The next Post Of The Week will be announced on Sunday evening.

Please note that nominations for next week cannot be accepted until then.

1. An Unreliable Witness: Drop in the Ocean, fall in the river

I try to stop thinking how, in another time and place and moment of both decisiveness and indecision, it could have been me. Could have all too easily been me. Vertigo would have kicked in, wouldn’t it?

2. Badger That…: An itch… that is always scratched, yet never eased

I can be on guard whilst on the phone. On guard at an important meeting. Even on guard on a quiet train cabin. But when I am alone it comes back, and it comes back like a rocket.

3. Enidd: A message from the Prime Minister

I, as your leader and, I like to think, close personal friend of, not just you, but all citizens, wanted to contact you directly, and personally, to ask for your help.

4. La Pajaro: Evaporated

10 found a perfect heart-shaped stone in the grass, slipped it in his pocket, slept with it that night, carried it to his bureau at home, placed it in alignment with his starships, his glass penguin, his first-place artist award. The smallness of that Kansas town, its fresh grass meant that much to him.

5. Overnight Editor: Earning My Stripes

As I finish with the ketchup I notice the two men are strangely subdued. I look up. Their eyes fix on me, the three of us frozen to the spot. Then I start seeing them; diagonal red stripes. Everywhere.

6. Raised By Chaffinches: Alone. Terribly alone.

An hour and 30 minutes passed and I was cold, bored, wishing I’d brought my iPod, worried, getting rather angry and wondering if we were going for the world acupuncture record.

7. Scaryduck: Mirth and Woe: Grand National

Alas, the scaffolding planks buckled under his weight, and it became clear to those of us watching in awed silence that he was struggling to reach the top at anything near his desired launch velocity.

8. The Perorations of Lady Bracknell: The results of a sleepless night

It’s a long time since I’ve got this close to a normy, and I worry that I’ll cramp his style. That my own physical limitations will end up being imposed on him. That he’ll feel obliged to give up doing the things he enjoys out of a misplaced sense of solidarity with me.