Last night I woke instantly, as if from blinking, with the chemical ghost of the most intense emotion I will ever feel still gripping me.

True horror. The kind that sits calm in the face of the inevitable. I searched my fleeing somnescence for the revelation that birthed such a halting feeling…

I found my dreaming self incurably curious at one imperfect detail in a scene that was otherwise exact in its normalcy.

Nervously, unstoppably, I reached down for this anatopism and grasped — in the way it is possible to in dreams — the hem of the curtain of reality.

As I lifted it I realised the grass under me was illusion; as I peered beyond my heart stopped — I saw the clockwork that runs the universe.

It was so simple. Grand and elegant beyond compare, yes; but I understood it, it was trivial.

I opened my eyes, believing for the first time that I could face any difficulty knowing this was beneath it all, and hunted for mother's teat.

  1. Over Christmas in 2017 I found an old box stored in the loft at my Mum's house
  2. Inside, amongst baby photos and first shoes, was a bundle of postcards collected by my late Grandmother, Lucy.
  3. In the 1950s she travelled Europe with her friends through France, Germany, Austria and Switzerland.
  4. Taking photographs wasn't so simple back then so, instead, she collected a postcard from each place she visited.
  5. I knew I wanted to tell the story of Lucy's journey but, sadly, I missed my opportunity to ask her about her youth.
  6. I realised that I still wanted to create something with these mementos; something to tell the story of the journey, even if I coudldn't tell her's;
  7. So, since the beginning of 2018, I've enjoyed writing short stories on these postcards — inspired by where Lucy found them — and sending them to family and friends. I've collected them here, I hope you enjoy them too.