Some conversations begin seriously.
This one derailed at the first turning.
It began with a mysterious organisation called SOFIA. Then a Netflix poster appeared. Next Donald acquired an orange crest. Before we knew it, we had arrived at English wordplay involving Frisian names.
Fokje.
Tjits.
Douwe.
Arie, pronounced Airy.
“Nope, just a bit inflatable.”
After that, there was no stopping it.
“Imagine being called Help.”
“Or Death-Help.”
“Or Not-At-Home.”
An English-speaking receptionist watched his entire career flash before his eyes.
Then came the question:
Who is Quack?
To which Donald naturally replied:
Quack.
At that precise moment it became clear that the English language is really one large logistical problem.
Because who is not always WHO.
And The Who is something entirely different from Mr Who.
So the conversation naturally ended with the ultimate detective:
WHO Dunnit?
A detective story in which nobody knows whether they are looking for a suspect or the World Health Organization.
Sam tries to get the facts straight.
Dave tries to explain to Sam that WHO does not always mean who.
Donald tries to find coffee.
As usual, Donald is the only one who accidentally enters the correct building.
Somewhere halfway through, you wonder how you arrived here.
That is the pleasure of irrastories.
They begin nowhere.
They end nowhere.
But along the way you visit places you would never deliberately have gone.
And sometimes they are surprisingly enjoyable places.
Quack. 🦆