Established MMXVIII · Circulation: 118,761, none of whom have mentioned this issue to anyone at home.MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 2026Price: Free, and no further action is required to keep receiving it.
This Edition Fact-Checked By Someone Who Still Owes The Fact-Checker An Apology.

Brain Epitaph

Corrections Desk Currently Rereading An Old Note To See If It Still Applies.

All the news that's already dead — we just write the marker.



BreakingOffice Blames "Calendar Clash" For Meeting That Was Actually Just ForgottenAirline Loyalty Programme Reaches Platinum Tier, Still Loses The BagFive-A-Side League Suspends Player For "Excessive Enthusiasm," Reinstates Him By Half-TimeLocal Church Adds Express Lane For Confessions Under Two MinutesBank Congratulates Customer On Overdraft Reaching A "Round Number," Suggests Framing ItNational Weather Service Downgrades Today's "Storm" To "Weather," Cites Low Reader InterestOffice Blames "Calendar Clash" For Meeting That Was Actually Just ForgottenAirline Loyalty Programme Reaches Platinum Tier, Still Loses The BagFive-A-Side League Suspends Player For "Excessive Enthusiasm," Reinstates Him By Half-TimeLocal Church Adds Express Lane For Confessions Under Two MinutesBank Congratulates Customer On Overdraft Reaching A "Round Number," Suggests Framing ItNational Weather Service Downgrades Today's "Storm" To "Weather," Cites Low Reader Interest

Front Page · Domestic Desk

Same Towel Complaint Filed For Nineteenth Year, Marked Resolved Each Time

The note has read the same three words since the wedding; the drawer where old ones go has never once been emptied.

A bathroom mirror, upper corner, one square of yellow paper, three words, freshly dated. The drawer underneath holds every note that came before it, none of them thrown away.

A married couple have logged the identical complaint every week for nineteen years. It always goes on a square of yellow paper, stuck to the same corner of the bathroom mirror. The words never change. Only the date does.

I sorted it in the first week.

The towel gets left on the end of the bed instead of on the rail. It is wet, because they have just had sex. Neither of them has ever written that part down.

The note itself says three words: "Hang up towel." It works for exactly one day. By the second night the towel is back on the bed. Nobody has ever asked why.

It is also the only subject either of them has ever put in writing. Neither has left a note about money, the children, or whether they are still happy. Only the towel, every week, in the same three words.

Their bathroom has a smart leak sensor, fitted after a real flood two winters ago. It also flags damp textiles left flat on the bed. It logs the towel as a recurring fault. The app calls each entry a "moisture event." It closes every one the same day, marked "resolved — no further action required." It stopped sending alerts years ago. It just logs it now, the way they do.

Their marriage counsellor advertises herself as a specialist in high-conflict couples. She has kept one file on this pair since the wedding, and it contains a single item: the towel. She rates their conflict resolution as excellent, the best in the practice. She lists them in her own brochure as proof the method works. She has never once had to get involved. She has billed for every session anyway.

"I sorted it in the first week," the husband said. Records show the first note is dated nine days into the marriage. The second is dated the day after.

Divorce lawyers report this is their busiest month of the year. Couples return from the summer break and quietly reassess. Neither of this couple has ever called one. They have never needed to raise their voice. They have a note for that.

This newspaper was allowed to see the drawer, on one condition: hang the towel up afterwards.

It is still on the bed.

Tomorrow’s Forecast

Tomorrow: Clear Start, Turning Petty By Mid-Morning

Skies stay calm until the school run, when the first "have you seen my other shoe" is filed nationally. A ridge of low patience builds through the afternoon pickup.

Temperatures stay mild, though tempers rise sharply near any group chat discussing half-term dates.

Outlook: Filed under "we said we'd be more organised this year."

Classifieds

  • FOR SALE: One (1) box of outgrown school uniform, kept "just in case," despite there being no case.
  • WANTED: A single sock's other half, missing since a wash cycle nobody can now identify.
  • SERVICES: Amateur mediation, by a man who has never once raised his voice, or the actual issue.
  • LOST: National goodwill, last seen around the second week of September. Reward for information.

Corrections

  • An earlier edition predicted parents would "ease back into routine." Nobody eased. Sources describe the transition as "immediate and loud."
  • We described the neighbourhood charity fun run as "well attended." Records show eleven runners and one dog. The dog did not finish.

Letters to the Editor

"Your paper reported that my mother has been asked to verify her own grandson's streaming device. She has never used a computer unsupervised. She is, as of this week, apparently better at this than the rest of us."

— Concerned, And Slightly Outmanoeuvred, 44

"Your Money Desk called back-to-school shopping 'the second Christmas.' My card was declined in front of the till assistant, who has known me for years and pretended not to notice, for the second September running."

— Regular Customer, Increasingly Familiar Till Assistant, 39