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,
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Category Archives: What’s the Word
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,
Bob Hoskins, The Clash, The Sopranos, and Glasgow washer wummin. I just can’t get enough of them. Sources of inspiration, that is. And the fab four above were just a few of the sources for this week’s creative brainstorming chez Word Up. Bob Hoskins, not only because he was just bloody fantastic (whaddya mean you’ve
Parliamo Glasgow? See me, I just cannae get enough of it, wir Glesga patter pure cracks me up so it dis. I’m no’ kiddin’, what can be better than listening in to a good goin’ Glesga chinwag? Honest, it’s the business. Our slang words, our bare-faced cheek and charm, and the unique way we massacre the
Oh ye of little faith, join the club. But ye of faith, don’t give up the holy ghost just yet. Because I’m genuinely interested in your take on this wee heathen’s modus operandi when it comes to matters of belief. Like many others who don’t have any kind of religious affiliation or formal belief system,
Annoy Your Kids. Surely one of the most important inclusions on any parent’s job description? However, it’s a bit rich for me to cast aspersions on anyone else’s parenting skills, seeing as I often rate pretty damn low on the Word Up Wean’s goodwill to all mumkind scale. So please forgive me when I moan
Exactly one year ago this week, I hung up my headphones, flicked the On Air switch off, picked up my P45, and headed out of the door at the great glass shoebox that is BBC Scotland’s Pacific Quay HQ. It was a momentous milestone in my working life, one which made me feel very weird
It was a shaft of spring sunlight that nearly caused my own wee waterworks to start sprinkling this week. Admittedly, I was a bit broken after a few days of particularly tough graft and nowhere near sufficient shut-eye. I had a horrid headache and burny eyes, a queasy tummy and a wee bit of the
Polished professionals, business behemoths and the fabulously famous don’t mean diddly squat to me. Well okay then, I might make an exception for David Bowie, but when it comes to role models, whether in business, personal or social life, I like mine real, and preferably with a few rough edges. Because for me, fame doesn’t
