Less a ritual, more a rapid-fire manoeuvre.

In a matter of seconds, the bag is retrieved from a jacket pocket, applied and synched in, no real ceremony.

You likely get used to it.

Blindboy Boatclub is used to explaining the reasons for donning his signature supermarket-friendly veil, too.

It's a privacy thing, enhanced by suffering through and eventually overcoming a fear of crowds and public spaces. What's more, it affords a certain unique status in the whimsical realm that is Irish pop culture.

You could file the proud Limerick son under artist, satirist, podcaster, musician, comedian, author and maybe one or two other banners.

Just don't call him a celebrity.

"Cringey as fuck," he nods when this scribe suggests that Ireland shouldn't have famous people. And yet, one could make the argument...

"I have notoriety," he notes before the cellophane contorts slightly and an "Awh, jesus christ..." emerges from within.

"I mean, look - if you’re a Colin Farrell or if you’re a Cillian Murphy or a Danny from The Script, then you’re a celebrity," he gestures.

"Then you can go to London and be bothered, right? I can wear this bag in London and one or two people will know who I am, therefore I am not a celebrity.

"There’s a story about Russell Brand. Before he became huge, when he was just the lad who was big in the UK - because Russell loves fame, you know? - he went to Los Angeles and he walked along the road and he couldn’t fucking handle that nobody knew who he was, couldn’t deal with it. He had to go to Santa Monica where all the Brits are and he just stood there so people would know who he was.

"Being a celebrity in Ireland is cringey as fuck," he reiterates.

"It’s one of the reasons I have the bag on. I’m Marty Whelan level of fame. You could be inside a Euroshop in Dublin and you see Marty Whelan and there’s people going over saying, ‘How you getting on, Marty?’ and he’s there looking for a good deal on deodorants. That’s not celebrity. The bag prevents me from having to deal with that."