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

I turn on the shower to block out the noise. From inside the bathroom I can see into next doors kitchen. He's sat at the table reading something, the woman is no where to be seen. If he glanced up now he'd see me, alone, in the dark whilst below the party goes on. From his viewpoint he'd be able to see the top of the lounge window, the lights flashing and at the same time the sound of laughter and bass lines. He'd understand what's going on, he'd put down the paper and mouth ' are you ok ? ' , I'd shake my head but not before he'd reached for that pencil on the dresser behind him and scrawled in nice big letters, thick to make them stand out against the news print ' R U OK?'. He just needs to look up. I'm not going anywhere.

My father told me stories, so magical they wrapped round my shoulders and kept me warm on nights alone,  watching an old episode of Star Trek, waiting for him to get home.  He told me once that he would be away for a few days, he needed to visit Russia and capture a rogue bear that was killing members of the Royal Family. I think he was testing my knowledge, if I had told him Russia no longer had a royal family he may well have congratulated me on passing the test. But then I'd never have heard his stories, so I remained silent. He told me another tale, they'd caught the man in the sun, the nemesis of the man in the moon and for reasons explained in earlier stories one of the most fearsome boogy men in the world. They'd caught him using fake credit cards, father had said and he was locked up in the cells waiting to make a confession. That was what he was going to do that night, get the sun man to confess. I watched an episode of Wogan and then a Hammer Hous...

There are things that bind people together, blood, love and surplus stock. Joanna sits on the train station with her unsold sombreros, 14,000 of them and texts her sleeping partner. It is raining.

Justine pours herself from the kitchen to the sofa with and pats the shiny white leather seat to her left. " Aren't you going to join me? " The three waiters glanced to one another nervously. " It's ok, my father owns the company " Before they answer she giggles and stands up, adjusting her dress, opening her arms out in a well practiced pose, chin tilted towards the chandelier. Music begins to play, violins, a tango.  Bailemos que no vea en tus pupilas una lágrima furtiva, ni una sombra, ni un dolor. Bailemos Let’s dance may I not see in your eyes a furtive tear, not a shadow, not any pain Let’s dance The young men have no choices left, they have been here before. Ivor steps forward, " I'll dance with you Miss Justine "

Barry lives in a house with no stairs but he gets by fine. Garry lost his bike in a bet with a travelling snake oil salesman that time had forgot. Me, I just write down their stories. Mary follows people on buses all day, randomly selected, swapping victims if discovered. It was this trail of events that led her and Terry to make a go of it. I describe what they do to the policeman on the end of the phone. Terry left his family years ago when the science stuff started paying real money. Barry bought a bungalow for alliteration purposes. Garry used to like Mary but that was before he found out what she did all day. Terry and Garry have met in the past but in different lives. My testimony will be no use whatsoever if this eventually goes to court. Mary caught Terry when Barry broke Garry. I think the policeman on the end of the telephone isn't listening to me. Is this what you wanted ?

Alex stood back and admired his monotlithic parking meter. A monument to strutured waiting, a metaphor for life. Fifteen foot tall, it watched over the consumerist hub of the town. As Alex returned to his car he failed to see the irony in the newly installed wheel clamp nor the juxtaposition of his solitary state and the baying mass of bruised odds and sods merchants looking to question his working practice. This is verite, bring me my camcorder.

You've eaten by the time I get home, the clocks are going back and the radio is warning of a snowstorm. We are told to stay indoors, once we'd have called it ironic. The fridge is full of things I don't recognise, we move around one another silently and I wonder what you're thinking. I bite down on ham and mustard in chunky white bread. Afterwards I join you in the lounge, as I sit down you hand me your glass of red wine and disappear to the kitchen to fetch another. You can't trust the weather I think as you lean in to kiss me.