Open and transparent. That’s the Word Up code of small business conduct. Simples. And in these fevered post-General Election times, transparency is top of the charts, and not just for small fry like me. As a micro-business, my entrepreneurial empire operates at the tiddly widdly, teensy weensy end of the business spectrum, but I am
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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
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
I’m big and ugly enough. Big and ugly enough to have dodged being punched during my 15 years working within the rarefied bubble of broadcasting. What I didn’t escape were some full-on “talent” tirades. I’ve endured hissy fits, being bawled out in public, and blamed for everything under the sun. I’ve bobbed and weaved as
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
Ecoutez, mes enfants. In other words, listen up kids. Cos here’s something a wee bit different from the Word Up blog HQ for the New Year. It’s not a blog as you know it, it’s a phog. Yep, a phog. See, I’ve been torn between writing up a storm about the merits of being a
A seasonal ditty to be sung to the tune of John Lennon’s Christmas classic “Happy Christmas (War is Over)”. Altogether now… So this is business And I’m about done Another year over Tax return still not begun And so this is business Not always much fun But my very own dear one Sometimes tricky to
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
I believe the children are the future. Or so warbled smooth soulster George Benson. Personally, I was always more of a Teenage Kicks kinda gal, but whichever way your musical leanings lie, let’s hear it for the youth of today. They’re the future, innit. I’ve always been a fan of the yoof – adolescent angst, attitude
I love a good swear word, so I do, ya ***t. Yup, I’m a big fan of the Glesga vernacular, splattered as it so often is with spectacular swearies. Okay, sometimes the sheer scale of the effing and blinding is right over the top – 19 mentions of the “c” word in one short paragraph
