Man makes jam. City in uproar.
Proper homemade jam, none of your supermarket wallpaper paste. Boiled up fresh, potted by hand, and it'll see off your nan's any day — don't tell her though, she'll only sulk. £3 a jar. Two for a fiver.
Sources close to the pan confirm the fruit went in at half nine and has not been seen since. Neighbours reported a smell "that made me forget what I came upstairs for".
Six flavours are in circulation this week. When they're gone they're gone, because there's one fella, one pan and one pair of hands, and two of those things get tired.
No factory. No funny business. No focus group deciding whether the strawberries are on brand. Just fruit, sugar, heat and a wooden spoon that has seen things.
The Jam Man was unavailable for further comment, being up to his elbows in it.
Press it. Go on. We'll run another front page.