Finding and using face masks not straightforward
AT my sane and sensible best, I am not drawn to flimflam or conspiracy theories, but that was before I had to wear a mask on the bus.
I am not talking about theories which abound around Covid19, Hillary Clinton, the birthplace of Barrack Obama, the moon landings, the Twin Towers attack . . . need I go on?
However, sometimes when attempting to make sense out of the ridiculous, I can be guilty of relentlessly searching for meaning.
A friend gave me a snazzy mask for my birthday. Lest you jump to the understandable conclusion this gift might have been borne of her wanting to see less of my face, I must point out that she is immunocompromised.
The mask’s swirling sea motif was impressive so, well before we were required to wear masks on buses, I went online to order another fashion statement for myself and one for my companion.
From an array of designs, I carefully selected one for me and something different for him.
When they turned up, I discovered I had done a boomerish thing, ordered two in the same fabric but not a design I thought I had chosen for either of us.
Us setting forth in these masks adorned with butterflies, hedgehogs, snails, and dear wee birdies seemed like a step away from being one of those cruise ship couples scouring the town for bargains in coordinated outfits and matching white shoes. In other words, a step too far.
Feeling too foolish to send them back admitting my clicking incompetence, I decided I would cope wearing them, but I thought I had better find something else for my companion.
I would like to think my choice of a design featuring the night sky (something which would suit the bedroom furnishings of a small boy) was generous. He is fond of gazing skywards on a starry night and loves anything to do with space exploration, whereas I am lukewarm on the whole business. He puts this down to the fact I am extremely shortsighted and that before I got spectacles at 12, I would never have been able to see whatever adults were trying to show me. It is a kind theory, but my lack of interest has not changed with the sight correction.
He is still falling short of the
Ministry of Health’s recommendation we should each have ‘‘approximately four’’ face masks each. In a dazzling display of clear direction, it goes on to say ‘‘ however you should assess how many you may need’’.
I thought three masks were close enough to approximately four, for me at least. Regardless of the number of masks, however, my user technique is below par.
I doubt I am the only bus traveller who fails to hand sanitise or wash their hands immediately before and after donning the mask and before and after removing it, as advised by the ministry.
The issue of blowing your nose when wearing a mask is not mentioned by the ministry. No doubt more sanitising would be needed. Maybe it is one of those eternal conundrums, if nobody can see your runny nose, does it actually exist?
Since many households wash their clothes in cold water, is the ministry requirement for mask washing in a washing machine with detergent at 60degC impractical? As far as I understand it, the Building Act requires water in a hot water cylinder to be kept at 60degC, but tempering valves are then used to ensure water at the tap is no more than 55degC (and lower for facilities catering for the elderly and the young). Households could have water to their laundries set at 60degC, but do they?
I have been handwashing my masks in hot water, drying them outside and ironing them.
When I was telling one of my sisters the masks saga, she expressed surprise/disappointment that I had not knitted one.
Rising to the challenge, I found a pattern, which I knitted in cotton (vivid lime green — yah boo sucks to the ‘‘in’’ girls from boarding school days who condemned wearers of this colour) with a filter pouch.
So far, so triumphant. But the hair ties looping around my ears, bent my ears over, making the mask slip off.
I quickly found a reason for it. It was punishment for my many instances of earshaming.
I once publicly compared Prince Charles’ wind catchers unfavourably to my husband’s neat little ears and there will have been many other private outbursts I am too ashamed to mention.
So, if you see me looming in to view, be kind enough to pretend you are shortsighted.
Tell yourself I am a barking mad collie wearing a lime green bib. And keep a safe distance.