Set amidst the rolling British countryside around Vernbury Vale is the little village of Vernham. Anyone who lives in a village will recognise it immediately, with its cobbled streets and Tudor buildings. There was some damage during the war (which might, or might not have been down to a lighthouse folly constructed by a local landowner on his lake) but the gaps have been filled with some beautiful, er, mock Tudor buildings. Almost unique and nearly beautiful as the village is, it's not the star of The Vernham Chronicles. The stars are the people who live in Vernham.
For the sake of the people who live in Vernham I want to make it clear that they are just like the rest ofus, only more so. They have their foibles, but then, which of us doesn't? They're steeped in the past (and occasionally in alcohol) and have nothing to do with technology. I'm sure that we've all longed to be free of mobile phones and computers at some point – but the Vernhamites take it several steps further. They won't have anything to do with one pound coins – or outsiders if they can get away with it.
The Chronicles are a series of loosely interlinked stories which don't really go anywhere except possibly round again to see if what you read the first time really was true. There's the policeman who's also a flasher – complete with artfully designed clothing to make the act simple to perform. Such exhibitionism is the norm in Vernham, but no one takes offence, not least because of the possible repercussions. There are regular cultural events in the village including the annual mystery tour, which is more of a mystery because the coach driver could get lost on a straight road.