Postcards from Kronk - the second collection of daily stories. (2025)

And sad news just coming in, a man has died after falling off a cliff. Peter Clarke, 31, part time surgeon is believed to have been dressed as Wile E Coyote when he fell to his death apparently attempting to run over a canyon in southern Essex. Witness reports vary, some say he ran too slow whilst others claim he simply looked down to find himself unexpectedly in mid air. A second man described as wearing yellow tights and sporting a blue quiff reportedly disappeared into a painted black hole on the side of a removals truck near the scene. Flowers are being left on the grand piano, anvil and giant boulder that fell one at a time onto the flattened body of Mr Clarke.

Dog bite judge, unleashed and on your patch. Overdue at the library? he'll throw the book at you. Fashion disaster? he'll have the shirt off your back. Once he banned beards and children with beards. Dog bite judge with the sebatier smile 1 for the thieves and their sticky fingers 2 for the cheats, the frauds and the ringers 3 for the drunks, full of aggression 4 for the unclean kids we forgot to mention He listens and watches, cuts off your internet and your post when he pleases. It could be you as the saying goes It could be Dog bite judge with no time for niceties Welcome to the new big society.

His mind sounds like pork chops roasting, hear him coming and scuttle away. This is how we feel now, this is uncertainty, this is slabs of tissue tied to a washing line, this is someone who smells of old stew and breath mints. Here he come now, all venom and vinegar, wind your neck in, don't get into the car. Hurry home and buy a dog.

The distance you'd need to travel to reach Space isn't that easy to quantify but is shorter than most would imagine, somewhere between 50 and 80 miles depending on which organisation you talk to.  This relatively tiny distance is of little consequence however for most of us as the disappointing visitor numbers for NASA's new US shuttle museums testify.

Alvara Giron broke the news to his wife as best he could, they would be divorced by the end of the week. He'd been given the choice of a divorce or living underwater for a month, at least this way he was still in the running. The rules of the game are deliberately designed to humiliate and encourage you to drop out of the contest and things are only going to get tougher. The premier of the Philippines would be stepping down and having his face tattooed like a clown and the Prime Minister of Sudan had to be escorted off when he refused to propose to a chicken. This is the daddy of them all, the ultimate reality show - 48 world leaders in a no holds barred, contest to become the first Emperor of the Free World.

The shop was empty when the man finally came up to the desk. He'd been hanging about for over ten minutes, they'd first noticed him looking at sheet music for accordions, something about his demeanour seemed wrong, he looked like a bass player if anything. 'Hi, I'd like to buy an instrument which, when played, will make make people cry' It was an unusual approach but Floyd though he understood and began to direct him towards the cello, loved by Bach and Saint-Saens or the viola championed by Mozart. 'No, I'm sorry, I haven't explained myself properly, I'd like an instrument that causes people actual pain, something that hits them with the force of a bull, something I can use to hurt people with'. The look in the strangers eye underlined the words he chose, Floyd couldn't work out how best to reply but flippantly found himself saying ' If you shove a viola in someones face they're going to know about it'. The homicidal ba...

It was smaller than he remembered but still hollow inside; as a child he and friends used to sit inside it and plan adventures and tell stories, o nce they even watched Concorde fly over their heads.  Now, slightly drunk, he squeezed in and sat there, knees bunched up to his chin. Through leaves he had a good view of Juliet’s house. As the branches cradled him and the sky gradually darkened Paul tried to order his thoughts. The alcohol he feared would cloud his thinking instead appeared to illuminate his actions: he hadn’t come back for Juliet, or if he had he no longer needed her. Whilst this surprising thought took hold Paul began to feel nauseous, the cramped conditions not helping his now delicate stomach. To avoid being sick into his lap he threw himself sideways out of the bush and landed with a thud onto the gravel drive which held a large BMW. Painfully slowly he raised himself and began to walk home, gingerly at first but then as he felt an unexpected smile on his face, wi...