A Masked Ball should be the epitome of glamour and fun.  But here it isn’t.

There are masks galore as we dance around strangers, and even friends, we meet in the street. Gavotting around them, bowing/ head-nodding acknowledgement as we pass, yet keeping the mandated metre away.  But there is no music, no gaiety, and little fun.

Since arriving two weeks ago, we’ve completed our messages at the dentist (twice),  the doctors (twice), the pedicurist, the outpatient clinic, the screening clinic, the tailor, the golf shop, the bank, the Apple shop, the other bank, the pharmacy – I like so much because they never ask to see a prescription or question for whom are the medicines. Or refuse to sell more than one pack of paracetamol.  

I hesitated before the visit to the outpatient clinic.  Surely this was a time to wear a mask!  But where were they? The masks that we had brought with us but never used. I tore up the apartment, and sent desperate texts to Delfette, to no avail.  Should I go, or should I pray.  I didn’t need to go. It could wait. And then I saw them stacked besides the sink in the kitchen. I grabbed two and left for the clinic. I was met by a receptionist in Hazmat suit who took my temperature. Besides her, another two receptionists and the shroff attendant, there were only two patients in sight. I was in and out with the Doctor and Pharmacy counter in less than ten minutes. A welcome anti-climax. The Doctor wasn’t impressed with my mask – an industrial dust protector he said - and gave me three precious.

We have had some fun. Playing golf in the open air besides the sea was surely healthy.  Commemorating Brexit at 7:00 in the Foreign Correspondents Club perhaps less so, but the bubbles went down easily. As did the full English breakfast at the Hong Kong Club while watching the Super Bowl. And a Sunday roast lunch with friends. I even managed a few craft beers while out and about.

So we haven’t run out of things to do, but are cutting short our visit from eight weeks to two.  We do not need to be here. I am on my way to the airport later this evening.  I should be back in Ireland tomorrow evening in time for the exit polls from the General Election: just as I was in the UK on December 12th.

P.S.  Good catch on the jam jars.  I had missed the retraction. What does it tell you about Environmental Health Officers that they published instructions with their interpretation without challenging the Directive?  And what does it tell you about other Directives, that the EHOs found that one plausible?