Squawkings From The Pigeonverse

This isn't a book about getting better. It's about trying to be heard when the world only listens if you make them laugh. It's about the kind of man who cracks a joke instead of a cry - because in this country, one's allowed and the other isn't.

These poems are a map through the absurd. A Tesco aisle becomes a confessional. A pigeon becomes your therapist. A dildo, a metaphor. (Unfortunately.) Every laugh comes from somewhere painful, every punchline hides a pulse.

I wrote this from inside the noise - where men are told to "man up," to "get on with it," to turn their grief into pub banter. Where help takes years, and humour becomes triage. Where crying in the Meal Deal aisle is less breakdown, more British coping mechanism.

This is the journey - not toward healing, but toward honesty. Through pigeons and panic attacks, through therapy queues and emotional bin fires, through all the ridiculous ways we try to stay alive when no one's listening.

If you find it funny, good. If you find it uncomfortable, better. Because that's the point. This is what it feels like to scream for help in a language society only hears as punchlines.

Welcome to the show. The stage is cracking, the pigeons are circling, and the snacks are half-price.