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.’
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?’