I just enjoyed two slices of Marmite on toast.
It was a thoroughly pleasant late evening snack, which should help me persevere with some of the tasks I need to complete before I head off to the Land of Nod.
The Land of Nod is not an actual place. It is a metaphor for being asleep.
I wish it was an actual place.
But I digress.
For this post is about Marmite, the savoury spread made from yeast extract that is a fundamental cornerstone of British culture.
My Mate, Marmite, to quote an old advertising campaign (from the nineties I believe)
Not the most famous of the advertising slogans that are attributed to this particular product. Because who could ever actually be friends with a jar of yeast extract?
No, Marmite is not my mate. But I do quite like Marmite. It is one of my preferred toast toppings.
But I worry that makes me a bit of an anomaly.
Because I like Marmite, but I don’t love Marmite.
And apparently that’s breaking all the rules.
It’s a commonly accepted truism that one either loves or hates the stuff.
Certainly it’s a far better known advertising slogan than that ‘My Mate’ nonsense.
Marmite – you either love it or you hate it.
There’s no place for those of us that quite like it.
When the Marmite wars are finally declared, I guess I’ll have to be on the side of the Marmite lovers.
I won’t fight with any passion, but I suppose my sympathies would be more naturally aligned with theirs.
Unless they declare that all anyone can eat is Marmite.
Then I’d have to join the haters.
Let’s just hope the ceasefire can be maintained.
Otherwise I might have to leave the UK and move to a country where there is no Marmite.
Which is basically everywhere else in the world as I understand it.
I wonder if they have Marmite in the Land of Nod.