Hembury Books Publishes Fiction And Non-Fiction Books.
Davey Lloyd appeared on Australia’s first season of the Bachelorette back in 2015. Out of all the competing eligible bachelors that entered the mansion that year, and the seasons that followed, he was a standout – one of the only few fellas I can recall all these years later.
His lasting impression? Cheeky tradie, Aussie larrikin, party boy, class clown, shit-stirrer – absolute trouble with a charming smile and piercing eyes. I clocked him as the kind of guy women should run a mile from – a dangerously fun adventure, but a far cry from any calm, safe harbour.
It was obvious that he was attracted to the fast fame and shenanigans of reality TV, and casted purely for the entertainment value. He certainly didn’t seem to have much business vying for Sam Frost’s love.
Unsurprisingly, he never received the final rose of the show, but did get a couple more shots at love on the spin off, Bachelor in Paradise.
A decade after gracing our screens, and Davey’s drawing attention once again. But this time it’s for good reason: he’s coming clean about the reality of his life behind-the-scenes and dumping the old facade via a tell-all memoir.
Tin Man: Why I Traded Sex, Drugs and Parties for Sobriety, is a wonderfully raw book that feels like you’re having a beer (A Zero, perhaps) at the pub with a mate who’s telling a yarn.
From the first sentence, his voice struck me as strong and authentic – he shoots it straight and it makes for an easy, consuming read.
I initially wondered how deep he would really go, but thankfully I wasn’t left disappointed – I found Davey swimming well below the surface, purging painful truths he’s no longer willing to leave hiding under rocks on the seafloor.
One dimensional it was not.
There’s the lasting legacy that grief has on a family that loses a child and, specifically, what’s it’s like to be the sibling that arrives in the wake of such loss.
He claims he’s not uber spiritual, but his exploration of his experience in the womb – the womb of a grieving mother, whose departed baby had called those same waters home not long before – gave me cause to think he’s probably more awakened than he realises.
Davey talks about being a Ritalin kid, the effects of the ADHD label on self-image at a young age, leaning into the rebel persona, and how the diagnosis can set subconscious beliefs that one is inherently flawed.
Being close in age, nostalgia struck me hearing of his 90s upbringing, boomer parents, and pop culture references. He could have been many a boy at my own high school, deriving much self-worth from being tough on a field, and garnering social clout by being idiots – blowing paper spit balls at classmates’ heads from the backseats comes to mind.
He reflects on being a bully, and the haunting inability to go back in time to change any of it.
A qualified chippy, he calls out our country’s toxic tradie culture, where heavy drinking and substance use is normalised, is considered a perfectly acceptable coping strategy, and forms the cornerstone of socialisation, bonding, and belonging.
He leaves no stone unturned when discussing his alcohol and drug addiction – which culminated in a near fatal overdose – while sharing the eight-step framework he developed in hopes of helping others face and overcome their own addictions.
There’s the porn and sex addiction – the common sidekick for many a substance addict – which, like his other cruxes, required treatment and membership in Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous.
If there was anything in the book that left me wanting, it was this. For one can live without ever touching a drop of alcohol again, but what does the regulation of love and sex – hardwired aspects of human survival – look like for a fiend long term?
Davey’s revelation of experiencing premature ejaculation in his earlier years deserves a hallelujah, in my opinion – because it’s rare to find a man with the balls to speak openly about it. Most head to the dark corners of the internet, spill their story on a Reddit thread, before making a GP appointment for antidepressants to desensitise their dicks.
But I guess Davey can own it, because by confronting his addiction, and cutting off the head of the snake, he discovered that unhealthy masculinity and a fragile ego were at the root of all his issues, even if only because they were blocking him from accessing and processing his hurts.
I’d love to see Davey sit down with media personality, Luke Bateman – who shares a remarkably similar life arc and is also channelling his recovery into a higher purpose – to witness them pushing back against the rigid, harmful expectations of modern masculinity.
It would make for a powerful, necessary conversation, challenging the manosphere influence, disrupting the Aussie ‘alpha male’ archetype, and offering a tangible pathway to recovery for those in the throes of addiction.
Davey is a charismatic storyteller at heart, and his unpolished, say-it-as-it-is nature and vulnerability makes him relatable and approachable, and is a force for breaking social stigmas.
His advocacy work has great potential to create a ripple effect and impact many men, and women, who are currently sitting right where he once was – and who might think ‘if he can do it, so can I’.
Tin Man: Why I Traded Sex, Drugs and Parties for Sobriety is out October 2026.
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