Anger & Marmite

I initiate this revue litteraire perched amongst lunchtime patrons of a shopping centre coffee shop. Adjacent to me in this south Leeds cafe sits a woman who’s audibly raucous diatribe about a friend (to other friends) is ranted with almost Hitleresque vigour….. Quite clearly, she won’t be as evil as Hitler but after witnessing this oration it’s hard not to conclude this lady perhaps needs to enlist the services of an anger management therapist.

That being said, sitting in judgement of anybodies fiery temper is gross hypocrisy on my part. After all, after idiotically weaning myself off anti-depression meds, I spent part of the summer snapping at anyone within earshot. Bereft of this efficacy, the natural chemical imbalance in my brain sending me into full Gordon Ramsay mode; in particular embracing the chef’s cursing vocal style.

Mercifully, I recognised this upturn in unprovoked agitation, along with the source of my new found anger, consequently re-commencing my mood stabilising medication intake. I’m significantly calmer now, although I’m still prone to occasional embittered outbursts, predominantly when watching TV presenter Richard Madeley’s insincere commentaries, or if I runout of marmite.

The angry lady has calmed down a bit now and her companions have finally been afforded fleeting moments with which to also contribute to the verbal joust……. I just hope her husband doesn’t ring/text her to say they’ve run out of marmite…… Although, admittedly, the fact she’s married and bears a similar disenchantment to mine when bereft of marmite are assumptions on my part.

Actually, I’ve just spotted she’s wearing a gold wedding band, indicating my assumption this lady’s betrothed is indeed correct. However, other than approaching the woman to ask her “Excuse me, love…. Do you get annoyed if you run out of marmite?” I’m unlikely to unearth the accuracy of the latter presumption.

Even if I did have the nerve to approach her with such an arbitrary inquiry, she doesn’t strike me as a woman who’d see the funny side of the catechism. I’d venture it’d only kick off another angry episode and could result in me nursing a pair of heavily bruised testicles….. After all, as the old adage goes, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman whose just been asked a f***ing ridiculous question in a south Leeds coffee house!’.

Earlier, while walking the mall’s main walkway, I thought of a joke to include in this chronicle. However, upon sitting at the coffee shop table with my laptop to record the epiphany it’d vacated my brain without trace. Consequently, you’ve either missed out on an absolute whizzbang of a gag, or dodged a comedy bullet….. The fact I didn’t strive overly hard to remember the quip for the duration of a 100 metre walk indicates to me it was probably the latter.

As I commence this paragraph, I’m now back home. Time for a cuppa and a light lunch of marmite on toast methinks…. Oh bollocks, I’ve just realised what I’ve bloody run out of and forgotten to pick up from the shopping centre!! ….. Aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh!!

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