At this time of year whenever we take the Number 4 or 44 bus, which we do pretty often, we walk through the park: through the gate, across the field, past the swings, through the woods, through the far gate and out opposite the bus stop.
Just inside the nearer gate there is a plum tree. In the park. A communal, civic plum tree.
And in June the little, dark purple plums are soft and sweet and juicy and delicious.
I walk round the tree and take only those plums that are just about ready to drop. I never pull, I never twist, I just give a gentle tweak and if the plum comes away then its abscission layer is ready and it's ripe. Otherwise leave it. It will be ready to come tomorrow.
And so every time I catch the number 4 or 44 bus the experience is sweet.