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,
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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 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,
Hurry, hurry! Time waits for no man (or wee wordsmith). Take it from me, working to a deadline ain’t good for your heart. It’s bad for your blood pressure, your nerves, and your love life. More exactly, it’s writing to a deadline that does you in. But writing against the clock is a great big
Stand by folks, it’s gonnae get mushy. Line up the boxes of tissues and prepare for a big lump in the throat, cos this one’s straight from the heart. Who’d of thunk it? That the cool guy at work – you know, the one with the long hair halfway down his back, the green eyes,
Bob Hoskins, The Clash, The Sopranos, and Glasgow washer wummin. I just can’t get enough of them. Sources of inspiration, that is. And the fab four above were just a few of the sources for this week’s creative brainstorming chez Word Up. Bob Hoskins, not only because he was just bloody fantastic (whaddya mean you’ve
Parliamo Glasgow? See me, I just cannae get enough of it, wir Glesga patter pure cracks me up so it dis. I’m no’ kiddin’, what can be better than listening in to a good goin’ Glesga chinwag? Honest, it’s the business. Our slang words, our bare-faced cheek and charm, and the unique way we massacre the
Oh ye of little faith, join the club. But ye of faith, don’t give up the holy ghost just yet. Because I’m genuinely interested in your take on this wee heathen’s modus operandi when it comes to matters of belief. Like many others who don’t have any kind of religious affiliation or formal belief system,
Annoy Your Kids. Surely one of the most important inclusions on any parent’s job description? However, it’s a bit rich for me to cast aspersions on anyone else’s parenting skills, seeing as I often rate pretty damn low on the Word Up Wean’s goodwill to all mumkind scale. So please forgive me when I moan
