Yesterday I woke up in a sweat. Not because I've got swine flu but because the news is that we are days away from a swine flu pandemic. As the tally of suspected cases in the UK pushes on towards the 100 mark, London is on high alert.

The Department of Health swine flu guidelines say that members of the general public should not wear face masks, stating that "available scientific evidence shows they do not work". Nevertheless, it has bought up a job-lot of 60million for front-line healthcare staff and many of the city's chemists have sold out.

I'm all too aware of the risks of contracting something nasty on the daily commute. A few years ago an outbreak of mumps in my area saw me puffy-faced and signed off work for a fortnight. The only close contact I'd had with any of the "infected" was when we were wedged together on the train.

So, I decided to don a mask for a day to see how Londoners react to the idea that we might all soon be breathing through four layers of sterile fibres.

As yet, I have not noticed anyone else wearing a mask (although friends have spotted one or two and sightings reported on Twitter are multiplying), but when the staff at Boots said stocks had run out at the warehouse and several other independent chemists claimed to have sold their last face masks days ago it became clear to me that Londoners are worried enough to stockpile masks, even if they are not yet terrified enough to wear them.

After hours of searching, my dentist eventually provided me with two fluid-resistant procedure masks (one blue and one pink) that he assured me would filter bacteria, and he demonstrated how to fit them properly: pinching the mask at the nose and moulding it around the face. I was all set for my day behind a mask.

8am
Living out in Kent, I have to brave an overground train, a Tube and a walk to get to the office. Not yet ready to face public humiliation, I manage to swindle a lift to the station.

Fortunately when I emerge, mask-clad, from the car everyone appears to be suffering from that morning eye-glaze, and nobody appears to notice.
I take a seat on the train opposite a sallow-looking chap.

He keeps looking at me with terrified eyes. At first I'm not sure if it's his general demeanour, or whether the mask has got him scared — until a woman behind him gets off the train and he swiftly shifts into her seat.

On the Tube, everyone is going to great pains not to appear as if they are looking at me. They snatch glances whenever they can and, realising that I have clocked their attempts at discreet staring, turn quickly away. I arrive at the office unscathed and thinking Londoners really have seen it all.

10am
I dash out of the office to grab a cup of tea from Starbucks and see a huge crowd of builders from a site nearby having a break.

As I approach they all start shouting "stay back, stay back" and covering their faces with their high-visibility vests. One or two pretend to fall over as I walk past and I struggle to stifle a giggle. "Have you got any more of those?" says one of the tallest and stockiest, halting his antics to speak to me. "Yes," I reply. "A pink one."

He looks unimpressed. "No, that's no good for me. I'd rather get the flu."

Back inside, a colleague kindly points out that I might struggle to drink my tea with a mask on. It languishes on my desk, going cold.

Noon
After several bouts of "Pardon? Excuse me? Sorry?" from everyone I speak to on the phone, I resolve to remove the mask while I conduct a few telephone interviews. After all, there are no confirmed cases of swine flu in my office. Yet.

2pm
Heading out of the office means donning the mask once more. I can't eat through the flu-protector, so I just go for a wander. It's bright outside but I can't wear my sunglasses because they instantly steam up.

Now, all eyes are on me. Several people smile, others flash me withering looks. One young man shouts "Oh … come … on" and his friends collapse into peals of laughter, another stops to ask me where I got the mask from. I can't believe anyone would want one of these stifling and uncomfortable accessories to wear in the sunshine.

6pm
An appointment for a pedicure in Marylebone requires me to take a big detour on the way home — opening me up to a pelting of comments.

"There's a girl walking down the street and she's wearing a face mask because she's so f***ing paranoid," yells one woman into her mobile phone — clearly hoping that I will hear and somehow realise my behaviour is ridiculous.

A rickshaw driver shouts, "You never know …" as he trundles past, and one guy even points directly at me, and says, "Look at that!" to his companion.

As I approach a pub, a group of middle-aged men are having after-work drinks at a table outside.

All four turn around to gawp at me, jaws dropped, and when I smile (with my eyes) they burst into hysterics. "You're a bit in advance," ventures one. But I just saunter on.

6.30pm
Arriving at the salon late, I'm too embarrassed to let the staff think I'm serious. I explain I'm doing this for a job as I arrive but they are unfazed.

