I had finished picking the ants and spiders out of the blackcurrants, and had discovered some more occupying valuable gin bottle space in the freezer. "Time to make jam" I thought, and consulted the book; apparently the 2 kilo's of sugar I had brought back from Lidl weren't enough - nearly, but not.
"Fridge jam then."
Simmer to break up, add the produce of half of Lincolnshire (no, not bacon and sausage, the other half) add acid to kick off the pectin, "boil rapidly for 10 minutes or until it reaches the setting point". Experienced preservarists know that this instruction is bollocks! Never has setting point been achieved within 10 minutes. With heavy heart I added the sugar/preserving thermometer to the Maslan, turned off the smart meter to avoid heart failure, and turned on the ring. Outside it was kicking the 30's, inside above 37 - I'd stopped sweating.
The sugar thermometer stayed 1 degree (Fahrenheit!!) below the magic "Jam" line for about an hour while the jam itself roiled and geysered, redecorating the splashback, the hob, anything within reach, including my forearms. The mercury stayed resolute - the little engine that couldn't be arsed - "I don't think I can be bothered, I don't think I can be bothered, I don..."
Eventually it touched the mark, there were wrinkles on the saucer (ask your Granny) so I poured, and am now waiting for the satisfying "Plink" of the jam jar lids as it cools. It may end up as spooning jam, but my experience is that it will end up as Haribo jam. At the moment things are soaking and the kitchen looks like a boozy Friday Night at the abattoir.
