Why compulsory face mask rules are like Christmas for jobsworths like me

by local busybody Norman Steele

I LOVE rules. Especially confusing ones. So the new rules about face masks are Christmas come early for folk like me who get off on telling you what to do.

It’s open season on the public for petty sticklers. I’ve been out here hectoring people about proper face mask protocols from the stroke of midnight. And the whole day’s ahead.

I’ll probably hit up the service stations for an early fix of self-righteousness, then with any luck I’ll catch some NHS workers during their special little shopping hour, that not enough of them use.

Expect to hear me say ‘I’d expect better from you of all people’ and audibly shake my head in disapproval as I make a nurse’s morning unnecessarily difficult.

Eateries will of course be a hotspot for pedantry. The second you lower your fask mask to take a bite of your Big Mac I’ll be there, tapping on the glass in while maintaining a safe distance and giving you a stern and largely inaudible lecture.

I’ve even got a clipboard to take your name and address and forward it on to the necessary authorities. Don’t pretend you’ve got breathing difficulties either, I will make it my business to track down your medical records.

No, I’m not allowed to dish out £100 fines but you don’t know that. I could be part of the track-and-trace teams. I might know police. Just because I’m a self-appointed arbiter of justice doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences.

Funny thing is I don’t think face masks offer one iota of protection. But perversely that makes my power trip all the more satisfying. I hope this pandemic never, ever ends.

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The morning person's guide to being an insufferable twat

SPRING out of bed at the crack of dawn? The world hates you. Here’s how morning twats make life a living hell for the rest of us:

Chide people for not being up at 5am

When your bleary-eyed housemates finally rise from their pits at 8am, greet them with an ironic ‘good afternoon’ as you passive-aggressively sip coffee. What did you do with your extra three hours? Sit there waiting?

Prepare breakfast loudly

Quietly pouring milk over Cheerios won’t cut it. Clatter around the kitchen slamming cupboard doors, whizz up a breakfast smoothie, and crank up your Spotify playlist of rave classics to deprive your whole street of precious REM sleep.

Talk about how much you’ve already achieved

Bake a cake or go for a run before the sun rises then wake everyone up posting on Instagram. Late risers will wearily call you a twat before they’re even out of bed. For best results, do on a Sunday.

Make it your identity

Call yourself an early bird and everyone who wakes up later a night owl, then use this to judge their character like a Myers-Briggs interviewer. You’re better and they’re inhuman scum, so hide your self-satisfaction behind a sub-Priti Patel smirk.

Complain about noise at 8pm the night before

Expect everyone to put on the subtitles and talk in whispers after you retire at 7pm. Wear a sleeping mask to drive home the point that you’re getting your shut-eye, ready to repeat your pantomime of moral superiority first thing tomorrow.

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