That might well be another story worth telling KJI. If
Victoria plums I'm getting the implication of bruises inflicted for liberties previously taken. Neighbours can be mustard, and entire threads ought to be dedicated to their nuisance-value and their imagainative (and unimaginative) slants on attempts to skin cats and the likes.
But speaking of cheesers as it's the essence of this thread and a charming seasonal facet of life: well, it's only in recent years that I've gone on the hunt for the flatter-sided ones from the sweet chestnut tree. So I located a couple of trees near a reservoir called
Walves, but unfortunately the fruit isn't prolific the last four seasons, that quirk of nature making the experience of seeking them out even more mystical. As I look it up I see that it's a naturlaised tree, rather than native. If interested in Hancock's Half Hour, see also the chestnut twig cures of Mrs Cravat tried on Tony Hancock:
"The rays of the Moon must fall on the bed
if you don't want to die from a cold in the head.
Ague, ague, come on out!"
Regards.