Be careful what you wish for as it could come true. Research reveals that winning the lottery doesn’t necessarily mean winning happiness. Many winners reflect that their lives were happier before they struck gold. The one positive effect is that most winners do claim to be happy but no happier than they were before their win.

Happiness isn’t what you have in the bank; the rich are often the loneliest of people. Their wealth isolates them from reality, draws false friends, creates poor relationships, and leaves most wondering what is real and what is not.

Unexpected wealth makes the pursuit of happiness harder. Author Melissa Dahl says, “Eventually, the thrill of winning the lottery will itself wear off. Even the most positive events will cease to have an impact as they themselves are absorbed into the new baseline against which further events are judged.

As lottery winners become accustomed to pleasures made possible by their wealth, these pleasures should be experienced as less intense and should no longer contribute very much to their general level of happiness.”

Wealth earned through a successful career brings contentment. Affluence won at the spin of the roulette wheel is a far different matter. Advice is that if you really want to win the lottery of life then remember the adage: ‘happiness isn’t having what you want; happiness is wanting what you have.’

American research revealed that 85.5% of winners continue to work after winning the lottery. No less than 63% continue to work for the same employer as before. A study conducted in Sweden revealed similar findings.

Being unused to wealth but under the illusion that they can manage their unexpected windfall, lottery winners are more likely to declare bankruptcy within three years.

Another pitfall of unexpected prosperity is that very often a lottery win takes you from one social environment to one in which you have little empathy.

I recall double glazing partners who, on winning a substantial amount on the lottery, took their families to an exotic Bahamas island. Their chosen hideaway was favoured by the obscenely rich; corporate heads, socialites, politicians, and bankers.

Because of their working-class background, the families’ lack of influence and unfamiliarity with the social setting, the couples said they were ostracised. It was afterwards agreed that it was their unhappiest holiday experience ever.

Real riches you cannot buy. Try instead cultivating strong relationships, participating and investing in cultural or charitable pursuits, at which you will make real friends. The one thing to avoid is hedonism, but many will get their fingers and their wallets burned.




FOR a variety of reasons many men live solitary lives.

Perhaps they are widowed or a relationship has crashed. Without a partner, girlfriend or wife, many are the problems encountered. Only when single do you realise that the entire world is tailored to meet the needs of people in relationships.

Apart from a miserable Christmas Day spent on my own my most poignant experience of isolation was during a visit to a busy Costa del Sol resort.

On a business trip and left to my own devices, I didn’t relish dining alone in the hotel’s dining room. Having it in mind to discover a cozy little restaurant where I might find a corner table, I dressed for dinner then foolishly I ventured out.

Restaurant staff was serving packed tables. Had there been a spare table I would have been shooed away. The last thing a busy restaurateur needs is Billy no Mates hogging a table for four.

Everywhere I wandered there were couples, families, friends, and lovers enjoying each other’s company which rubbed salt deeper into my bleeding wounds of loneliness. The only thing one notices in a busy resort is a man sat on his own.

Men do like to take themselves off for a beer but there are few sights more poignant that a man holding up the bar on his own. It’s a man thing; women are mutually supportive and will be happy to talk the sister-sun up. We men aren’t like that. The sight of a bloke on his own sends out a warning signal that he has baggage.

Yet, I recall that some of my happiest evenings were spent in the mess or recreation room. As a serviceman, I often preferred my own company. The difference was the company was all male. Some chatted quietly together; others read, played cards or darts, sat alone or wrote letters. But, in such surroundings one never felt alone or isolated; quite the opposite.

Might I suggest a solution to any bar or restaurant that finds it difficult to fill tables on certain nights. Set one evening aside each week as a men-only occasion. A few newspapers, a bookcase, and a pool table are fine. A place to sit with one’s laptop would be good, and why not a dart board, a few card games, dominoes.

If one’s publicity makes it clear that single men are especially welcome I anticipate considerable interest. I am sure the interest would be added by the bank to the takings on each occasion a Men Only night is held.



Michael Walsh Reads Some of His Favorite Poems

You can listen to the audio as you read along.


Hello, wherever you are. I am the Irish poet, Michael Walsh. I was 26-years old when I first discovered that my mother was right; I have a gift for composing heartfelt poetry. That was a long time ago; in fact, it was nearly 600 poems ago, which is a long time.

