Shuuuuuuuuuuusssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

A rustle of a sweet wrapper I can deal with. Even a heavy breather I can capably ignore. I’ve even, once after a serious drinking session, convinced myself there was not a man in a rain Mack on the back row enjoying Emmanuelle: The Revenge a little too much. I don’t mind. Sweets need to be eaten by children. Large chested people need to breathe and yes, Sylvia Kristel brings that response out in the best of us…although most choose to respond, as it were, behind closed doors not just coat lapels held ajar. But talking, conversing, chatting, gossiping, holding court, joshing, catching up, sharing a joke, telling tales…no no no…

The cinema is a place to watch the latest film releases. It's the place to take in a bit of popular culture with a much loved partner, family member or friend. It’s a place where magic can happen and the physical body can be left behind as the mind goes on a journey of unimaginable fantasy. It is not a place to hold an hour and a half intense conversation on Leona Lewis's recent chart success. Have these people no home? Let alone shame. I mean come on. Leona Lewis? At least Justine Timberland or April Lavine. Not Mr. Simon ‘my trousers ride up so high every time he takes a step he self administrates colonic irrigation’ Cowell’s champion of popular music.

I’m seriously considering taking a roll of duct tape with me the next time I visit my local cinema and the first person to open their mouth gets a two-inch rectangle of adhesive tape stuck onto their chops with a swift telling off at the same time. Let’s just hope I don’t jump the gun and accost a little old lady asking me to move along because there’s not enough room on the end of the row for her and her little unoffending crowd of grandchildren and, in a strange twist of fate, devote Leona Lewis fans.