Hasta luego, old friends. Ciao bella, à la prochaine, vidimo se slejedeći put… later, dudes. Aye, it’s Brexit day, but I wouldn’t go as far as cheerio, cheerio, cheerio. Nonetheless, it’s a momentous date in our history, this dismal last day of January. The day we officially wave off our European compañeros for a life on our
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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
Wonga, dosh, moolah and wedge. Money has been much on my mind this month and not just because Christmas is starting to exert its ruinous grip. In fact, the economic devastation begins early chez nous thanks to the Word Up Wean’s insistence on having his birthday in November. Inconsiderate wee blighter. However, there’s nothing like the annual
There’s not a single ounce of hippy in this auld rude girl’s DNA, but recently a Zen-like state of calm has descended over a psyche which has been rather prone to turbulent tendencies. This emotional equilibrium joins a diverse psychological CV, and although composure is certainly not always present, there’s been a noticeable shift away from stormy waters.
It gladdened this old heart to watch a quietly spoken but authoritative woman deliver some solid blows against some decidedly anti-democratic behaviour this week. That Lady Hale was sporting a rather splendid spider brooch only added sartorial shine to her forcefield. All hail Spiderwoman. As a woman of a certain age myself, it was bloody marvellous to see
Two weeks on the Dalmatian coast did wonders for this old wordsmith’s suntan, but a long overdue holiday unexpectedly left me with a yawning gap in my life. This spiritual hole is not so much existential crisis, simply a severe case of ennui. That feels a bit wrong. Holidays are supposed to invigorate and energise, aren’t they? I’m
Loneliness comes with the territory when you’re a sole trader. Or at least, that’s the perceived small business wisdom. And yes, ploughing your own furrow can mean that working life is sometimes solitary and alienating. In fact, unless you are completely comfortable working on your ownio, you can go a bit bonkers without colleagues to shoot the
Hold your noses, folks, there’s a foul stench in the air. It reeks to high heaven, is turning my stomach and making me mad. And that’s because my pungency allegory extends way beyond pong. I’ve been clamping my nostrils tightly for a couple of years now, particularly when travelling by bus (public transport and two wheels being the favoured
Happiness, huh? Totally overrated if you ask me. Truth told, I’m a crabbit old cow. My natural state of grump has been embedded even more deeply lately by the omnipresence of the happiness industry. Even a cursory glance through certain social media platforms or a skim of the self-help section in your local bookshop confirms our apparently limitless search
Today was momentous. Because today is the day we didn’t leave Europe. Not only did we fail to depart, but our conscious uncoupling is yet further delayed after the PM’s latest defeat looks set to leave democracy clinging on in utter disharmony for the foreseeable. But for ordinary punters like me (who didn’t want to
