Love me, love Marmite. Hate Marmite, hate me.

I once had a boyfriend who hated Marmite so much that he said he couldn’t look at me while I was eating it. In fact, as he would refuse to kiss me goodbye as I left for work in the mornings, citing Marmite breath, it could be said that his distaste for the sticky brown stuff actually contributed to the decline of our relationship.

In the days when I could still find his every word funny or fascinating I once laughed when he said over breakfast one morning that if ever he became Prime Minister the first thing he’d do would be to introduce a ban on Marmite. You’ll never go into politics, I thought, you’re not boring enough.

Well, within a couple of years he had managed to disillusion me and become completely bland and colourless, so perhaps he has gone into politics after all, although surprisingly it must have been in Denmark. I deduce this because it has emerged that the country has banned Marmite from its nation’s shelves on the grounds that it contains added Vitamins.

Love it or hate it, a ban seems wrong, doesn’t it?

Up until now I’ve only ever said I’ll never holiday in places where I can’t get adequate woman driver insurance – I like the freedom and adventure of being able to drive a car when I’m on holiday – but I certainly won’t be going on holiday in Denmark until the ban is reversed – I just don’t feel right in the mornings if I haven’t had a marmite bagel for breakfast and I’m not prepared to endure a custodial sentence for international marmite smuggling crimes.

Labels: car, woman driver insurance