I never imagined that I’d be the type of person to make jam.
People that make jam have immaculately kept gardens, submit their tax return on time, never lose library books, and never turn up at their child’s school on a scheduled day off. They don’t stay up all night writing when the muse hits and then read for a further hour when they eventually go to bed. They don’t destroy the kitchen – my husband’s exact words – when making a simple meal.
People that make jam are sensible.
I am definitely not sensible, according to my mother.
However I’ve always liked the idea of home-made jam. Making jam is an act of defiant domesticity in this age of instant-everything-have-you-got-the-latest-tech-gizmo-multi-tasking insanity.
So when we had a glut of onions and tomatoes in the house a couple of weeks ago, I decided to take the plunge.
