Man the barricades, sisters, we’re talkin’ ‘bout a revolution round here. Never one to shy away from a righteous cause, or the advancement of womankind, I’m volunteering my services as a fully-paid up revolutionary. This will come as no great surprise to anyone who knows the paternal background of this particular sole trading adventurer and
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Category Archives: Me, myself, I
Forgive me fashionistas, but I’m all of a fankle. Being bang on trend just ain’t my bag, baby. Unless you count being hopelessly and happily stuck in some strange late 70s vortex where Fred Perry polos and Bass Weejun loafers are de rigeur, that is. See, for me, getting all dressed up just don’t feel
Getting on a bit is bobbins, intit? You’d think this much would be obvs, given the amount of coverage devoted on these here pages for my 50th birthday just a few short weeks ago. But even I, in my full-on in denial mode, am forced to admit, that technically, I am no longer in the
Expert? Who, me? Expert in heehaw. Or at least that’s what my instant reaction was when introduced recently at a client’s board meeting as a “media expert”. S’funny being called an expert, and brings the self-effacing Scot in me rushing right up to the surface, but expertise is all relative, innit? Compared to the good people
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 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,
