500 words about jam because I can't think about anything else right now
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I made jam yesterday. The whole process was sort of magical, in a very childlike way. We went blackberry picking on Sunday, and managed to gather 800g of ripe fruit from a short stretch of the Waterworks River in Stratford. Wondering down one of East London's least-loved waterways to find a vast quantity of fruit feels like a bizarre violation of the norms of city living, really. I spend so much of my time in deeply controlled areas, privately owned and run, that it's thrilling to be reminded that actually, deep within the most urban reaches of the capital, nature still thrives.
500 words about jam because I can't think about anything else right now
500 words about jam because I can't think…
500 words about jam because I can't think about anything else right now
I made jam yesterday. The whole process was sort of magical, in a very childlike way. We went blackberry picking on Sunday, and managed to gather 800g of ripe fruit from a short stretch of the Waterworks River in Stratford. Wondering down one of East London's least-loved waterways to find a vast quantity of fruit feels like a bizarre violation of the norms of city living, really. I spend so much of my time in deeply controlled areas, privately owned and run, that it's thrilling to be reminded that actually, deep within the most urban reaches of the capital, nature still thrives.