Jonny McCambridge: Golden rule: Jonny doesn't share food...particularly crisps or pudding

I hover over the chocolate biscuits and jam-filled donuts, before moving on until I find what I'm really looking for.

“Mmmm,” I mumble quietly. “Prawn cocktail crisps...”

I remove two brightly-coloured bags from the cupboard, think for a moment, and then grab a third. I don't want to be under-clubbed. “That will get me through the first hour,” I tell my son as I enter the front room.

Later, I am on the sofa watching the chosen family movie and munching the snack when a disturbing sight enters my peripheral vision. My wife's hand is moving in the direction of my crisp packet.

Everything now seems to be happening in slow motion and I imagine I can hear a horror movie music theme as her fingers enter the packet.

I feel the muscles in my neck and arm tense up and my breath quickens. I have to stop myself from tightening my grip around the crisp bag.

Some moments later, I take a toilet break in an attempt to regain my composure. In the bathroom I imagine the conversation that I had to use all my reserves of self-control to prevent from happening, because I know I would come out of it with no credit.

Her: Why are you holding the packet so tightly?

Me: Sorry, but you're not allowed to have a crisp.

Her: Why not? You eat my crisps all the time.

Me: But that's different.

Her: How is it different?

Me: Because these are my crisps!

While I pride myself on attempting to be a creature of reason and fairness, I know that consumption of food is the one area in which I let myself down. Simply put, I get annoyed when I have to share what I am eating. However, I see no difficulty in helping myself to other people's food when the opportunity arises. I know it is glaringly hypocritical, but there you are.

This selfish inconsistency was best explained in a famous “Joey doesn't share food” scene from the old sitcom Friends.

In the episode Joey goes out on a date to a restaurant but gets upset when his new friend attempts to take food from his plate, first French fries and then stuffed clams. In his efforts to prevent the dinner theft he accidentally tips the contents of his plate onto the floor.

However, he is later surprised and confused when his date refuses to share her dessert with him. She leaves the table to take a call and returns to find her plate has been cleaned and Joey has chocolate all over his face. The date is (presumably) ended as he smilingly declares “I'm not even sorry”.

I have my own similar anecdote. I was at dinner a while ago with five friends. It was a jolly occasion. The conversation continued to flow when the menus arrived. I am often surprised when this happens as I like to take time to properly study what is on offer. I considered suggesting a temporary vow of silence while we read the menus properly, but didn't want to come across as weird.

It is an absolute truth known by only the wise few that you must start by looking at desserts. Only when that choice is made do you go on to the other courses. While I fully intended to have a starter and main, I knew that they were really only filling time until I got to the sticky toffee pudding I had already set my mind on.

Later, when the time came, there was a troubling discussion about whether we would order dessert at all, leading me to break out in a rash.

I firmly laid down my marker by stating I would be having the sticky toffee pudding. Several of the other diners then expressed the view that they would like to try it, but didn't think they could eat a whole one. I fought to retain control over my breathing.

The idea was then floated that we could order a sticky toffee and everyone would be allowed to sample it. Something in my features must have betrayed that I thought this idea both preposterous and barbarous because a second suggestion was made. Two puddings would be ordered, one with a single spoon and one with five.

The dessert arrived. I judge such things both on taste and size. The pudding was substantial and I inwardly congratulated myself on making a wise choice.

I polished my dessert off within a few minutes and then turned to the sad and sorry spectacle of my friends picking and poking at theirs. I sighed and shook my head as I considered this example of how humanity has lost its way. Some of the group expressed their view that it was a fine pudding and I had to stop myself from responding “How would you know? You've barely touched it.”

Soon, the spoons began to go down as coffees were sipped and the conversation gathered pace once again. I tried to join in the chat, but the truth was I could not remove my eyes or my concentration from their dessert, more than half of which still remained on the plate.

I fought to contain myself; I laughed at some of the jokes and made a quip or two myself, but the sticky toffee pudding would not stop staring at me. I thought about the potential social disgrace in what I was about to do. It could not be helped. I waited a few minutes and then I made my move. I reached across the table, ignoring the confused looks of my friends, and slid their dessert to my part of the table.

“If you're all done, I may as well finish this off.”

And the truth is, I wasn't even sorry.