As mid-October heralds Peak Passive-Aggressive Homemade Jam Gifting season, desperate millions are petitioning the government to move their local area up to Tier 3: ‘preserve-toting relatives may be shot on sight’.
‘My aunt just phoned to say she was on her way over with ‘a little something’,’ reported a panicked Sam Jenson from Wigan. ‘I know it’s going to be a carload of rhubarb and ragwort compote, or maybe a few dozen crates of her signature borage and bindweed chutney.
‘I tried saying we were under full lockdown,’ he added, frantically trying to flush the last of 2019’s giant hogweed jelly. ‘But she’d done her research, and knew we could still meet up in the garden. Just two miles over and I’d have been safely in the ‘f*ck off and take your grated layby gravel conserve with you’ zone, dammit. ‘
With autumn fayres and harvest festivals on hold, the only hope for many is a full national lockdown, before they drown in a viscous glut of mould-swelling hedgerow scrapings delivered by virtue-signalling, pectin-addled relatives.
‘It’s not just the festering produce, it’s the interminable details of the best way to sterilise Anusol jars, the pros and cons of yew-berry fruit-leather, and how she fought off doggers to get to the best tummelberries, whatever the f*ck they are,’ said Sam, for whom the prospect of a lingering, lung-clogged death has truly lost its sting.
‘That’s a point,’ he added, brightening up, ‘If I hurry up and lick a student, do you think I can be safely on a ventilator by the time she gets here?’