More cake, vicar?

I made a cake to take to Zac's last night. The lady who usually supplies it is in Australia (although she had left a supply - that's dedication for you!). When I took it out of the box one man, who wasn't there last week, asked, 'What sort is it?'
'Marmalade.'
'URGH!!!!! I hate that!'

I was quite surprised at the strength of his reaction: I've never known marmalade to provoke such a response before. 'You don't have to eat it,' I said.

Then Sean cut it into slices and the man peered at it. 'Mar-ma-lade,' he said. 'Oah, that's the stuff you have on toast in the mornings, isn't it? I like that.'

Yes, you've got it: he thought it was Marmite Cake.

Later on I read a monologue I'd written and afterwards several people said to me, 'That was so descriptive. I felt I was there.'

I guess that answers my previous post.

You love it or hate it

In Zac's last night, someone came up with the idea that Jesus was like Marmite: you either love him or hate him (at least according to the advertising slogans).

I was talking about this afterwards with Jenny.

We both know people who seem to be on a permanent high in their faith. They give the impression - although it isn't their intention - that to be anywhere else is not good enough.

I wouldn't say that I'm on a permanent low but certainly my faith is far less spectacular and exciting and wonderful and thrilling and ... you get the picture, than theirs. Mine is on a steady plane (plain?) with occasional highs and the odd troughs.

I like Marmite but not in great dollops. I prefer mine spread evenly over my toast. And that's okay. (In fact I've just noticed that it says spread thinly on the jar.)

And, sadly, I am rather suspicious of people who always spread it on thickly.

Share the Marmite, brothers and sisters!