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

Clayton Laws stopped punching as the siren filled the air, waking up the neighbourhood. Frank spat blood onto the gravel before getting to his feet. The pair of them stood there and waited for the police to arrive, each breathing heavy. Curtains twitched around the close as the police car squealed to a halt, Clayton turned and waved once to his daughter before stepping towards the car, arms raised high. From the landing Honey, purposely ignoring her boyfriend, opened the window and called out. . "See you later Dad ! "

We watched as they rolled down the hill together, he in blue, she in garish red and purple. Gathering speed they began to accumulate a covering of dust, followed by grass, small stones and scraps of discarded plastic ripped from pop bottles. By the time they neared the pond their girth was over a metre across, he, mainly turf and a few small sticks by now whist she'd rolled off onto the path acquiring all kinds of human detritus, receipts, old pens, triangular sandwich boxes and a surprised and rapidly sickening squirrel. We held our breaths as they roared towards the city gates. The guards couldn't hope to identify everything that bundled through their checkpoint that evening and decided to not record it at all. Somewhere deep inside the city he and she will begin to wriggle and vibrate, undercover butterflies about to burst their cocoons.

Twelve hundred assembled clowns cheered their delight, each honking an over size car horn into the air as 24 year old Brian McDonnel stepped from behind the curtain, the new and youngest ever president of Clown Europe. A firebrand, militant young man who'd cobbled together a hotchpotch of historical mythology and promised to change the world. " Let me begin by making you a promise. As our forefathers, in Egypt, the religious and social leaders of their day so shall we rise up and reclaim our rightful positions, not as jesters but as Kings and Queens of the new world order " A flurry of shaving foam pies spurted towards the stage and somewhere an old man with a red nose lit an exploding cigar.

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 "