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
Lost for words? Just get in touch:
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.
Keep an eye on our @WordUpScot socials for updates about our latest wordy witterings.
The Blog
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
Scotland the brave, beautiful and about-to-be-invaded. Again. This time tho’, it’s not the Vikings, the aristocracy, or even the Romans who are threatening to take our territory by force, or horned helmets. Naw, looks like the latest phalanx of alien invaders are likely to be our nearest neighbours. Seems like quite a few Anglo-Saxons (and other
There’s nothing weird about me. My transport of choice would hardly rank me high on the slightly strange register. Would it? Apparently, yes. Judging by the perplexed/”you’re kidding?” reaction I regularly witness, you’d think I’d done something very distasteful or outré indeed, but the social faux pas in question is using the bus. Seems that the very thought
You’d think I’d know better. After more than half a century of this mortal coil, anyone might think that I, a middle aged, middle class proper professional person of the female persuasion, am far too grown up and sensible to still be flicking the V to certain parts of society. Well, d’you know what? Bugger that.
