Squeak

Squeak.

Squeak.

Squeaky F**king Squeak Squeak Squeak.

I'm sure you ALL know who I'm talking about. Perhaps there isn't actually any need to go on. But I shall. Squeak was one of Aberdeen's most persistant street artists - a fine quine of admirable robotic movements that would stand outside Markies on her "plinth" entertaining the fine folk of the Granite City with her impression of an android that's got a dog's chew toy stuck in it's throat.

She was dressed all in white from her white leg warmers and wooly tights (sorry, but I have to back her up here... Aberdeen is bloody cold at times) to her skirt made out of lace curtain screens and her sparkly white and silvery top, to her goth-white robotic face.

And boy... Did she squeak. I remember being in the Clydesdale applying for my mortgage. Everything was going very well until Squeak came back from lunch and once again took her plinth. At this point the nice Clydesdale lady made a face I've only ever seen in films where someone is suffering Chinese Water Torture. Squeaky Squeaky. Squeaky Squeaky. Squeak. Squeak. Squeaaaaaaaaaak. Poor bank lady couldn't get out of the mortgage interview room quick enough! Actually... considering the state of the flat I moved in to, I should maybe track Squeak down and thank her for her assistance in pushing my mortgage through...

Sadly, she's either Squeaking in another lucky city, far from here or has gone and gotten herself a proper job, as I've not seen her about Aberdeen for a long, long time... [Taken from http://aberdeentramps.blogspot.co.uk - written on 17/09/05]