Marmite drama proved to be a one-day wonder

No, not Brexit. But Marmite.

I know firmly where I stand, well and truly in the 'yuck' camp.

But living with someone whose mood can be judged on whether there is a jar of the stuff in the house, I've seen first hand the hold it has on people.

My feelings towards the black gooey yeast extract plummeted to a new low this past week with Marmite-gate.

It all kicked off on Thursday morning when manufacturer Unilever said it would need to increase the UK price, claiming Brexit and the falling pound was to blame.

And it wasn't just Marmite that would be affected - Hellman's Mayonnaise (she likes that too), Pot Noodles (not so much), and Ben and Jerry's ice cream (one teaspoon every two months) were also set to see their prices increased.

The news only emerged when Tesco turned round and said it would not bow to the demands.

Cue a supermarket stampede as, in a scene last witnessed in a comic book movie, consumers transformed into monsters, barging others out of the way to ensure they stockpiled their favourite brands.

Knowing I had my own potential Incredible Hulk to worry about, I planned my Marmite run out perfectly, nipping into the supermarket between meetings.

But when I got to the right aisle, to my horror, the shelf was empty.

Staring at my watch I knew I had to get going to my next engagement.

When I arrived, I explained why I was red-faced and a little late - only for the person I was meeting to smugly pull two jars of the black stuff out of her bag.

I sat for an hour trying to be polite as possible but knowing that every minute of the chat was another lost in the hunt for Marmite.

As it drew to a close, I made my excuses and hurried off to the nearest supermarket - only to see that Tesco and Unilever had kissed and made up.

Panic over.

All in all, it makes for a semi-decent anecdote which would no doubt get a few thumbs up on social media.

But at the time it was not funny at all.

A few days on, the full impact of #marmitegate (to use its full name) has really hit home, turning from amusing to grave.

No amount of Brexit bluster can hide the fact that Britain imports roughly 40 per cent of its food.

Tesco may have headed off Unilever's planned price increase of a household favourite this time round, but already consumers are starting to feel the pinch.

Since the vote on June 23, butter prices are up 58 per cent, beef up a third, pork just under a fifth and wheat has risen 17 per cent.

"Brexit means breakfast", one Tory leader mistakenly said at conference a few weeks back; well at this rate, Brexit could mean no breakfast, lunch or dinner for some. 

What we saw on Thursday was the thin end of the wedge, the start of more than two years of uncertainty which will damage business, trade, and ultimately the consumer.

Steadfast Brexiteers may argue that the fall in sterling is good news, as it means that British products are cheaper to foreign buyers.

But while "33 per cent off" may work for a high street store a couple of times a year, when it comes to services such logic is flawed - as all it means is that us Brits will need to do a third more work to earn the same amount.

For the big firms, this will not matter so much. But for small traders, where every penny counts, this uncertainty could see many put out of business completely.

It is a bitter truth to swallow but, with Prime Minister Theresa May first in the queue to check Britain out of the European Union, it appears as though there is no way back.

Love it or hate it, Brexit is coming - and the victims are set to be more than a handful of Marmite lovers.

I'VE had the joy of dog-sitting this past week.

The pooch is a calm soul, only really getting stirred when the postie drops off the usual mix of bank statements and junk mail through the letter box.

One day though I had the fright of my life when the clatter of post failed to send him the usual shade of bananas.

All sorts of questions were running through my mind: what has he swallowed, do I need to take him to the vet etc.

But then when I reached the mat I saw why - it was only the town hall Pravda from West Sussex County Council.

I know of no one, not even the dog, that gives the propaganda sheet an ounce of notice, never mind avidly read it.

At £53,000 for every edition, that's a lot of money going straight in the recycling bin - particularly at a time when services are financially stretched and some are being cut.

Some may say the whole thing is a bit of a dog's dinner; the pooch I was looking after didn't even think that....