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...There are reasons why I am standing in the kitchen making plum and ginger jam, wearing only a bright blue bra and knickers a pair of brown, high heeled boots, and, personally, I blame the council. Because I started out making plum and ginger jam fully clothed, obviously, because, as anyone who has ever made jam knows, when it gets to that volcanic bubbling bit, you don't want ANY part of you exposed to stray jam spits, never mind those squishy, pale bits that are normally under cover. The plums had been boiled and cooled, stones removed, then re-boiled and then, the crucial factor, the sugar added. And it was at this point that the whole thing, really, went to rat shit. Because I went to throw the empty sugar packet away in the recycling bin in the kitchen, because I am a good and conscientious recycler, plus I can't afford the fine those thieving bastards in Surrey Heath council will levy if they ever found a stray cat food tin in the "grey" bin. Not that my bin men would dob me in, oh no, middle daughter keeps them supplied with chocolate brownies which absolves me of the responsibility of wheeling a maggot infested bin out to the kerbside on a Wednesday morning (the pleasures of fortnightly summer collections!) And not that my recycling makes the slightest iota of difference to the planet, not when China negates anything I and every single one of my recycling citizen friends in the UK will ever do for the next thousand years by belching out vast clouds of toxicity without so much as a "do you mind if I smoke?". So anyway, albeit that I am a good and conscientious recycler I am also a bit of a slattern when it comes to bin emptying and numerous other household chores that ought, really, to be undertaken on a daily basis. In fact it would be fair to say that bin emptying only normally occurs when, even having stood a small child on top of it, you simply cannot cram any more in to the bin. Of course that makes emptying the thing practically impossible as by that stage the bin is, to all intents and purposes, vac-packed and there is no way of prising out its rancid contents without resorting to kitchen utensils, a plastic apron and a thick pair of marigolds (because the stuff at the bottom will be sodden and foul smelling and it will be THOSE that assault you on the way out, full of retribution and smug wetness just to reinforce the knowledge of your tardiness) ANYWAY, so this morning prior to any kind of preserving commencing, there was' of course, the feeding rituals that comprise the best part of any morning in my household. This includes (in no particular order) cat, dog, rabbits, chickens. fish and three small vultures I call my children. As this is all packed in to the space of 2 1/2 hours that also includes making packed lunches, ironing uniform, normal toiletry ablutions, sudden costume making / project completion (delete as appropriate according to time of year) then, if it's not a working day the tidying gets left until AFTER the school run. So the 1.2kg empty tin of dog food was slung in the general direction of the recycling bin, where it lay, precariously balanced, at an impossible angle on top of the bin. I have, however, perfected the fine art of "slinging and slamming" that is to say hurling something distasteful in to the cupboard, and slamming the door shut before it comes to rest, thereby preventing it from falling to the floor and necessitating the emptying of the bin, which as already discussed, is an undertaking all of it's own.
So cut to after the school run, washing up done, table cleared, animal food run to Rokers for supplies done and unloaded and now a quick bit of preserving. So I'm approaching the volcanic bubbling stage when I decide to "clear up as I go along" (which never really works, but does shove things to one side in order to facillitate more mess making) Cue the transport of the empty jam bag to the bin cupboard. At this point we should change to slow motion. I approach the bin cupboard, my overloaded, busy mother, butterfly brain has already overtaken bin chores and is already on other matters such as shopping in the Sally Anne shop on the way to mothers at 11.30 (although I am ostensibly going to the Sally Anne shop to drop off unwanted items. Well, I don't want them, and small boy doesn't know they're gone, he really should have kept his bedroom in better order then I wouldn't have two and a half bin bags of "charity" items - you see? As well as recycling we like to do a bit for those less fortunate!) So back to the slow motion bin approach....as I came within a few inches of the door out went my hand, the handle was gripped, the door pulled slowly open, at which point, and at exactly the same moment in time that "too late" became fact, I remembered the empty 1.2kg tin of dog food, precariously balanced and, if I may refresh your memory, at an impossible angle just inside the door. So to go back to real time, I opened the door, the tin dropped, vertically to the floor landing perfectly upright with a telling bang. Now I didn't pay much attention in physics lessons, but as I am so fond of telling my children, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. And just as the tin dropped to the floor, it's contents shot up at a velocity approaching the speed of sound (I know this because they hit me before the scream came out of my mouth) Now you might be saying, but it was empty? Yes. It was. However, because it is Sainsburys cheapest of cheap dog foods, it is not so much chunks in gravy as gravy with the odd chunk (but the hound seems to approve and so does my purse) and so, when left at an impossible angle for slightly in excess of an hour or two, the remains of the gravy collect in the bottom of the tin. And it was THESE that shot in an upwardly direction. It wasn't so much "impact" as "soak". And as I stood there, dripping in room temperature (to enhance the smell) slightly rancid dog food gravy I realised that no amount of dabbing with a tea towel was EVER going to fix it. So off came the jeans and the t-shirt. But of course the jam was still volcanically bubbling!! There was no time to make a dash upstairs for alternative garments. And so, the jam making was completed looking like the Pilsbury dough boy modelling Victorias Secrets (albeit slightly chewing gum grey versions)
But of course none of that would have happened if the bloody council just let me have ONE bin and collected it every week as I wouldn't have a total of FOUR bins in my kitchen for differing items so they can mould and fester for a fortnight but we can all feel better about ourselves.
Anyway, to conclude, the plum and ginger jam is delicious and will be available in the rest room at work from tomorrow for the very reasonable sum of £1.00 a jar :)
