Hello. Do you like doughnuts? Or as some folk call them Donuts? Do you like Jam in? Well i like to put jam in so ..firstly i make the dough then i heat the chip pan up and i plop the doughnuts in the pan then after 4 mins i take them out and dust them with icing then i get out an assortment of various little jam pots that i steal from the local cafè on a regular basis and then get my little jam syringe out which is quite handy to put the hole in the doughnuts too may i add lol. Now the fun starts and i break out into my silly doughnut song....
🎵Ooh, yeah! All right!
I'll put jam in': 🎶
I wan some jam in wid you.🎵
Ah put some jam in', jam in',
And I hope you like jam in', too.🎶
🎵Ain't no rules, ain't no vow, i will do it anyhow:
And all this jam will see me thruuu,🎵
'Cos everyday we pay the price cuz jam is very nice..🎵 and i'll put jam in till this
jam is through.🎶
I put jam in🎵.. jammm iiin..🎵
To think that jam in' was a thing of the past;🎵 ah put jam innn watcha wanna🎵 ew jammin',
And I hope this jam is gonna last.
🎶No one can stop me now, i neither beg nor i won't bow;🎵
Neither can't be bought nor sold🎵. Till they got jam in jaaaminnnn... 🎵
We all defend the right; put tons of jam in dem to night 🎵
🎵My doughnuts are worth much more than gold.🎶
🎵They got jamiiiinn'' (jammin', jammin', jammin')
And they're gat jammin' in the name of the Lord; 🎵They gat jam iiin jammin' (jammin', jammin', jammin'),
🎵They gat jammin' right straight from pots! (that i nicked lol)
🎵Yeh! Holy Doughnut ew.. Zion;🎶..
Holy Doughnuts ew..Zion:🎶
Jah deviour my Doughnut Zion ew!..
And rules all creation.
Yeah, we're 🎵- we're jammin' (wotcha-wa),
Wotcha-wa-wa-wa, jammin' (wotcha-wa),
See, I gat jam innnnnn ..i gat jammin' (jammin', jammin', jammin')
I'm jammed: I hope you're jammin', too.
Jam's about the taste🎵 and truth I cannot hide.. ew ew 🎵
To keep me satisfied.🎵
True love that now exist is the love I can't resist,...
So Doughnuts by mah side.🎵
🎶Yup i got the j- Jam in' (jam in', jam in', jammin'), yeah-eah-eah!🎵
I got the jam inna ah you.🎵
🎵Ah got jam in', so am jammin', am jammin', am jammin',
Am jammin', . 🎶🎶🎵🎶😂😂😂😂😂
Yes thats what i sing whilst popping my little jam syringe into my homemade doughnuts.
Anyway i'm off now for a dougnut now and a cup of tea.☕
No kudos pls as its plagiarised from mr marley lol. Jacob marley lol ..with my own modification of course.
I like jam, my favourite being Greengage, used to make Gooseberry jam with green and red ones, when I was in my other life. Life started for me over 3 years when I met a lovely man who has completed my life. After years of heartache, left the old life behind with my now ex husband and the gooseberries, he can make his own jam. I still enjoy jams have made blackcurrant jam since but Greengage remains my favourite. (from. Waitrose) This Christmas my son has brought us Sparkling Prosecco jam, very nice on crossiants. Also found Fig jam in a local garden centre, you can say we are now well stocked for winter months as we also have, Rhubarb and Ginger, Strawberry Conserve, Pineapple, Apricot and Blueberry. So all jamed up .
Her fingers flew over the black and white ivory keys with lightning speed and untouchable precision, the room filled with silent awe as she once again stunned the audience with her talent. I saw every performance but never got tired of lugging the boxes of equipment from venue to venue when I saw the end result. Never failing to amaze, with no two performances quite alike, she would always pull out a new piece, often effortlessly written on the road the previous day, so that each concert was as unique as it’s audience. Never accompanied by lyrics, somehow she told a story with her music, interpreted, undoubtedly, slightly differently by each listener, thus bringing another level of uniqueness to each piece of work, and a different, yet beloved experience held dear to the hearts of each in attendance as they left the auditorium, and gradually dissipated into the dark night.
keeping it short!
