According to the advert for a well known ‘yeast extract’, Marmite, you either love it or you hate it. Now I happen to be a fan of this savoury spread, which really does divide opinion.
Melissa, on the other hand, cannot abide it. In fact, she refuses to kiss me when I’ve eaten it. It’s obvious, then, that this would be a bit of a battle ground for Harry.
So, last week, I decided to get the first shot in by surreptitiously giving Harry a taste of my Marmite-smothered toast. Ha, I thought, get him used to the flavour now and I’ll have an ally for life.
Harry, however, had other plans. He’d just finished seven ounces of milk and a generous bowl of porridge. After tasting the Marmite, his breakfast came straight back up while I hastily tried to clean the worst off the high chair and Harry himself, watched by a smug-looking Melissa. Poor old Harry did not look impressed and he’s definitely had an air of suspicion when I’ve fed him since.
Of course, I tried to blame the sudden sickness on teething troubles – he’s now the proud owner of two surprisingly sharp gnashers – but I don’t really believe it.
So it looks like I’ve lost the Marmite battle. From now on, I’ll be concentrating my efforts on the cricket battle – if I can’t turn Harry into a fan of this fine sport, I might find myself having to listen to Test Match Special in the garden shed.
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