Frazzled, fried and fed up. Truth talking, sometimes this small business malarkey takes a heavy toll. There are episodes in enterprise which are just not a laugh. Times when you’re clinging on by your fingernails and praying your shredded nerves can last just long enough ’til the next chance to draw breath presents itself. Times when
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The Last Word blog comes straight from the heart of WORD UP.
In our monthly online offering, we aim to please, entertain, and be brutally honest in our musings on small biz, middle aged motherhood, and life. But we sometimes raise hackles and spark off debate, so feel free to join in, or fire back if you don’t like what you read.
Our latest wordy witterings are posted right here on the last Friday of every month.
The Blog
Funny old things, humans. So simple and yet so utterly perplexing. Head-scratching and marvelling at human behaviour is one of my favourite pastimes, but I remain baffled at how some folks simply cannot evolve and adapt. And just when you think there are signs of real social progress, people go and do something a bit daft. It’s
It’s an emotional business being a sole trader. In a good year there’s plenty of highs, but the tough stuff can be hard to handle when you’re a solo flyer with no colleagues or partners to share the weight with or to dust you down when you’ve fallen on your small business bahookie. Perversely, it’s
Don’t look back in anger. Or so goes the Oasis song. And they’ve got a point. For the sake of our our mental health it’s probably not a good idea to dwell on the past. Maybe more of us should open those cupboards and let the skeletons loose. Maybe we ought to find ways to forgive those
Never mind some lighthearted digital chitchat, folks, this time it’s serious. Lately I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about God. But if you reckon you’re about to get some profound spiritual enlightenment, you’re probably barking up the wrong blog. The extent of my involvement with the holy father begins and ends with singing along at the top of my
It’s such fun being friends with a legend. My pal’s not a rockstar, footballer or A-list celeb. He’s not a soap star, an Oscar winner, a prince or a pin-up. He’s not even a household name. But my mate’s got legendary status in our wee corner of Glasgow, everyone knows who he is. What’s more, this ain’t
Sole trading soulsters will know exactly where I’m coming from when I borrow a line from the Reverend Al Green. Basically, folks, I’m so tired of being alone. Apologies for hackneyed plagiarism of a simply stunning and much-loved song, but it turns out that the quiet contentment of ploughing one’s own furrow was wearing a bit thin. It’s
Praise be, this year’s nearly over. Dunno about you, dear reader, but can’t say I’ll be sorry to see the back of 2017. Boy, it’s been weird. Good riddance to an annus discombobulous, say I. Come Hogmanay, I’ll be joining in with Big Ben’s bongs (which have been temporarily brought out of their campanological silence,