The girls all wear similar masks to carry out the medical pedicures — so not only am I in good company throughout my treatment but my therapist tells me a client asked to take one of the masks away with him earlier that day.

She obliged, but was keen not to give out too many in case her supplier has been cleaned out by the government. Who would have thought London would have to resort to mask-rationing?

8.30pm
Wandering back up the road, I notice two of the drinkers are still sitting outside the pub. They spot me coming and begin chuckling again, so I stop to talk and discover their names are Steve and Peter — and they're a little the worse for wear.

"So have you got the flu, or is this a joke?" asks Steve. "We immediately thought: 'Attention seeker' when we saw you," says Peter.

Through the window, another group of drinkers are enjoying the spectacle — finding my facemask an endless source of comedy. I let Steve and Peter in on what I'm up to and they start getting involved.

As a group of girls walk past looking bewildered, Steve turns up the volume and says: "So you're saying the flu you've got could kill us all. We're all going to die?" It's 15 minutes before I'm on my way again. Rather unexpectedly, the facewear is proving good for my social life.

9pm
This time, as I descend into the Tube station I look this way and that, trying to get noticed.

Down on the platform, two girls approach me. "Are you really worried?" Deciding this time not to give myself away I reply: "Yes, aren't you?"
"Yeah," says one. "I am. I need one of those masks. Where did you get it?"

My story that every chemist I tried in London had sold out evidently wasn't the comfort she was looking for.

"I'm going to have to go to my dentist, too. I'm going to call tomorrow. I've got to get a mask."

She's working herself up into a frenzy. Right on cue, a chap further up the platform sneezes. Flinging her hands to her face, she lets out a shriek. "Ahhhhhh. I'm going to get swine flu," she squeals, and dashes a few feet along the platform. "I need a mask. I don't care what I look like. I'm only 17, I don't want to die!"

I'm beginning to think wearing a mask in the city amounts to full-scale panic-mongering.

Back on the overground, nobody bats an eyelid. I think I perceive a woman munching on an apple slow her chewing as she catches sight of me but I can't be sure. Perhaps everyone is too tired to care what I'm wearing on my face. Perhaps they think it's a good idea.

Swine flu is clearly an issue that's divided the city. I managed to amuse and entertain one half of London, who seem to think the promised pandemic is all a big joke, while feeding the paranoia of the others — who don't.

The next day, my mother suggests I wear the mask again (because regardless of swine flu, it will save me from other nasties) but I'm reluctant.

My 24 hours under wraps haven't been the most pleasant but I've learned that in the face of a crisis, Londoners prefer to keep calm and carry on.

And now I know one thing for sure: I'd rather risk swine flu than spread the fear virus.

Face masks over time

15TH CENTURY - VENETIAN MASKS
A speciality from the Renaissance period, typically made from papier-mβchι and decorated with oversized feathers, sequins and gold.

Donned for large, extravagant parties or as part of games where guests had to guess the identities of fellow revellers. Catch sight of the best ones at the Venice Carnival.

17TH CENTURY - THE HIGHWAYMAN'S MASK
This black mask was a crucial accessory for keeping the wearer's identity a secret when nabbing sackfuls of gold coins and jewels off unsuspecting highway travellers.

Wearers of this disguise were often considered heroes - think Dick Turpin or Claude Du Vall.

1940s, SECOND WORLD WAR - THE GAS MASK
People were ordered to carry these heavy, black rubber gas masks with them at all times to protect from potential poison gas attacks. More developed than the respirators that were used in the First World War but still uncomfortable to wear and difficult to breathe with.

1990s - MICHAEL JACKSON MASK
He is the King of Masks, rarely seen in public without his favourite surgical accessory. Jackson takes no chances, whether out shopping or doing press conferences. Available in loud colours and made of hypo-allergenic Neoprene. Good for all urban cyclist types as it provides city bike riders with basic filtration against pollution.

• 

  The first date debate: who picks up the bill?

  We ask two young singles where they stand on divvying up for drinks and dinner this Valentine's Day

  ---

• 

  Chris Powell: racist abuse between players was accepted in my day

  Exclusive: After high-profile allegations this season, Charlton's manager is pleased the issue is now being addressed but says the authorities still have plenty of work to do

  ---