Taking sides. We all do it. And we Scots have got our side-taking skills down to a fine art. Fence-sitters we ain’t. We love a good rammy, a ding-dong, and a heated debate. We’ll argue ’til we’re blue (or indeed, green) in the fizzog, and stick to our side of the story long after the
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Tag Archives: commerce
Business, it’s like childbirth. Well alright then, commerce is heehaw like childbirth, but there certainly are a couple of uncomfortable parallels. Firstly, if you knew the truth about what running a business is really like you’d have to think very seriously indeed about whether you’d go through it or not. And then, of course, there’s the exhaustion.
Cut the crap. Basically, that’s been my commercial mantra since setting out on this sole trading malarkey two years ago (two whole years and not bankrupt yet, whew). Tell it like it really is in small business – highs and lows, warts and all – that was the simple objective for this commerce confessional. I
Who am I, exactly? What the hell am I doing? Nope, I’m not in the grip of some mind-bending existential crisis, no time for that, but I’ve been doing something of an entrepreneurial stocktake these last few weeks. And the bottom line is this. I’ve been kidding myself on, big style. Aye, it makes uncomfortable writing,
I am pure authentic, me. Really, I am. When it comes to small business, I am the real deal. I am 100% pure in heart, mind and practice. Except, of course, I’m not. What I am is 100% pure human business being – flaws, foibles, failings and all. If that makes me genuine and brimful
It’s not about the money, money, money… Well actually, it is. Profit margin matters. Make no mistake, bringing in the moolah is right up there on my personal and professional priority list. As I never tire of telling anyone who’s seriously thinking about joining the small business circus, you gotta be in it for love
I blame Lenin. Or maybe it was The Specials. It might have been The Catcher in the Rye, or even Marc Bolan’s ringlets and feather boa. It was definitely witnessing a queue of punks waiting to get into a gig at The Nashville in London in 1978. That alone was life changing. There was also David
There’s something to be said for the heavy artillery of a weather bomb. The explosive effects of this week’s hoolies and skin scouring hail showers certainly blasted this wee wordsmith into a wide-awake state. Maybe the air’s full of positive ions or sumfink, but I for one was well and truly invigorated by Mother Nature’s
Flat on my face. That’s where I’m going to end up if I don’t regain some perspective, pronto. Pride usually comes before a fall, after all. For a couple of weeks now, I have been well and truly failing to practice what I preach. Oh aye, I can pontificate from a lofty pedestal with the
Clap me in irons Sheriff, I’ve gone and broken the law. Nothing heinous, you understand – there’s no GBH or breaking and entering going on in the Word Up world. Not this week, anyway. But it turns out that I might be guilty of illegal business behaviour. Imagine the frisson of excitement I felt when
