You know you’re not quite yourself when music isn’t offering much solace. That’s some serious shizzle if, like me, your lifelong love affair with melody is currently dialled down to a low peep. A recent trawl through some all-time favourite choons (and god knows, there’s a lot of them) couldn’t locate a single soothing rhythm
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Tag Archives: Glasgow
Blurry, foggy and fuzzy. Everything feels so indistinct these days. It’s difficult to grasp anything tangible, let alone find a break in the clouds to gaze at distant horizons. Never mind taking the long view, when it comes to commerce I can barely see into next week. No, I’ve not ground to a halt or
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
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
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
Photo courtesy Elaine Livingstone Photography Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the feministest of them all? Sorry sistas, but it’s certainly not me. Not this month, anyway. It pains and shames me to ‘fess up, but it looks like I might not register quite as highly on the sisterhood solidarity scale as I’d always
A two tone life
Some of my best friends were people of colour. Now before you start raising your liberal eyebrows, this is not intended as an exercise in anti-racist virtue signalling, these words come from a middle-aged, middle class white woman who speaks as one who’s led a two tone life, right from the off. Colour, creed or race were never,