I’ve found myself using that phrase a lot recently.

“He’s like Marmite, you’ll love him or loathe him.” (re Tom Hiddleston)

“This thing I made, it’s like Marmite…you’ll either….” (re burnt biscuits, which I liked)

You get it.

And get that then you’ll get me – I’ll be like the jar of marmite in your cupboard which you either use a lot or have had since the late nineties when some random stranger thought it’d be an ideal (and funny at the time) addition to a flat party.

If I’m the latter to you, I won’t be offended. I sometimes feel that way about me too. Sometimes I can’t stand me and sometimes to get over that I have actual words with myself. I give myself a talking to.

The other day for example (and this isn’t always going to be about mumsy stuff – we all need a break from that – and if you say you don’t then, well, you probably wouldn’t be my friend.) So the other day, on the rare occasion I didn’t leave my child with a grandparent at an ungodly hour and acutully did the nursery run I happened to park near the window of his play room and said:

“Oh look – you can wave to me when I leave, my precious!”

Two whole minutes later that statement had completely gone out my mind which was onto where I could face taking the dog a walk in the pissing rain before starting a ridculously long late shift. It was only through chance the dog decided to leap onto my lap which made me look up to see an eager and slightly panicked little face at the window frantically waving to get my attention. That sentence had been the most important thing I’d said to my child all morning and what do I do – promptly forget it. Bad mum. I had a word with myself. A big one. The tears welled and that night I held my child so tight because it scares me so much to I think I’m one of two people they trust the most and I’m actually just the worst person in the world. (Well obviously I’m not as there is people who want to bomb the shit out of us. And Donald Trump – but you know what I mean yes?)

Normality kicks in again pretty soon though and something happens and  I laugh so hard that tiny bits of pee threaten to come out and I kind of don’t feel terrible again.

“She must’ve been due her period…”

…that’s what your thinking yes? You know what you’re right. And you know what it’s only going to get worse as my mother pointed out in front of the full famille and waiting staff in Zizzi the other night.

“I think I’m having a hot flush,” I said.

“Ooft you don’t want to be starting them. I’ve had 15 years of hell.” Mum says.

“Gee thanks mum, I’m only 35.”

“Well you never know!”

Then my husband piped up from his second pint (I drew the short straw),

“Eh, I think it’s cause you’re wearing a wool polo neck and its fucking roasting in here you weirdo.”

This is my life.

So here I will write about me. Things that bother me. Things that really get my back up and things that have down right inspired me.

If I offend then I don’t apologise in advance – you just don’t have to read on.

If you agree or think the same then Yee Ha, let’s be friends – just don’t bring Marmite round anytime soon! (sorry Marmite bosses – although I have mentioned your a lot #kerching #allpublicityisgoidpublicity #otheryeastextractsareavailable)

Here goes then…