Finding the positives is a big ask during these interminable pandemic times. Yeah, on paper it’s good to focus on silver linings, half full glasses, the bright side etc, but c’mon, let’s get real. The oppressive weight of this Covid crapola makes it bloody hard to slam on a smile. Being grateful for the small
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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
Don’t let appearances deceive you, I am actually an athlete. Yesterday I managed a whole 3k. Actually, it was 2.94k of snail’s pace jogging but it’s always important to exaggerate one’s sporting endeavours. And believe me, that 2.94k felt worthy of a podium place after almost a year of doing heehaw to get a sweat
Flat as a pancake. My mood, that is. But given that we’re all in the same pandemic-riddled situation, swamped by a dank, oppressive January gloom, I thought I might offer up a bit of levity. Or should that be levain? Veteran and budding bakers will be familiar with that word, indeed it may fill some
Look, I’m all about words, not numbers. But a deadly blend of pandemic fiscal fallout and Rishi Sunak statements have been sending my thoughts into unchartered economic waters recently. It feels important to set my stall out here. Despite the fact that I am a small business owner, what I know about economics could be
You know you’re not quite yourself when music isn’t offering much solace. That’s some serious shizzle if, like me, your lifelong love affair with melody is currently dialled down to a low peep. A recent trawl through some all-time favourite choons (and god knows, there’s a lot of them) couldn’t locate a single soothing rhythm
Blurry, foggy and fuzzy. Everything feels so indistinct these days. It’s difficult to grasp anything tangible, let alone find a break in the clouds to gaze at distant horizons. Never mind taking the long view, when it comes to commerce I can barely see into next week. No, I’ve not ground to a halt or
Sticky, sprung floors; hundreds of sweaty bodies swaying, skanking or simply wigging out; one-two-three-four; the crowd singing along as one voice; and getting mangled in the mosh pit. Live music, it’s the very stuff of this veteran’s gig-goer’s dreams. Tragically, gig-going does feel like a distant dream in these virulent times. A euphoric, soul-cleansing, heart-lifting,
Some of my best friends were people of colour. Now before you start raising your liberal eyebrows, this is not intended as an exercise in anti-racist virtue signalling, these words come from a middle-aged, middle class white woman who speaks as one who’s led a two tone life, right from the off. Colour, creed or race were never,
It’s seismic stuff, innit. The last 66 days of Covid lockdown have meant massive change for absolutely everyone and everything. No part of our daily lives has been unaffected. The ripples have reached families and individuals, businesses and services, routines and recreation, even institutions have felt the fallout – just look at Westminster… One of the places where
Apocalypse now, or just dress rehearsal?
The depths of winter and the short days don’t help lift the midwinter gloom, but at least recent bright skies and glittering frost have offered some cheer. Sadly, sparkling patterns and dainty ice-drapery are not enough to silence the doomsday chorus which is currently building up to a crescendo. I wouldn’t normally describe myself as