A water pipe in our flat cracked at the weekend so we had to call a plumber. He was the same plumber who fixed our washing machine about 3 weeks ago while sharing conspiracy theories with us. I was looking forward to his visit today and to hearing more theories and stories. After all, he’s a man who goes around the town specializing in leaks, while the rest of us are at home staring at our screens. He didn’t disappoint and told me about a guy who stabbed his wife because isolating with her was just too much and she had been having an affair anyway. Through his face mask he spoke of empty hospitals, Covid not being real and the Rothschilds being behind it all. I was genuinely amused and almost wished he could stay longer and we could sit by the fire and listen to more about what he’s seen and heard – not because of the information, but because of his storytelling. It’s made me realise that despite having access to all the information on the internet, I feel isolated from the “word of mouth”, from the things people only say to each other in person, face-to-face. These situations are so much more than just sharing information (or misinformation), they’re complex exchanges of feelings and concerns, they’re performances of roles and values, and they’re also very fine negotiations of trust.