Tag: Michael Walsh

LIFE BEFORE POLITICAL CORRECTNESS

MICHAEL WALSH HUMOUR: Long before the term political correctness had any meaning there was a richness to riposte that is sadly lacking in today’s vernacular. Those in the public eye often captured the headlines with a sneering wisecrack at an opponent. Newspaper editors too risked their readers’ wrath with an occasional derisive comeback.

ACH (2104) Mike Walsh – Selective Censorship

MIKE WALSH RADIO SHOW With a relaxed coffee table approach to today’s show, veteran activist Mike Walsh is joined by host Andrew Carrington Hitchcock in a conversational ramble through the past, the present and the future. One of the questions asks if ethnic-European apathy and lethargy are the main contributors to the Fall of the White Race, the contamination of White blood? An interesting thought-provoking radio session that will leave you deep in thought. 

THE NINE LIVES OF AN IRISH WRITER

Michael Walsh was born during the Liverpool Blitz in which thousands died and half the domestic properties were destroyed, Michael’s childhood was marred by extreme deprivation. He and his childhood friends collected and sold bottles, clothes and horse manure. Coke (coal) filled handcarts were used to purchase domestic fuel.

The Phone Call in a Million that saved a Life

We sat at home with my husband, reading when my mobile sounded an incoming call from an unknown number. I’m taking a drink, and picking up my mobile I hear an unfamiliar voice. I can hear what some old grandmother is saying. ‘Help, I’m locked up here, no food, nothing to drink, I’m dying!’ The phone then went dead.

Sex in the Gritty

We are all familiar with the terms, slap an’ tickle, hanky-panky or a little bit of how’s your father? Such colourful expressions amusingly suggest that we are more comfortable with alternatives to the taboo three-letter word.

ARE MARRIAGES MADE IN HEAVEN

Michael Walsh’s poem, The Garden Bower, evoked a story from a North American reader who writes: I have had these conversations since the last ten years with my husband Bert, who died so tragically. His soul left his body in 2009 when he signalled me by illuminating my office with the most radiant warm glow. When I looked outside there was a beautiful red cardinal bird sitting on the giant spruce tree in my back garden.