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

I gave the driver my address and leant back, closing my eyes, it was late and all I wanted was to get home. "You want me to go motorway or the A52 ?" "Don't mind mate, whichever quicker" That sorted I decided to drop off for a few minutes, it'd take us a good half hour at least to cross the city. I can't say for sure how long I was asleep but as I hit the grill separating the driver from his customers I woke very quickly. "Wha ? Look at him, idiot, look at him"  In front of the taxi a young man, probably yet to reach 20 slowly swaggered down the road, purposely stepping from one white stripe to the next in exaggerated strides. "Get out the way you bugger " What you doing ? I think but before I say anything the car inches forwards, scooping up the surprised youth. "What'd I tell ya eh ? Like that do ya ?".  I wanted to get out, do something to help but I didn't. "See ?", Said the driver as we drove ...

Let me tell you how it is here, our middle management congratulate themselves on weighing the pig so frequently it forgets how to walk. So today, when they unveiled Clive Hargreaves as their new Nuncio, despite not checking his credentials, their joy at this conspicuous efficiency, ever more self self-congratulatory was to be expected. Later however, us worker ants, we came together to laugh at their ineptitude and feed Arno, the real future Nuncio, the one we've rescued from the waste lands, the one that will lead us to our destiny. And that is how it will be.

When I kill people I do it quickly, their last words are never like in the movies, more odes than soliloquys. Often prosaic, frequently profane, most usually merely sounds so it came as quite a surprise this morning as Bent Louie, fatally wounded from three neat shots to the chest sung the first verse of ' Halfway Down the Stairs ' from the Muppet Show as he made his journey to the afterlife. Halfway down the stairs is a stair where i sit. there isn't any other stair quite like it. i'm not at the bottom, i'm not at the top; so this is the stair where I always stop. Quite a shock but strangely moving.

There was the way he leant to the right when using a microscope or the habit he had of spelling words out with his fingers when anxious. The way I'd felt him watch me that night; by the time I'd made the short distance from the taxi to the porch I must have looked like Alice Cooper and that was the last time he saw me, as I waved him off. Maybe he couldn't see much through the foggy windscreen by then. So maybe that was what caused the accident, not the rain. He always had a knack of knowing when I was uncomfortable and popping up with coffee or a hand on my shoulder, or no hand on my shoulder, whatever was needed. He clicked his fingers when he listened to the radio, like James Dean. I hope it was the rain.

This is what I'll do when I'm king. Firstly all financial institutions will have to hoist a jolly roger from the top of their buildings, old people will have the right to sit on any child that insists on playing music through their mobile and then I'll bring back National Service - In Space. And that's just for starters, if The Atomic Energy Agency hasn't released enough gamma rays on the Californian coast to cause people to become superhuman within a reasonable time, say six months, then they'll get closed down. This is not a threat, this is a prophecy Vote for Me.

Softer than air We stand together, our feet in the lapping waves people look the other way

When the deputy whom the concrete slab fell on came round, he found to his surprise that he'd suffered a series of minor strokes, the least serious of which caused him to end every sentence with the word 'past'. This story was told to me by a man in glasses too large for his face and to whom I had to buy four pints as payment for this entertainment. Jimmy Carr you have been warned.