Cuckoo: memories from an unhappy childhood

In 2017 at the age of 57 I discovered that the man that I had spent my entire life thinking was my father was in fact not my biological father at all. He and my mother raised me as part of a large family of six siblings but I was a cuckoo in the nest.

My family has spent its entire life grovelling in the darkness of a besotted ignorance of why we have collectively and individually turned out the way we have.

Writing this book is my way of reclaiming and finally escaping the swamp of rancour and unhappiness that was my childhood.