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
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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
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,
Prepare yourselves, peeps. What you’re about to witness is some classic Word Up contrariness. Breathe deep and get ready for a spot of mind-melting as I try to explain the ever-tightening web of confusion I find myself wrapped up in. But before I go further, please be aware that every single word cast here in ever-lasting digital stone comes
Dolly Parton’s been on my mind a lot lately. And why not? Not only is the diminutive Dolly a global superstar and miracle of modern cosmetic science, but she’s a champion of children’s literacy and a damn fine songstress to boot. Not that she needs any help in the production department (musical variety), but I
Here at Word Up HQ, the boss lady has been in a mood. Aye, there’s been much sulking and petting of lips. This recent emotional discombobulation is partly due to the seasonal shift – autumn’s settling its cloak of many colours over central Scotland, and that covering includes the steely skies of a rain-drenched September, signalling some
Peak scaling, ladder climbing, podium mounting. Hell, even ruling the world. Must be brilliant being a young person in these heady ain’t-no-mountain-high-enough times. Apparently, each and every bairn, tween and teen has it in them to bulldoze barriers of class, circumstance and even apathy to reach for the stars when it comes to fulfilling their inbuilt potential. Good
Most of the Word Up year is spent in a heid birlin’, plate spinning, perpetual motion state. If Word Up’s working life was animated, it would give cartoon legend the Road Runner a sprint for his small business money. Admittedly, there’s no Wily E. Coyote hot on my heels, but much of my self-employed existence is
My closest relationship involves a never-ending battle of wills. Don’t worry, this ain’t no agony aunt stuff. This month’s wordy shizzle is all about the struggle to achieve, and maintain, a firm sense of self despite a ceaseless egotistical ebb and flow. You know how it goes. One day you’re a world conqueror, the next you’re
Go on, I dare you. Cock a snook. Flick the V. Slap a stern look on. Cross your arms firmly over your chest, plant your feet and jut your chin out. Then round it all off by refusing to budge. There now, doesn’t that solid defiance stance feel good? Bloody good, I’d say, if a
