, screaming, bangin the window, goin mental, and she wearin feckin nothin!’
‘Heh?’
‘I’m fuckin serious. Knockers on her the size of two big basketballs and long blonde hair and big thick lipstick….next thing she pulled up the window…”Hey!” she goes. “What the hell do you think you’re up to?”

  Jes I got a bit of a shock alright, and I was kinda tryin to look, and not look, and answer her at the same time….so what’s wrong, says I. “It’s 11 O’clock in the fucking morning is what’s wrong!!!’
‘Sure I’m only tryin to work…’ says I
“Well can you work somewhere else?” She goes. “You’re costin me money.”
I says how am I costing you money?
‘Next thing the front door opened and out runs this big fat fella and not a stitch of clothes on him. He was holding his pants, shoes, shirt, tie in all his hands and his bollocks swinging back and over, and he took one scared look at me and went off running across the garden and into his car!’
‘Who was he?’
‘Wait til I tell ya. He was like a white bowl of jelly on legs,  drivin one of these white Hynudai Ix35’s and he didn’t even put on his trousers, just sat in with his big dirty arse and sped off like fuck…so I looked back up at your one and she goes “See! I didn’t even get paid!”
Paid for what? Says I.
“He was a customer you bloody fool! You and your stupid drill and your big stupid noisy tools making holes in the bloody walls!”
I said: ‘What, she was a hooker?’
‘She fuckin was! And a fine lookin one at that. If I was single and I met her in a Niteclub I’d bring her home no problem at all.’
‘Mental.’
“I want to talk to your supervisor,” She goes. “and make a complaint.”’
‘Sound.’ Says I.  ‘So I went up to the supervisor and told him and he told me to fuck off and said I had a mighty imagination. But anyway, didn’t we ask around, and turns out it was a fact. Most expensive hooker for miles around.’
‘And why did your man run away?’
‘Sure when he heard me doin all the bangin he thought it was the cops doin a raid and he fucked off as fast as he could! Be hard enough for him to explain what he was doin there at 11 O’clock on a Tuesday morning, never mind the fact that he was wearin nathin! The stupid prick….we’re not exactly living in Amsterdam now like…’

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