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

Waiting for the CEO to arrive Daniel questions once more the sense of going ahead with building fourteen nuclear jump jets after receiving an order written in pencil crayon and signed 'you know who'. Oh Don't fail me now lucky tie....

" Goodbye love, see you in a week " Jeffrey Jones watched his wife lollop off to the bus stop, her one remaining dreadlock pointing to the sky, the bottom of her bags dragging on the pavement, she turned and waved, he waved back and closed the door. Julia would be there at 3 and although they'd spent most of the night preparing there was still the bedroom and bathroom to clean. He'd felt guilty for lying to Dot, making out the week was going to be a real challenge and promising never to play poker with Daniel again but now wasn't the time for absolute honesty. Splashing on the Paco Rabanne and scrubbing the toilet bowl, Jeffrey caught sight of himself in the mirror grinning, yes, he had to admit, he was going to enjoy this week.

we'll watch the flames grow higher, but if you get too burnt, you can't come back home. Stano photographed the message, written in blood on the side of the holiday cabin and sent it to Ruk. He'd dropped Angelo and Daisy off at the supermarket on the village to get the weeks provisions. Theo, their son ran down to the lake as soon as they'd arrived, he'd be making a fishing rod by now. Five minutes passed before Ruk called him back. " Ok, I've called the owners, they are moving you into cabin 7, that's two along on the right, tell Angela, it's a upgrade, a present for her birthday " Stano knew better than to interrupt. " The words refer to the military research lab two miles south of there, a few too many accidents have been happening recently and they are about to shut, apparently one of their scientists went AWOL, Burnt Face Barry, He's just been picked up in Conwy so that's the end of that" " And the words are fro...

'The retirement of Concorde has been undervalued, here in this one perfect example is the acknowledgement that we need to slow down not speed up, getting there is what we are all doing, not being there, the rush towards technological advancement is stripping us of our humanity. If you feel like this come and join us, bring a single bag and no electronic devices.' The leaflet had seemed the answer to his problem, at the bottom an address he’d had to google, a tiny plot of land 40 km north of Rennes. With nothing to lose and a mardy boss to leave in the lurch a plan hatched and over the next seven weeks he dismantled his life, closing connections and laying traps for those that he believed deserved it, in the new world he would be a good person, but for now, there were scores to settle. Finally in France after collecting his bedding from Jean and reading 'Follow the community on twitter and facebook for regular updates' on the back of the...

Train guards and the ones that sell sandwiches have reacted nervously to the news that, following a series of unsuccessful trials in East Anglia, Hampstead and Manchester the minister for public platitudes has confirmed anyone with an electronic device or annoying tone of voice will be required to be seated in a specific carriage from Monday 20th June. Based on the sink class principal of failing schools this new ideology of our erratic leadership shows no sign of slowing down with government officials already touting separate staircases for people who broadcast how early they got up in the morning and compulsory river dips for men who attempt to grow a beard without the necessary testosterone to pull it off. You voted for them and it’s your fault.

My marriage was shaky even before I stole the leopard and now I live on a barge. This is the opening line of my autobiography, I whisper the words into my pillow as I drift off for an afternoon snooze. Once the royalties start rolling in I will rescue her once more, this time legally, I'll make a start on the second line when I wake up.

"How long has he been gone?" "An hour." She raises her eyes. "Some hours are longer than others." The flat is pristine, sterilised even, like the ones in science fiction films from the seventies but we are not astronauts we are aesthetic terrorists and we are waiting  for John to return from his first cleaning job. Days later a single man is found asleep in a little chef in Fleetwood, 7 miles south of Blackpool, his clothes stink of petrol and he has a recent tattoo showing a mermaid riding a Spacehooper on his neck. The mermaid looks suitably embarrassed.