Social media, huh? Dunno about you guys, but I’m all out of love. This gnawing dissatisfaction with some parts of the digisphere has been steadily gathering strength here at Word Up HQ, and not just because Facebook are in deep doo-doo (although I do wonder why any of us are at all surprised that our personal info
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Category Archives: Me, myself, I
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
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
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
Wrinkles, a spare tire, sag and spread. A light sprinkling of liver spots, the sprouting of some rather robust facial hair, a pair of creaky knees, a brace of aching hips, and the distinct droop of a once proud embonpoint. Another year is about to pass into the history books, adding another chapter to the litany of advancing
We’ve only got ourselves to blame. For Donald Trump. Harsh maybe, and fair enough, those of living on this side of the pond can’t exactly be held responsible for the relentless rise of the blond bequiffed behemoth, but the modern liberati sure have a lot to answer for. For it is
Bright lights, big city right enough. Yup, the Big Apple sure is a pulsating, glittering metropolis unlike any other. It’s a veritable feast of 3D technicolour, surround sound, smell-o-vision and taste sensations. It even feels different. Dammit, New York is just so alive! Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’ve heard it all before. Returnee tales of pancakes
