Spread genius makes charity his preserve

So far, his nightlife is rather down to earth, too - no glamorous nights at Boujis or magnums of Cristal and jets over to the Med - Doherty prefers hanging out with his mates in Edinburgh, going to pubs and parties; "normal things". Jam has become a part of their lives, too, he says, "but I don't talk about it all the time. Though I guess business is my main hobby."

Not surprisingly, there is nothing flashy about his appearance on the day that we meet - no designer watch or handmade shoes. He looks comfortable in a striped shirt and smart trousers. Nicely trimmed hair, a ready smile, a steady sincere gaze; it's impossible to dislike the lad, for that's what he appears to be, a polite, friendly young man.

It's quite disarming.

But then maybe this genuinely modest persona is partly responsible for his success. The world of jam is hardly the preserve of models and rock gods. More Women's Rural Institutes and senior citizens. Whether by chance or design, Doherty has slotted comfortably in. It was, after all, his gran Susan who taught him how to make jam when he was 14.

That was the start of a passion - and his parents, Anne and Robert, recall his subsequent taking over of the kitchen for three years and coralling the whole family into helping fill the jars for market stalls. Gran also took him and his brother Connor, 16, to visit elderly people who were isolated or depressed. It had a profound and lasting effect.

Doherty says: "I remember some of the people crying when we left. Ever since I have wanted to help where I can."

He began a charitable project last year, holding SuperJam Tea Parties - a series of pensioners' gatherings around the UK, with jam and clotted cream scones, and a few tunes on the accordion. There have been 120 parties, with up to 600 guests at each, so far. With this philanthropy, Doherty has won over an elderly army of fans who now knit tea cosies for his competitions and squares to make into blankets for Indian orphans.

Yes, he's helping impoverished children too. And I challenge anyone not to be cheered by the website image of children enveloped in the gaudy home knits of pensioners.

Doherty also seems to have a passion for knitting, posting purveyors of good wool on his blog and praising the young fellow entrepreneurs who are leading its resurgence. It's compelling, heart-warming and not like any other business blog that I have seen. A portal into a more kindly world of communities and cosy get-togethers. And SuperJam, of course; four flavours for now and more promised soon.

"If I see a problem, I just want to roll up my sleeves and do something about it, " he says, with intensity. "My ambition is to be proud of everything I have done and to feel I did the right thing with my life."

Worthy he may be, but Doherty is not without a sense of humour, recalling his weirdest interview (and he's done hundreds), on Radio Scotland, for football show Off the Ball. With no knowledge of our national game, he was charged with predicting match results for 90 excruciating minutes. He survived by paying heed to the hand signals of the other pundits but vowed never again.

Other interviews have seen him grace the sofas of every breakfast-television show in the UK, plus appearances in Canada, America and China. Forbes magazine featured him in an article about how to make a $1m before you turn 20, and a flood of awards and plaudits have included Scotland's best young innovator at the John Logie Baird Awards and Global Entrepreneur of the Year.

SuperJam has also joined the hallowed ranks of "iconic Scottish brands" in the National Museum of Scotland, alongside Irn-Bru and Tunnock's Tea Cakes.

Supermarket chiefs are similarly lavish in their praise, with large orders to match. First Waitrose, in 2007, then quickly Tesco, Asda, Morrisons and, finally, Sainsbury's bought into the brand.

He cherishes the memory of buying his first jar of SuperJam from the Morningside branch of Waitrose and sticking the receipt on his bedroom wall. The same branch broke all records for preserves when it sold 1,500 jars in one day.

In a cynical world, it's tempting to seek out an easy explanation for such achievement. But there's no dastardly secret to his success. His first outlet, Waitrose, certainly pointed him in the right direction, rejecting an early comic-book brand idea called Jam Boy. But they did like the recipe that he had spent months perfecting and gave him the chance to come up with a new product identity. They loved SuperJam and its healthy credentials and are reaping the benefits.

It's all going terribly well for Doherty, but there is one skeleton in his closet. One tragic occurrence to which he will admit. The last time he failed, it made him cry.

A fox had just ended his dreams of a free-range egg empire. The scheme had started a year earlier when he and his friend Callum incubated some eggs on a Sky television box. Three weeks later, he came downstairs for school to find four little chicks tweeting in the lounge.

He built them a house in the back garden and, eventually, they grew and laid three eggs a day. But a flourishing network of customers were to be disappointed when the fox struck one night. "He took them all," recalls Doherty sadly. "I was devastated and yes, I cried. I was only 11."

www.superjam.co.uk