I woke up to a cold winter day when the brightness from outside jams my whole bedroom. As i walked to the window i noticed that the windows are jammed with 9inch snow. 😯
Quickly got dressed for work (even skipped breakfast) so i can set of early to try and avoid as many traffic jams as possible; but the day had lots more planned for me. 😣
The day couldn't have been any more jammy! A cold house, jammed windows, traffic jams, and now a jammed car door. 😐
So instead of heading for work, i was now on my way to jams garage😤.
What a JAM.
Rahul was a village boy who came to Bombay with his wife thinking of starting a new life and make btr money and pay his father back, from whom he took loan to start a small business in Bombay.
But when he got in Bombay and started living in a small one bed room flat, and went to the agent who said to him in phone you come to bombay and il sort out the rent shop for you, and whom he had paid advanve money frm the loan.
Now in Bombay he met the agent who had sold him a property which was belonging to some one and Rahul not knowing that this property wont belong to him and the agent was doing fraud,was in a proper JAM, as when he went first day to prepare for his shop on that property.
The real owner came and asked him whT he was doing, luckily Rahul showed him the papers and the owner said whoever sold you this has done fraud and now you are in a JAM bcoz now am gng to police about this. Now Rahul felt fully in JAM as he dndt know the ppl doing such things. All he wanted was to get out of this JAM and start a fresh start.
The Police saw his innocence and the ppl around the area of rhe shop pointed out that a man did come to show Rahul this propery and the Police followed the lead, caught the man and got Rahul his money back. The Relief he felt to be out frm this JAM was best than all the JAMS Rahul ever had. 😊😊
We're jammin' -
To think that jammin' was a thing of the past;
And I hope this jam is gonna last.
We had pushed to the front.
There he was, up on that stage in a warehouse in Bordeaux, with his Wailers at his side, heads wrapped in cotton print turbans and moving as only people brought up with the beat in their feet can do when those familiar relaxed yet insistent rhythms take off and transform the very earth and air around us. He was jammin, his dreadlocks flowing, his shrunken face contorted yet his voice sounding effortlessly pure and liquid. He was dead soon after, the cancer would win, but this summer he was still jammin.
I thought that jammin was a thing of the past, of my youth and days of adventure, of that year in France learning more than French. I thought it was for the kind of musician I had never been until then: I was, as you know, the sort that learned their scales and passed their exams and played in the orchestra and hated the humiliation of one-to-one lessons. The sort that wrote essays and analyses on the great classics, that squirmed over aural tests, that struggled to sightread the outlandish compositions of friends' premiered pieces, that learnt to conduct and read scores and modulate and transpose nearly as easily as breathing.
Jammin was for people like my brother who played Status Quo in the garage with his biker mates and for the celtic folk musicians who played by ear for hours without the luxury (or limitation) of sheet music to support them. Jammin was for the cool kids with two jazz chords under their fingers on a loop while the rest wove in and out with their random rhythms and riffs. And for Bob Marley who found (and conveyed) enlightenment and solace and power in the spirit of the Jam.
Until the Jam came to us. Did it find us or did we invite it in? We didn't create it but we named our inspiration after it. It was nearly twelve years ago, and two friends met to discuss their vision of a room full of people singing and playing together - a big Jam. It was still early in the new wave of its popularity and the humble Ukulele was still a thing of novelty, surprise, ridicule even. And yet these two could see the potential and the joy that could be spread by sharing their own discovery of the modest yet empowering charm of this little instrument. Their poster announced the birth of "The Southampton Ukulele Jam" and my daughter and I wandered round to our local pub/music venue one Monday evening for its first gathering - perhaps a dozen others also followed the call. It transformed all our lives.
The rest as they say is history - not only of our own Jam but of all the many iterations that concurrently and subsequently started springing up nationally and internationally, not to mention the off-shoots of more focussed and honed groups and bands that were to follow.
Why is the Jam so transformational? So many reasons - community, co-operation, common purpose, it is accessible and inclusive, it gets you singing (good old endorphins) and socialising, it can make a huge crowd smile - and sing along, it allows everyone to live the rock star dream, even the ex-music students like me. Charities have benefited hugely from every Jam gig and as individuals we have each benefited greatly from the opportunities that have opened up; the friends, the support, the diversity, the heart. Our story was made into a documentary, with full red-carpet premiere: and yet the story of the Jam is still evolving, as more members join, more bands flourish on the side-lines, as new blood fuels visions of the future.
