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.