IT’S my first day back at work after a week’s leave. And as I enter the hospital, my mate the security guard, tells me that I now have to wear a mask anywhere in the hospital. I duly apply said mask: I am a good boy after all.

Now I’ve only been wearing it half an hour and it is already irritating the hell out of me.

For one thing it makes my glasses steam up. But more importantly it ‘masks’ any facial expressions there might be.

Where once I would greet and be greeted with a friendly “Hello” and a smile; now I only hear the words and just a big gaping muzzle where the mouth used to be.

It is bad enough that we can’t hug. I miss that so much in lockdown. Not being able to give some measure of physical contact and comfort to others; but now there is no expression except what comes from the eyes.

It is isolating; another step of loneliness in what has become the “lockdown” norm.

And I can hear. Imagine if you are Deaf and rely partially or wholly on lip reading and facial expression. These are difficult times.

I am sure there are good reasons for this new Government Order. I assume, as we have been told all along, that the science dictates it.

And, of course, I will continue to comply with the rules (although shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted comes to mind) but it doesn’t mean I like it.

It seems just another attempt to muzzle our identity. So for me I will hold on to the unique humanity of every individual.

And I will engage in a process of imagination to see what is behind the mask.

I will choose to see the smile where now there is only a pale blue strip.

I will look beyond the words to see the stress and anxiety in someone’s face as they tell me their troubles.

I will not forget to imagine the laughter and joy which these masks sees to cover up. So I will look behind the mask and hope for the best.