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

A skinny woman dressed in more male clothes than female coughs, introduces her video, the last one of the evening to be shown. The lights dim and a figure fills the screen, an angry man with a thin moustache. He kicks a door in, close up of his eyes, squinting, a blank rage milking them. The camera pans down to his thigh, partly hidden by splinters of wood. Zoom in closer to the wood, tiny bugs creep out confused and dazed, closer still microscopic parasites on these bugs chewing flesh, slowly but determined. Over the top a Mancunian voice explaining how every day a scene such as this, or similar or different but equally terrifying is happening to someone, most likely innocent children. The presentation fades to black and the crowd begin to cheer. The woman stands there, stoically, waiting until the noise quietens before stepping forwards. " Bow down your heads and be thankful. "

Alan painted the outlines of twelve chairs on the road during the cover of darkness. Dave kept watch. Convening the inaugural meeting of the Dangerous Sports Soc on the intersection between Beverly Road and Cottingham Road seemed a mighty fine idea but one they both knew needed to be acted upon immediately before sobriety dulled their passion. Once complete they walked back home, the sun beginning to rise, outlining the finer points of the plan. 

He has a beard, possibly greying, likely unkempt which he's playing with as he asks if I can come to the meeting later. " Erm, sorry, what meeting ?" I stare at my phone for an explanation. " The RCP, Revolutionary Communist Party ? you gave your phone number to one of our members last week." His voice impossibly deep and old now as I remember the girl and her lop sided smile. She'd asked me if I'd like to come to a meeting, we'd been in the Student Union and I was dressed as Adam Ant. She'd said she'd liked my white stripe. " We meet at the Sal at 8 0'clock, if you're serious about politics "  I thank him for his call and hang up before my mum comes back from Asda. I really hope he doesn't call back.

The curtain comes down and a flurry of tiny banknotes are thrown over Jonah Jones, the Economic Magician his fifteen minutes of fame well and truly over. We might as well have paid to watch a chimp fall off a bicycle. One Banana Two Banana Three Banana Four. " I'm sorry " Jonah says as he walks off stage, to no one in particular, least of all to the grumpy chimp fixing a puncture.

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.