Thursday, 20 March 2014

Marmite (2)


The woman was carrying a heavy bag containing what looked like twenty four jars of Marmite.

"That's a lot of Marmite," someone observed.

"I love Marmite," was the reply. "Arnold couldn't stand it. Said he was allergic."

"All those additives, perhaps?"

"No additives. Just yeast extract and vitamins."

"Is that so?"

"That is so. It says so on the jar."

She took the bus to the seaside. Arnold had hated the seaside, too. There were a lot of things Arnold had hated. He had quite probably hated her.

She left the bag on the shingle and paddled in the sea. Arnold had hated paddling. She then sat down beside her bag, and ate her picnic of Marmite sandwiches.

Arnold had had Marmite sandwiches for his last meal. She'd told him the sandwiches were cheese. He only managed one bite, though, as it turned out he'd been right about being allergic. By the time the ambulance arrived, it was too late.

She waited on the shingle until the tide came in,  then she went to the water's edge and threw each Marmite jar far out into the sea. They landed with twenty four little splashes. Twenty-four splashes of ashes. Twenty four little bits of Arnold.

Revenge can be savoury, as well as sweet.




23 comments:

  1. Just brilliant.
    Only Roger McGough could have done better with a jar or a score of Marmite jars. To my knowledge he hasn't tried so you are a step ahead.

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    1. Wow...comparison with Roger M! Can life get any better?

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  2. That's morbid (if that's the right word). And it reminds me of short stories by Roald Dahl which we read back in school in my teens (special editions with word-lists at the back - English being second language in Sweden, in my day we started learning it at age ten, I think they start at least a year earlier now).

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    1. Oh, I think he probably deserved it, DT.

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  3. Fantastic! Loved it, highly amusing flash fiction. Thank you for sharing.

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  4. Nobody expected Arnold to eat Marmite. Least of all Arnold. Nobody expected the Spanish Inquisition either.
    And I certainly didn't expect that wonderful gem of a story to appear. Brilliant. Brilliant. Now all we need is a Magpie Marmite rhyme from you and we'll have a full set.

    My favourite Marmite poem so far is by Michael Brett:

    O blow ye bugles over this rich spread.
    O stands the church clock at 10 to 3
    And is there still some Marmite left for tea?

    (With apologies to Rupert Brooke of course).

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    1. Thank you kindly, GB. But a Marmite Magpie might be a bit much...?

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  5. Normally any blog about Marmite would get 100% approval, but filling jars with ashes and tossing them into the sea..... well I'm just not sure!

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    1. Oh, why not, CM? They've got to go somewhere.

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  6. Somehow I knew it wasn't Marmite in those 24 jars! Thank you for providing me with an excellent morning-coffee read.

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    1. Marmite and coffee....now there's an idea.

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  8. I reckon Arnold knew what was in the sanwich and thought eating it was better than continuing the misery.

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  9. I love your marmite moments, and your black sense of humour. Brilliant.

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  10. Never tasted Marmite...not sure it is a staple in the US... but I love this short story.

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    1. Jill, you HAVE to try it. It's delicious!

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  11. Brilliant, Frances! I love Marmite too.

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    1. Thanks, Paula. All the best people love Marmite!

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