Feminist Jamgate

Whilst I am loathe to stoke the flames of this discussion which kicked off at the recent Mumsnet Blogfest I do feel there is a point I need to address.

Exactly what jam related activities are acceptable feminist activities?

Personally I’m not overly concerned about not being able to make jam. Who the fuck makes jam anyway?

Even jam factories don’t make jam any more it’s all compotes and jellies and shit these days.

My other half once bought Seville marmalade oranges at the supermarket and tried to cover up his mistake by saying he thought I might like to make marmalade.

I Googled a recipe and was shocked to discover preserve making involves a lot of time, effort and vats of boiling sugar. I am not a woman who should be left in charge of pans of boiling sugar, I flail my arms around. A lot.

I’m also easily distracted. This post was meant to be about jam. Or feminism. Not marmalade.

Has anyone told Jane Austen about Twitter and the £10 note?

Dearest Jane,

Allow me to introduce myself. Like you I am 41 years old and I also fantasize about James McAvoy wearing britches. Unlike you I am not dead, I own my own property and despite being unmarried, I have 2 children. ( I know get the smelling salts out.)

I couldn’t find you on Facebook or Instagram where I looked for you posing for selfies in a fetching bonnet. Maybe that’s because you have been dead for over 150 years – I’ll check Myspace.

I am writing to apprise you of the political furore you have unwittingly stirred up. Whip out your fan, my dear and get ready to hide your blushes.

You are going to be on the £10 pound note.

Totes amaze! That is some hot bonnet there lady!