Twelve months.
Eighty-four essays.
One book.
On 1 October 2025, the very first Platform 13 newsletter left the station.
Since then, the essays have arrived one at a time: a thought, a story, a question, a small observation from an ordinary day.
A year later, to the day, they arrive together. Postcards from the Platform's Edge is published on 1 October 2026, and is available to pre-order now.
For a little while, we have given the home page over to the book. You will find everything here: the story behind it, the different editions, and how to reserve your copy. The essays will return to their usual rhythm soon enough.
But today, the platform belongs to the book.
Some of these essays look familiar...
That is rather the point. If you have been with us since the beginning, most of these postcards have already landed in your inbox, one at a time. This is not a repackaged reprint, made for gifting.
Read singly, an essay is a small thing - a four-minute read, a thought, gone. Read together, in order, they turn out to be something else: a year of paying attention, and the shape a year makes when you can finally see all of it at once. Themes surface that none of us noticed while it was happening.
They have also been properly edited, arranged into sections rather than chronology, and given the room a page gives and a screen never does. Several have been rewritten. A few have been cut. Lots are new and have not been seen before.
Mostly, though, our book is a lovely object. A year of ordinary days, on paper, that can be read, returned to and visited often.
Before you decide, read one.
When Conversations become Contests
“Did you have a good holiday?”... I mean, that is about as soft, low-risk an enquiry as we could possibly be asked this summer. It’s almost so seasonal that we could wear the response as a sign around our necks so to avoid answering altogether. No sharp edges. Not a trick question...
“Yes, thanks... we didn’t do much; lovely dog walks, too much to eat and some catch-ups with a few good friends... You?” Our answer is neither rehearsed nor a practised narrative, as Vanessa and I did actually do precisely that, and it was wonderful. And then this happens...
...“Gosh, well we hosted 164 people for the bank holiday weekend, and oh my days... you should have seen the bill for the barbecue food... then my second husband Tony got shipwrecked three times on the way back from Marks & Spencer, and Freddy, our youngest, the one who went to Oxford, not the Cambridge one, had to fight a rare type of wild leopard, that somehow got into our brand new forty-thousand-pound wine cellar”...
Yes, it’s a huge exaggeration, but I bet you know where I’m coming from. Competitive Conversation.
And most of us participate in it without even knowing. It is a strange phenomenon that slips in very quietly, dressed as virtuous enthusiasm or innocent relatability. But is it as harmless as it would have you believe? I wonder, people...
OK, so let’s radically forgive ourselves first. If we have done it – if we have unconsciously clambered over someone else’s experience, and unwittingly stacked our story slightly higher, or made it a little more shiny – it bore no malice.
Good.
Research indicates that we humans are wired for comparison. It seems that we are not content with exchanging information – we may be less concerned with meeting, and more dialled in to measuring. I am told that conversation is never just about shared experiences, it’s about identity, belonging and safety. A sort of “Where do I sit relative to you?” “Am I doing enough? Am I sufficiently windswept and interesting? Am I succeeding?”... at least comparatively.
When someone shares details around an experience, especially a fairly ordinary one – “Next week we’re off on one of those City-breaks in Zagreb” – it can trigger an internal reckoning. The story, and its benign content, doesn’t threaten us because Zagreb is qualitatively better than where we’re going, it threatens us because it’s different.
So we end up responding not with curiosity or encouragement, but with escalation. We add mileage, a little drama and some listy productivity, and in doing so – not to purposefully diminish the other person – but to kind of reassure ourselves. “Oh, we loved Zagreb. Went there twice in `86... on Concorde. Got upgraded and sat six rows behind Princess Di’s ex-nanny’s friend’s cousin. So typical of British Airways... Anyway Zagreb is certainly not what it used to be, sadly. Hope you won’t be disappointed.”
For some people, it comes so very “naturally” – ah yes, those people...
For a growing minority among us, competitive conversation often hides a borderline narcissistic-style fear of being seen as ordinary. As unremarkable. Of having chosen wrongly, or been left behind. For this group, the counter-behaviour often manifests as an attempt at conversational dominance – where one side constantly interrupts and tries to control the floor.
We could of course, choose to try and look at this through a more compassionate lens, than simply point our fingers. It actually reveals something quite nicely “human” below its rough surface – that we all want our lives to count and our experiences to matter. We have a deep desire for our choices to be seen as valid and interesting. Ours is a culture that wants us to equate worth with visibility and social votes. That’s not necessarily our fault. Or anyone's fault.
But the cost of this habit – and ultimately this behavioural choice – is undoubtedly, subtly cumulative, and a bit damaging. Conversations begin to feel hollow. Vanessa and I sometimes choose not to talk about certain things with certain people, as we just know how things will turn on the dime of “oh that’s quite good, but mine is better, so therefore I’m best”...
So what’s the solution? It may just begin and end with allowing someone else’s story to exist without needing to lean against it and especially not leap over it. By letting their experience stand untouched, and not be surpassed. It sounds deceptively simple: “Zagreb sounds lovely. Tell me more – what are you most excited to see?” Can you feel the empathy and interest in that question? It’s like thick, conversational honey. No contest.
This kind of kindness and skilled listening asks us to trust that our worth does not disappear when we are not speaking. That another person’s experiential “fullness” does not diminish our own. That stories are not finite resources to compete over, but contributions to a shared human landscape.
Your Bank Holiday does not invalidate mine, even if you did spend it fighting rare leopards in your expensive, new wine cellar. My quiet weekend does not judge your busy chaos. Your version does not threaten my long, peaceful dog walks.
They can simply wander along, like Vanessa, me and Vito. Lovingly, side by side.
Three ways to bring it home
Our lovely collection of 84 illustrated essays comes in 3 editions.
The Reader's Copy - Paperback
The Keepers Copy - Hardback
The Collectors Copy - The Signed Author's Limited Edition
Why can't I pre-order the paperback and hardback?
Because Amazon doesn't allow it. Pre-orders there are only possible for Kindle editions, so the paperback and hardback simply go on sale on publication day, 1 October. The Author's Edition comes directly from us rather than through Amazon, which is why it's the one you can reserve now.
What makes the Author's Edition different?
The paperback and hardback are printed by Amazon, one at a time, as they're ordered. The Author's Edition is a proper short print run from Holywell Press in Oxford, printing there since 1890 — sewn sections rather than glued, cloth boards, a foil-blocked spine, printed endpapers. A book made to be kept rather than replaced. Short runs cost considerably more per copy than print-on-demand, and every copy is signed and numbered by hand before it's wrapped. It's the difference between a book that's manufactured and a book that's made.
When will my Author's Edition arrive?
Copies are posted from France or the UK to arrive on or around 1 October. Orders placed after that are posted within three working days.
Are these essays I've already read?
Some of the themes have appeared in our Brave Seeds newsletter, yes. You may have come across them, if you've been subscribed since the start. They've been edited, largely rewritten in places, and arranged into twelve chapters rather than the order they were sent. Some are brand new. The book is a different thing from the inbox - that's rather the point of it.
How does the numbering work?
Copies are numbered by hand in the order they're reserved. Order early and you get a lower number.
Is there an ebook?
Yes indeed. The Kindle ebook is priced at £8.99, and is available to pre-order now.
What if something goes wrong with my order?
Just drop me a line at johnduffuk@gmail.com, or to Vanessa at vgrant71@gmail.com and we'll sort it out. There's no customer service function, or a support desk - it's just us.