I composed poetry as self-indulgence, just as a painter or sculptor may paint or create for their own pleasure. With the passage of time, I realized that others wanted to read my poetry. Mainstream publishers are disinterested in poetry so I self-published. How pleasing that despite being advised by the Writer’s and Artist’s Yearbook not to consider publishing more than 500 books, my print-run of 3,000 copies of two collections sold out in weeks in just the city of Liverpool alone. I supposed that in the year 2000 I was likely Britain’s most popular poet. It was very gratifying.

I don’t have a favorite but I do have favored poems. These very much include Ma Vourneen, which is Gaelic for, ‘My Darling’, ‘The Girl I met in May’ and ‘Where the Skylarks Sing’.



When time and distance separate us,
Then you will find the spirit of our togetherness,
In a glass of wine.
My darling; Make it a long stemmed glass,
To remind you that even the minute apart is the longest one.

Fill it to its very brim to symbolize,
The fullness that you bring to my heart;
Sip it gently, and often, that you may know,
That each slight touch or glance is a kiss from you.
And most of all; let its spirit warm you as yours has warmed me.
Raise the glass and salute both the past and the future that link us;
But most of all, toast the emptiness that lies between,
Without which there could be no anticipation.
And if the spirit of the glass brings,
Warmth, peace and joy to the inner you,
Then you will understand what you have brought to me.

Let the shimmer of the wine’s sparkle on your lips,
Hint at desire;
The coolness of the chilled bottle the long ago.
The chuckle of its pour, the future.
But most of all may it, as it becomes part of you,
Remind you that you are a part of me.



The gladness of my heart is wakened,
By the speckled cream of wavelets,
Wash to gold the sands of morning,
By the colours of the day;
Rolling up the tide-washed bay,
Blending with the distant corn;
How the forests rise in splendour
Paying homage to the dawn.

The gladness of my heart is wakened,
Willow poise her grace had beauty,
Wash to gold my heart of mourning,
By the girl I met in May;
In her lime green décolleté.
For a past so far away;
Colours of the spring will waken,
To the girl I met in May.



The summer air so balmy brought the fleet of clouds to rest,
They drifted aimless; some were caught upon the mountain crest.
The maid was plucking flowers though her shoulder turned aside,
To hide the blush upon her cheek, perhaps a flush of pride.

That I should speak of poetry and sonnets for her heart,
Create a word-spun spider web that brings romance to art.
So while she stepped through flowers she beguiled and won my soul;
I chased until she caught me and to both of us our goal.

She sat her chin within her hands and smiled a thought unknown;
I closed my eyes and dreamed that she might one day be my own.
We felt the heather in the air and heard the skylark sing,
The curlew’s call to higher realm where seagulls rest the wing.

And in her hands the harvest of the pastures summer filled,
Across the vale, the dingle, dale; where all the flowers spilled.
To ripple, dance to summer’s tune, the ocean’s breathing sigh;
Where skylarks sing and flowers grow and maiden lovers lie.


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Immortal Beloved: Sublime Poetry for Romantic Souls

Each year, Michael Walsh, the people’s poet, receives thousands of tributes from romantics and he has thousands of social media admirers.  You feel as though Michael through her verse embraces you. When you finally place your book down on the bedside table you glow from the effect of his sentiments being in perfect harmony with yours.

Purchase on Amazon

Thousands of people, not usually inclined towards poetry, are now firm Michael Walsh followers. Michael has a gift for expressing the whimsical thoughts, romantic leanings and experiences of ordinary people. So often he hears the words; “this is my experience but I could never express myself as eloquently and with such feeling as you can.”

Perhaps his greatest success is that like music, Michael’s poetry crosses frontiers and brings peoples together.  His poetry is the language of the human soul, its yearning for peace, love, hope, charity, and romance.

Over the decades, tributes to his gifts as a poet poured in from every class, rich and poor, regardless of ethnicity. “You articulate my sentiments perfectly,” is an expression he hears often.  You, or those you gift your Michael Walsh book to, will cherish Michael’s verse forever. He will be your constant bedside or fireside companion.

Immortal Beloved: Sublime Poetry for Romantic Souls by Michael Walsh.

“For me, how you see yourself is irrelevant. All that matters is how I see you. As Aphrodite you were, as Aphrodite you are.” ~ Michael Walsh.