I hope this Jam is gonna last.
Jams! I say traffic jam thought about this jam for years! An idea real jam in a jar. Called traffic jam!!! First colour green bright green like grass that you would see in the traffic.bright lime flavor jam in the jar called Jill's jar!!!! Filled quarter way up .then amber!!!!! Witch will defiantly be the mighty orange layer the jam over green and we get a traffic light.last of all the best some might say. layed again over the orange we put red well done we have traffic lights.red is strawberry jam the sweetest ever.we have light!!!! Let it be a smooth taste and ride be beep....... By Jill hodosi
As a lad growing up in a crowded city area shortly after the war, I was always getting into scrapes. The highlight of my year, however, was when I was packed off to Auntie Mabel's and Uncle Sid's house in Yorkshire for 3 weeks of the summer holiday. I rarely got into trouble there as I had constant attention and so much fun. Rarely, that is, but not never. There was that time...... Well, I'll tell you.
Each morning, after a fabulous breakfast cooked by Auntie Mabel, Uncle Sid would turn to me and say,
"Now, my boy, what shall we do today? Go for a swim? Fish in the beck? Run on the moors? Play cricket on the village green? Climb a steep hill? Explore the castle ruins? You choose." And I would.
Auntie Mabel would pack us a picnic and off we would go, just Uncle Sid and I. Auntie Mabel rarely came with us, although we always invited her.
"No," she'd usually say, "You two go and enjoy yourselves in the fresh air. I've got plenty to do here and can get on better with no-one under my feet".
Uncle Sid and I always had a wonderful day and got back in time for tea. I did sometimes wonder, though, what Auntie Mabel got up to on those long, summer days on her own. When I trudged back into her kitchen, tired and muddy but immensely happy, she'd hug me to her and remark on my suntanned face and arms and how much healthier I looked than when I'd arrived from the city.
I looked around the kitchen for clues as to what she'd been doing, It smelt good, warm and cosy, with our tea cooking, too, but it was as clean and tidy as the rest of the house. If I asked her, she might say, "Oh, this and that, you know, cooking and things to do in the house and garden."
Then, one night in the third summer I spent there, I got too hot in bed and crept down in the night, for a cup of water. In the long hallway of that large, silent house, I noticed that a door, which had always been locked before, was very slightly open. Curious, I touched it gently and as it slowly opened I slipped inside. There were a few steps down into a cold, dark cellar, with just enough moonlight seeping through some vents so that, when my eyes adjusted, I could see several shelves with rows of bottles of homemade wine. That didn't surprise me, really, as I had seen Uncle Sid some evenings tending to his gurgling demi-johns and he'd explained to me about fermentation and how wine was made.
Gaining confidence, I crept on past the wine to another door. I entered a large pantry that had shelves covering all it walls. The shelves, to my astonishment, we're almost full of jars and jars and jars of jam! Jams of every flavour and colour imaginable, by a young boy, anyway. All my favourites: plum, strawberry, blackcurrant and raspberry, plus many I had never heard of: marrow and ginger, for instance, apple, rhubarb and lavender, apricot and cinnamon and pear with gooseberry. Ah, it dawned on me, so that's what Auntie Mabel did on those summer days, making the kitchen so warm and sweet smelling in the process! I smiled at my newfound knowledge.
Then the smile disappeared as I heard an soft, eerie sound from the wine cellar behind me. Ooo! Oooh! Oooooh! Oooooooh! I froze to the spot. There was no way of escaping from that larder other than back where that noise was coming from. What could I do?
Then I heard a familiar laugh.
"Uncle Sid!" I cried as I fell into his arms. "Was that you pretending to be a ghost?".
"Just a bit of fun, my boy" he giggled. I heard someone come down here. Thought it was a cat burglar, but I see it's a jam burglar!"
"But I didn’t touch anything, Uncle Sid. Honest I didn't! I was just surprised to see all that jam. Did Auntie Mabel make it all?"
"She certainly did, my boy, but we'd better not touch it. She has to decide which jars to enter into the local shows before we're allowed to eat any. So please don't ever come in here again. It's usually locked anyway. Now, let's just go to the kitchen and get ourselves some drinks, before we wake up Auntie Mabel!"
Maybe it's as well Uncle Sid discovered me before I got into a sticky situation.