I'm half-way through this amazing book of short stories by Alice Munro, and in one of the stories, a character called Irene is boiling up a large sticky pot of strawberry jam. The next morning she writes labels and ties circles of red gingham around the lids of each jar. I made a batch of strawberry jam because it's summer, and it seemed right. And made some covers for the jars this morning, inspired by my reading. Is there anything nicer than a row of jam jars on the windowsill, shining like jewels? Well, perhaps eating the leftovers at the bottom of the pot, with melting butter underneath.