I double check. But yes, it's there. Definitely there. I look down, my breathing shallow. I close my eyes. Oh my God, it's still there. I swallow hard, once, twice and again.

"Pull yourself together!" I admonish myself. Slowly, I raise my head again and open my left eye. Oops, the guy in front of me has moved on already. Must have just happened because nobody is complaining yet, and we all know how people are. Quickly, I step forward, closing the gap – not too much, mind you. Minding the gap is the order of the day, of course. I check the distance. Should be around 1.5 metres, at least, I reckon. I nearly give myself a satisfied grin behind my mask and a proverbial slap on the shoulder for a job well done and disaster averted, when I feel it again. A little stronger this time. Please, no! The disaster has not been averted! I seem to have been waiting in this line forever. I'm sure it was still dark when I got here. Well, I might be exaggerating a bit at this point, but there are only three customers in front of me now and I want my Sunday rolls. Just a little longer. Please!

Carefully I turn my head. At least 10 people behind me now. Not good. The feeling is getting stronger. Why didn't I take a drink with me, for crying out loud? Then again, how would I even drink it with this stupid face mask on? I try to take another careful breath. I hate this mask. When I breathe out, the mask steams up my glasses. When I breathe in, it seems to want to follow my breath into my mouth.

Yes, and that is where it must have happened. Of course! That bloody mask. I try to clear my throat very gently. Not a good idea. The tickle intensifies. I bend over slightly, pretending that I have a bad back from all this waiting in this stupid line. For some Sunday rolls. It still feels surreal to me. Before all this started, waiting in lines like these always meant that there would be a coveted ticket at the end of the line and a fantastic concert or festival to look forward to. Now, we festival queue for rolls. Unbelievable.

"Trolley! You can't go into the supermarket without a trolley!" someone screams, panic in his voice. I flinch. So does the lovely elderly lady who is fighting with her ears, glasses and face mask all at the same time and whom the shout was directed at. "Where... where...?" The lady looks flustered. Her mask flops off from her face, taking her glasses with her. The security guy at the supermarket door sighs, bends down, retrieves the items and tries to hand them back to the lady. Everyone is staring at them.

"Distance!" his colleague shouts at the top of his lungs. Poor Mr Trolley-Enforcer nearly drops the lady's items again. "I... ah... I'll put them on the flower pot over there. You can pick them up then. Oh,... and the trolleys are over there. Don't forget to take one next time, lady." The woman picks up her items, not before Mr Security has stepped back from the flower pot, keeping a safety distance of two metres. He is Mr Security after all. My gaze follows the duly admonished gran, who shuffles away towards the trolleys, with her head down, fumbling frantically with her mask. She looks like a schoolgirl who has been caught behind the bike stand by the headmaster.

"Serves her right." the guy behind me mumbles. "It's people like her that we're doing this shit for. And what does she do? Wanders into the supermarket like she has no care in the world. No trolley, not even a face mask on. Outrageous." The other queuers mumble agreement. "The only people worse than her are the ones who think it's okay to come out with a cough. Bloody bastards, they are!"

The tickle in my throat rears its ugly head again at those words. I try to stop breathing.

"Yeah, those idiots are everywhere. Just yesterday I saw a guy being punched in the head because he had a coughing fit at the meat counter. Can you believe the audacity? In between coughs he tried to sell us some cock and bull story that he wasn't ill, he just had something stuck in his throat. The nerve of people!"

"They should be arrested!" a lady at the end of the queue pipes in.

My throat constricts. An incy wincy teeny tiny cough comes out, which I quickly cover by pretending that it was a hiccup. But now my throat is on a winning streak and constricts even more.

"And look, there comes granny again! Still no face mask on! Hey, Mr Security, do your job! Kick her out!" The outraged customer is bright red behind his mask, his eyes watery.

"He's got the virus! Look at his eyes!" another customer screams.

"No, I haven't. Honestly!" The poor man seems flabbergasted as to how quickly the tide turned against him.

The old lady quickly rushes past us, probably going faster than she has in the last 20 years. I splutter, pretending to make outrage noises, while I am nearly choking trying to hold this bloody cough in. One more customer in front.

"Get the hell out of here!" Someone I can't identify is shouting at the poor man with the watery eyes. "Do you want to kill us all?"

"There is nothing wrong with me." The man becomes really agitated now, his eyes bulging. When a tear escapes, a man in a leather jacket and his stocky friend as well as two young lads converge on him.

The last customer in front of me steps away. Finally. I approach the counter. The friendly bakery lady smiles at me. "What can I do for you?" she singsongs.

I lift my finger. "Six rolls, please." I can hear the simple three words in my head. Nearly there. Just a second away from sauntering home with my loot and making my family happy. The sun is shining, fresh rolls for Sunday breakfast. What more can anyone ask for?

I open my mouth slowly. My throat senses an opportunity and constricts hard. Behind me, I can hear what sounds like a hefty slap. People shouting. Quickly, I clench my mouth shut, shake my head like I'm some demented idiot, pivot on my heels and race out of the building, holding my breath. I sprint past the queue, the hairdresser next door and the little chip shop, round the corner into the small deserted side street, where I hide between two wheelie bins until the stupid coughing fit is over. Bloody face mask.

I use my hands - not smart, I know, but desperate times and all that – to clear the inside of my mask of all dust bunnies. Then I settle down on the pavement and wait half an hour. All the Sunday-roll-shoppers from earlier should be gone by now, I reckon. I walk back to the supermarket and gasp. The queue has tripled by now. There seem to be a few distance-rule related scuffles in the parking lot now. The security guys are running around like headless chickens, forcing trolleys onto everyone who approaches the supermarket within a 20-metre radius. Oh well. My throat feels fine now. I should be safe this time, I'm sure. I don my mask and get in line the second time.