In the topologically unstable suburb of Lower Upper Middle Thought, there exists a building that only appears when no one’s looking for it. It’s a squat, confused-looking structure with an architectural style best described as beige regret . This is the headquarters of the Department of Inconvenient Enlightenment , a bureaucratic backwater tasked with discovering Truth — but only the sort that makes people wince slightly. The Department’s most prominent (and indeed only) employee was a man named Clive Marbles. Clive had the sort of face that looked like it had been quietly disappointed by most sandwiches, and a walk that suggested he was always just about to explain something tedious about printer settings. Clive had one tremendous strength: he was brilliant at identifying other people’s mistakes. He once won an award for pointing out a typo in the preamble to the Universal Declaration of Consensus. He was the reason most toaster instruction manuals now include the phrase “Do not attem...
The Written Word Group in association with Bar Esperanza are proud to present: A Night of Music, Story Telling & Poetry. Date: Thursday 14th May 2026 - 5pm Location: Bar Esperanza Avenida Andalucía, La Alfoquía (next to / junto a Arboleas Oil gas station) Contact: 642 52 21 01 (To book a table) Expectations: High This Story & Music Night, is about connection: between voices and listeners, between memory and imagination, between the stories we share and the music that we carry within us. A storyteller isn't just a narrator—they're our oldest guides . In ancient Ireland, they were as valued as kings, and ever since those first campfires were lit at the dawn of time, they’ve been our teachers, our entertainers, who nudge the world toward change. Each performer brings a little piece of their own journey, and hopefully together we’ll shape something that only exists here in this place at this time at this moment. May you hear a poem that stays with you, a son...
[Scene: A sun-washed terrace bar in coastal Spain. Plastic chairs. Slight scent of aftershave and calamari. Barry stands at the bar, holding up a pint of beer with a floating arthropod inside. Luis, the barman, is cheerfully drying glasses that do not look especially clean.] Barry (British, incensed but polite): Hola. Excuse me. There’s a dead fly in my beer. Luis (smiling broadly): Ah sí! Is garnish . We call him Pedro . He always choose the best drinks. Barry: He’s floating! Face down in my Estrella like a drunk sailor. He’s clearly dead . Luis: No, señor — he is... how you say... tranquilo . Very relaxed fly. Spanish fly, no? Barry: He’s not relaxed, he’s deceased! This fly has lost interest in all things fizzy! It has popped its last bubble! It has buzzed its final buzz! Luis (peering in): Hmm. Maybe he is… a little bit... muerto. Tiny bit. But still very good fly. Local! Barry: Local?! He’s doing the backstroke in the afterlife! Luis: We use only fresh ingredi...
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