IT'S CRUNCH TIME

Noisy eaters, beware: Christabel Smith has had and heard! - enough

- Christabel Smith

If you ever see me boarding your train, please don't be alarmed. I may look suspicious as my eyes scan the entire carriage, but it's crunchers of crisps I'm searching for, not criminals on the run.

I'd like to think my noisy-eateravoidance skills are standard. Sitting as far away as possible from gum chewers, schoolkids with smelly chips or anyone carrying a brown-paper takeaway bag is a no-brainer.

Yet some of the most serious offenders are shameless. Just when I think it’s safe to settle in my seat, the seemingly innocent, besuited commuter opposite will flip open a briefcase to produce an apple – in plain sight! If it’s a weapons-grade Granny Smith, I will have no option but to move. If it’s smaller and soggier, I will quickly mentally assess how long it will take to eat. My personal threshold of forbearance is approximately three minutes. If I judge the timescale to be less than that, I will stay – albeit with much sighing and glaring, which will doubtless be ignored by the less vigilant (or less neurotic, some might say).

Overwhelming rage

To be clear: I cannot stand noisy eaters. My dream is for a future where signs on public transport read, ‘The eating of anything but the softest and most silent of sandwiches is forbidden. No potato crisps or certain sourdoughs. Penalty: R1 000.’