Three or four times a week we receive private messages to The Shakespeare's TwitFace page, usually enquiring about our cultural events, asking if we can host private parties or wanting information about the sport we have on.
"Hi - will you be showing Grimsby reserves versus Scunthorpe reserves in the Ee By Gum Northern Territories Trophy first round replay three weeks on Tuesday?"
"Hi - we most certainly will. Bring your own pork scratchings."
This is all fairly common stuff. Imagine our surprise this week, then, when we received not one, but two messages of a quite different nature. They were both asking the same thing.
"Hi - will you be showing the Love Island final tomorrow night?"
When the first message arrived, I thought it must be a mistake and the sender had confused us with a local pole dancing club. Upon receipt of the second enquiry, however, I realised that this must actually be a thing and some people who'd come to Malaga on holiday had decided that rather than enjoy a wide range of exquisite tapas and several glasses of wine on a rooftop terrace on a balmy July evening, they would prefer to watch some reality TV in a pub. Each to their own, I suppose.
"Love", "Island" and "final'" are three very odd words to see in a sentence together, aren't they? I've never watched the programme but presume that it does actually take place on an island - Anglesey? - but that there isn't much love involved at all and that for it to be a final, the people on the show must have to compete against each other in some way possibly involving Botox injections and eyebrow shaping. I imagine that everyone present is in their twenties (although a senior Love Island for over seventies would be a sure fire hit), good-looking and that none of them reads a compendium of classic poetry in their down time. Almost certainly, they all call each other "Guys", even when addressing just one other person and they all have tattoos, possibly written in Sanskrit.
Anyway, like I say, I haven't seen the programme in question but I'm pretty sure that'd be the gist of proceedings. It's odd, then, how this type of show is categorised with the term "reality" when such ludicrous shenanigans are about as far from most people's reality as it is possible to get.
No, I'm afraid we cited technical difficulties and steered our enquirees (very polite, both, by the way) in a different direction.
Not to worry, though; the football season starts soon and, with any luck, heavily featuring Grimsby and Scunthorpe reserves.
Now that's what I call reality.