The mercury’s soaring in Scotland, and my brain is fried. Actually, it’s not fried, it’s just slowed right down to a gentle simmer while Word Up is having some time off to enjoy a few rays and some R&R. But fear not, as the well suntan-oiled muscle machine that is Arnie Schwarzenegger, would say, I’ll
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The Last Word blog comes straight from the heart of WORD UP.
In our irregular online offering, we aim to please, entertain, and be brutally honest in our musings on small biz, the ageing process, 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.
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The Blog
It’s Glasgow. It’s 2014. Very soon some fabulously fit people are going to be doing their damnedest to take to the top step of a podium to be decorated with a golden gong. Medals, trophies, cups, statuettes, glittery baubles – we sure do place a lot of stock in the symbols of mighty endeavour on
Sole trading? It’s enough to make me sick. Picture the scene. It’s half an hour before you’re due to head off to deliver some work for a client, when the words that strike fear and loathing into the very soul of every sole trader or small business come calling. No, not “hello, this is HMRC,
Cardi, slippers and a wee sweet sherry? No, ta. I’m not quite ready for mind-numbing middle age. Or maybe I’m just kidding myself on. I’ve got just about enough marbles left to be well aware that I ain’t no spring chicken no more – the harsh truth of the matter is that I am well and truly
Two days into the school summer holidays, and my nerves are in tatters already… I’ve been fretting for weeks about how exactly I am going to carry on at the commercial coalface whilst the Word Up Wean is mumping, moaning, and generally getting under my feet whilst school’s out for summer. See, I’m not one
The customer’s always right, right? Wrong. Or at least, the customer’s opinion has to be taken with a large pinch of salt. Because frankly my dears, who can really be bothered with feedback? But before you come over all high and mighty, get down off that high horse. I don’t mean that the feedback I
Only kidding. Kidding myself, and everyone else, on. Because, you see, I’ve been telling fibs. Not wee white lies, but great big porkies. Not the kind of lies that are going to get me hauled up by the polis, or land me in the dock – I’m not a politician, a tabloid editor, a banker,
The fairy dust was sprinkled about liberally. As was the laughter. Yup, greasepaint, bright lights and the roar of the crowd were much in evidence at The Word Up Wean’s place of learning this week. We watched on in admiration as the brave souls of P6 & 7 wowed us, their adoring audience, with their
Stop that train, I wanna get off. Just lately the runaway train that is my life has been going a wee bit too fast for comfort. That hurtling at high velocity feeling is fun for a while, but it soon sends you spinning. I wouldn’t mind a few days pootling around the Cathcart circle on
I admit it. I’m expecting a large lump in the throat and a bit of subtle snivelling at about 1pm on Friday, 23 May. Because that’s the moment when my wee sis will be tying the knot with her bidey-in. And this really is a sister doin’ it for herself. None of yer bridezilla bullshit,
