Making jam brought back memories from the past and fears for the future - Christa Ackroyd

But then I remember my mum calling and calling me to get up for breakfast until she had no alternative but to come and literally strip the bed clothes off me.

Nothing changes … I still like my bed in a morning and so do the girls.

No that wasn’t the surprise. While Margot made something out of beads to hang up in my kitchen (which of course I will) Matilda insisted she had reading to do.

Pass me my school bag Nonna she said. My book is in there. And what a book it was, or rather a book based on a play. Othello.

Othello! I could not get my head around the fact that was her book of choice albeit adapted for younger readers.

But then I know she has already read children’s adaptations of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, both of which she loved. Her description of them was also pretty fabulous.

One was about a woman who married a man who already had a wife who was a bit crazy. The other married someone else and became a ghost. Pretty spot on I would say.

But the joy it gave me to think at nine years old she was already being introduced to the classics knew no bounds.

I was 14 by the time I studied Othello and even then the story seemed to get lost in the complexities of Shakespearean language. Not for Matilda it won’t be.

Now to my second surprise. Well not really considering the old adage we all turn into our mothers. This week I made jam. And when I say jam I mean jam not fruit spread or whatever Meghan Markle calls it.

Though why the shock in some quarters that she doesn’t make every jar I don’t know. Of course she doesn’t.

But this jam was made by me and cost nothing at all thanks to my lovely neighbour who brought home a punnet of blackcurrants from her allotment. It was only fitting I stirred it to Bob Marley’s jamming as the sun streamed in through the windows,

And do you know something it made me so so happy bringing back memories of mum’s jam making all those years ago. But only for two weeks every year.

Let me explain. My mum was a tennis addict. Every year during Wimbledon she could be found glued to the screen from afternoon until evening.

Gone were the home cooked meals, a healthy salad was easier and quicker. Or even a sandwich from the honey roasted ham that always seemed to be in the fridge during those two precious weeks a year.

But then Mum was not only religious but a doer. She firmly believed in the proverb ‘Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.’

Even at 80, she got up at 7am to begin her weekly routine, with only a lie in on a Sunday. There was never ironing left untouched in the ironing basket.

There were always home made cakes and biscuits in the well worn tins which I treasure now. And then there was the jam.

And the lemon curd and the home made piccalilli which paired so beautiful with the roasted ham. Or dare I mention it the hand pressed ox tongue (and yes I do still love it).

As I grew older I realised why jam and Wimbledon went so perfectly together and it wasn’t just the strawberries. Mum could never sit and do nothing.

And so at 2pm as players entered the courts she would settle down to peel the pickling onions or hull the fruit for the summer jam.

So much so by the time we came home from school she was completely surrounded by bowls and bowls of the stuff. And it was jam and pickles for everyone by the time the men’s finals had played out.

Happy memories I though upon this week as I followed the jam recipe in her handwritten book. But I tell you what I was surprised at. The amount of sugar which went in to making my three humble jars.

No wonder we were told to use it sparingly. And I always thought it was a thrift thing. I shall have it slaked through yogurt with nuts for my breakfast each morning. And try to be healthy.

This week the government are trying to force supermarkets to reduce the amount of sugary foods we buy each week and cut down on the salt by suggesting they stack fruit and veg near the tills instead of chocolate and wine.

And there has been an outcry. No government is going to tell me what to eat was the general consensus.

Well sadly some of us need telling. And I fail to understand why it has nothing to do with them. After all cigarettes and alcohol consumption are all part of government campaigns so why not sugar?

Each year obesity costs true NHS billions upon billions of pounds while there is an ever increasing demand for its services.

Childhood obesity is of particular concern. That alone is predicted to rise to more that ten billion in the next twenty five years if we keep getting fatter and fatter.

It is all very well resorting to fat busting injections which also come at a cost both financially and now it would seem even medically as an increase in pancreatis even deaths are being investigated.

They are amazing for those who need it not those who fancy a quick fix before their annual holiday.

We all know what makes us fat.. it is eating more than we burn off and that is sugar in particular.

And they are only suggesting cutting 100 calories from an average shopping baskets for goodness sake. It’s hardly a diet of bread and water.

At the moment I am half a stone heavier than I want to be .. or is good for me.

I can make all the excuses under the summer sun as to why that is.. major foot surgery for arthritis, can’t walk as far or go to the gym, bored doing nothing, too busy to cook blah de blah de blah.

The fact is I have eaten too much as I recuperate. Because it tasted too good to say no. And I felt sorry for myself because it damn well hurt.

And now I have gone and made jam! And that’s the problem. We want shorter waiting times for our operations while expecting the NHS to sort out the less complex problems we could sort out ourselves, before they become serious.

There is no fat in the NHS. It is already leaner than it should be.

Nothing more to trim as all the billions get eaten up by medical advancements which mean we are living longer if not healthier. But what do we want? Yes you’ve guessed it. We want jam on it.

In the meantime for my granddaughter I will use a quote from Othello to sum up.

One that loved not wisely but too well. Or should that be one who ate not wisely but too well?

Enjoy the sunshine. Enjoy Wimbledon. And let’s all enjoy a little self restraint. Says she with three jars of blackcurrant jelly calling from the fridge.