Crisp-chomper at cinema is a reminder of forgotten pitfalls of social interaction

As a great philosopher once said: “Hell is other people.” Did I take Jean-paul Sartre out of context? Mais oui. Un peu. However, if I can use it to make a point, and add a couple of words, I would say that “Hell is other people – with crisps.”

Every day, and I’m guilty of it too, I hear people saying: “This online world is great but won’t it be amazing when we can all be back in a room together, having those shared experiences?”

Of course it will, but memories are short. I can think of many experiences at the cinema, the theatre, a gallery or a gig where I would have been delighted to have two metres between me and the next punter.

I certainly don’t advocate that it becomes the norm. All temples of entertainment need audiences to be back to full strength as soon as safely possible. We need to kickstart the cultural economy.

In fact I would encourage everyone to come out, blinking from the glare of the small screen, and support live entertainment in every form.

Back to those crisps, though. I have been to the cinema once since lockdown, to a multiplex to watch Christopher Nolan’s Tenet, when there was partial reopening.

There were approximately eight people in the cinema, enjoying Nolan’s startling visuals accompanied by the kind of surround sound that gives the eardrums a pounding.

And still, six rows away, I could hear someone getting a right good crunch from a giant bag of cheese and onion (that’s a guess, but it was unmistakably crisps).

In another corner, there was another cinema-goer, shaking that giant popcorn box like the percussionist from Earth, Wind and Fire, determined to get to that last bit of sweet, sweet corn among the carpet of unpopped kernels.

Of course it’s up to people whether they eat at the cinema or not – marshmallow anyone? Not only will they be silent, they might stop you chatting through the movie.

I know I sound like a grump, like the woman who tuts and sighs and clutches her handbag to her bosom when you need to get past her in a row.

All I’m saying is, at this point when we all want to give free hugs and see people and be in rooms together and have daisy chains in our hair (no, just me then), should we should temper our expectations?

Will there always be the 7ft guy at a gig who will stand right in front of you, just as the band comes on?

Then, when you’re at the bar, will you still be invisible to the staff, even though your elbows are freshly sharpened?

Will there always be someone at a book event, so excited to meet the author, that they have everything they’ve ever written signed – and then a selfie for every day of the year?

At seated gigs, will there be an individual who makes multiple trips to the bar, edging past with multiple plastic pints – the precursor to making multiple trips to the toilet?

At comedy gigs, will there always be the heckler who clearly believes they’re funnier than the performer, but would terrified out of their wits when presented with a microphone, a spotlight, and an audience?

In a gallery will there always be the person who walks straight in front of you

and examines the painting at quarters, obscuring everyone view?

Will there be a sea of mobile phones obscuring your view when a band sings THE song and people in the audience who would rather record it or go live on Facebook than experience it in the moment? Of course there will, but will we react it to it more kindly? Will we become less blasé about seeing music and comedy and theatre and festival events?

Will the portable toilets at outdoor festivals be as toxic as the site of a mild nuclear incident? (I know that’s a bit much, but some loos haunt my nightmares.)

As you can maybe tell, I’m definitely trying to be realistic about the prospect of these experiences, which are not only my hobby, but my job (which means I’m usually sober – there’s a point).

The hope is that the buzz

close else’s of having

people laugh at the same time, sing along to the same tunes and listening politely to the same author readings will make me more understanding.

And of course, I’m perfect, so if you see me out and about once our venues open up again and I’m committing any of these heinous crimes, don’t hesitate to approach me.

The codeword is crisps.

Will portable toilets be as toxic as the site of a mild nuclear accident?

CRUNCH-TIME: Will a return to sharing public forums live up to our hopes or be as welcome as a crisp-eater when the big film starts?