The man in the ‘rather uncomfy’ mask
Despite diligently wearing a face mask on rare excursions out of the house, I admit to not particularly enjoying the experience, finding the masks quite stifling. Admittedly that’s a small sacrifice if it keeps me and others healthy. I certainly wouldn’t make a good masked bandit. It’s probably the long farang nose that’s the problem. I don’t envy the many people who have to wear a mask all day, especially in the tropical heat.
The mask certainly does not help linguistic shortcomings. My enunciation when grappling with the Thai language is bad enough in normal circumstances, but while wearing a mask anything I say comes out sounding something like “wrrrgh wrrrgh wrrrgh wrrrgh” followed by a blank look from whoever I am trying to communicate with. This might explain why twice in recent weeks my taxi driver has turned right when I said left. Mind you, that used to happen even before the days of wearing a mask.
The discomfort from the mask means that on some supermarket excursions the nose gets a bit itchy and demands immediate attention, i.e. a quick scratch. That doesn’t look very good, so I have to find a discreet spot behind the canned goods section and attempt a furtive scratch without anyone noticing. But they usually do.
Not up to scratch
I had to go to a hospital during the week for a regular check-up and was impressed by the efficiency of the staff in their anti-virus precautions. I felt a bit sorry for the doctor, a lovely Thai lady, who was wearing not only a substantial mask but also a face shield and looked like she was about to audition for some space movie. Anyway, she cheered me up as usual, for which I’m very thankful. It can’t be much fun being a doctor in these times.
In the waiting room, pondering my misbehaving nose, and having a discreet scratch, my mind wandered off to the time I was hospitalised in 1998 after coming down with chicken pox in Bangkok. I resembled the “Spotty Muldoon” character mentioned in last week’s PostScript and recall feeling like a delinquent schoolboy when reprimanded by nurses after having a quiet scratch when I thought no one was looking. The one thing that is forbidden if you have chickenpox is scratching yourself, which was naturally the only thing I wanted to do.
Keep your distance
One expression you can’t escape from is “social distancing”, although not everyone seems to be able to fathom out what two metres or six feet actually means. In the UK the distance of “two supermarket trolleys” appears to be easiest to understand. According to the BBC, around the globe they have their own creative ways of measuring social distancing. In Siberia the distance is “one small bear”, while in other parts of Russia it’s “one seal, or reindeer”.
In the US, the state of Montana has adopted a fishing theme with citizens advised to stay at a distance of “four trout” or “one fishing rod”. Among the acceptable distance guidelines in Wisconsin are “one cow” and “three badgers”. No prizes for guessing Australia’s most popular measurement is “one kangaroo length”.
As for Thailand, “the distance between two inactive posts” would seem an appropriate measurement. For rural folks, “one buffalo” length might be best, while in the city maybe “three sleeping stray dogs” or “one and a half tuk-tuks”. In golfing terms it would be the average distance of a Crutchley tee-shot.
Blame the parents
Last week, PostScript carried an item about a young Australian boy who was bullied because his first name was Corona. Since then it has emerged that in India parents have named their newborn twins Corona and Covid, while other babies have been landed with names like Sanitizer and Lockdown. Not a good idea. Just think of the poor kids when they are growing up being identified with a deadly pandemic.
Parents have a lot to answer for when it comes to giving children silly names. In England among those who have suffered have been Mary Hatt Box and Wava White Flag. One lad was named Strange Odour Andrews and then there was the chap christened William Thrower Fitt. One lad who must have experienced a rough time at school was Longhorne Bullet Dick, while Luke Tea Orange probably also suffered. Someone else who must have been confused was Larry Harry Barry. Just imagine being stopped by a policeman and convincing him you are not drunk with a name like that — like the fellow called Smith whose parents unkindly christened him Mister.
Walk of life
April was quite a month for Captain Tom Moore. In the space of a few weeks, he went from an unknown war veteran to being given a flypast by Spitfires on his 100th birthday, earning promotion to colonel and the recipient of an astonishing 140,000 birthday cards. He even found time to become the oldest person to top the UK hit parade with a version of You’ll Never Walk Alone. It was of course acknowledgement of his walk, which raised more than 30 million pounds in the fight against the virus. But what captured the public’s imagination most was Capt Tom’s humility — he was overwhelmed by the response. He simply comes across as a lovely old chap just “doing his bit”.