Mask NoMask Mask

I hear that The World is now coming down on the side of Mask [✓] although I haven't seen any evidence then again a) no telly b) two weeks since I was last in a shop. Presidents have struggled: Meme me up, Ramaphosa. The Donald mixed-messaging from the back.  A lot like our own Charles J Haughey, in the Recession of the 80s, urging everyone else to tighten their belts and suffer tax-hikes while he was getting Charvet shirts delivered from Paris. Trump and Haughey lived Mark Twain's advice: "Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence in society". Or indeed the advice of my mentor Bob Tamarin about wearing a suit to a job interview: to show you care. It's nearly two weeks since I went for Mask to take part in a Zoom interview. I did that consciously to encourager les jeunes gens [prev] to not worry about looking silly if it helps contain their spittle. The probby with my bandito mask is that it doesn't stay up. While Jeremy Howard's requires you to cut up a t-shirt.

Now I never wear t-shirts except sometimes in bed in Winter when the central heating fails. They tend to lack a breast-pocket, so I have nowhere to put my wallet [remember wallets?]. But I've been to loadsa conferences and trade-fairs and rallies and so acquired a modest drawer of sloganized t-shirts - a couple of which could be sacrificed to make a Howard mask. But then I wouldn't be properly dressed to celebrate the 10th anniversary of whatever The Event was. I R old, so I don't plan for the 20th anniversary of anything. Now, thanks to a tweet from Ronit Bose Roy I can eat my cake and have it: t-shirt mask t-shirt.

I clearly need help with this selfie gig and basic photography because the delicate pink of my Yes = No Eighth [remember that? it's only 2 years ago this month] t-shirt has been totally bleached by over exposure. You might think that this mask is a bit over the top [of the head] and you'd be right, but it's dual-purpose recyclability rocks. I can't wait to go shopping!
Note added in press: I went shopping yesterday forenoon for only the second time in the month of April after four days without milk for the tea (not a bother, it's a breakable habit). It took me 10 minutes to get into LIDL but there were no lines at the check-out. I was the only person wearing a [Zorro-bandito] mask in the store. That's probably okay because Wexford has the lowest rate of covid-19 in the country

All this is reminding me of an old [and much mangled on the interweb] joke, which I will share with you here-and-now. The students at the London College of Fashion are having their End of Year Ball with the rules of engagement being to come as a feeling or emotion. Obviously part of the jape is to have you pals guessing what emotion is represented.

First chap comes in a scarlet coat, white breeches. black boots and a peaked hard-hat.
First gal reveals a lot in a sherwood green leotard seen through a complex globe made of Hedera helix.
It takes a while for people to guess that the first fellow is In the pink - a hunting reference. She otoh was green within [i]vy. Too clever by 'arf these fashionistas. Much later, because it had taken them a long time to get their rig just right, the two Irish lads rock up to the door. They are both startlingly naked but for a codpiece apiece. Sean's is leaking a bright yellow viscous gloop; while Pat's is shaped from papier-maché to resemble the fruit of Pyris communis. Nobody had a clue what they represent, so the boys explain: "I'm fucken dis custard" . . . "And I've come in dis pear".