On our way home this afternoon Chris, Roland and I popped into my sister’s house for afternoon tea. The coffee table was laden with delicious scones and a chocolate cake; and in the oven was a fresh-baked gooseberry pie. My dear old mum was there, too; she looked so cute in her white sun hat with the pink band of ribbon as she sat on the sofa.

Mum was on great form.

“You look very Australian,” she said to Roland, our old friend from Australia. “I like your brown hairy legs.”

“You’ll be getting off with me next,” said Roland with a smile.

Mary was whipping cream and checking on the pie in the kitchen; and the rest of us, alert with hunger and the suspense of waiting for Mary’s pie, were an avid audience for Mum who held the floor.

“You remember I bought those nectarines on Saturday?” Mum asked, looking at me.

I nodded.

“Well, I made some nectarine jam with them, just like I said I would, and I used the nectarines in the same way as I do with plums, ” she said and then she paused for the perfect length of time for maximum effect before continuing. “It’s no wonder nobody has ever heard of nectarine jam… It doesn’t have any taste!”

“Oh really?” asked Roland, “I would have thought it would taste nice.”

We all agreed that nectarine jam sounds perfectly plausible and delicious (if unusual).

“A novelty jam,” I suggested.

“A speciality jam,” Roland added.

I thought of a peculiar and particularly tasteless speciality fig jam I had tried in Australia earlier this year and I burst out laughing. I’m afraid I’m a bit of a laughing jackass… but of course, my mum knows that.