Previously: Jam Jar had a tummyache on a beautiful summer day (how woefully inappropriate!), and collapsed onto a package from the Sweetness Club (how did it get there?).

Some indeterminate and insignificant distance from where Jam Jar lay sorrowfully in a field of soft summer grass, there gathered a group of noble-looking foodstuffs. Among them were, to name some of the more outstanding members of the group, a piece of toast, a jar of peanut butter, a morsel of blue cheese, a stick of butter and, sitting on an imposing throne of berries, a prodigiously large jam jar. The latter rose from his throne to address the group, causing a cacophony of jingles and jangles as the various medallions festooning his coat shook about.

‘Esteemed members of the Sweetness Club,’ he began, ‘we can assume by now that our package has reached the young Jam Jar. Our dreams of combatting the recent drought of Sweetness in the world now have a crumb of hope.’

High fives, fist bumps and other matter of celebratory gesticulations spread around the circular chamber of the Sweetness Club’s headquarters. (The pieces of toast tended to avoid such shows of celebration, since physical contact invariably made a mess at their feet.)

‘However!’ the speaker continued, ‘If this young candidate is to be of any use to us, she will have to demonstrate her commitment to the cause. She must memorize the Jam Oath. Sergeant Blackberry, go, find her and have her recite the words into this old jar I was about to recycle. Bring it back to me and I shall determine her role in the Sweetness Club.’ An air of seriousness seized the room; everyone understood the gravity of finding somebody to spread Sweetness to a world that needed it so badly. ‘There may be much ahead of her.’