Admittedly we're pushing the boundaries a bit in writing about Big Trev who lives beyond that Mason-Dixon Line they call the Rutland border. But, hey, he's written a stream of books about the area and has many fans locally, so we'll gladly count him in.

The last time I saw him was in the waiting room of our local surgery. "Hi Trevor, are you OK?" I asked. "I wouldn't be here if I was," said the temporary grump. It was only later I found out he'd been diagnosed with diabetes. Yet nothing, but nothing, gets this guy down.

A booming, welcoming character with an enviable Leicestershire accent, Trevor is a prolific author having scribed 17 local history books. Few folk can rival his knowledge of his chosen patch, the Melton-Belvoir-Rutland

triangle, and many of his tomes are angled to reflect his proud regional zeal for such traditional goodies as cheese and pork pie.

Believe me, each book is a gem, filled with fascinating archive photos from his personal collection, plus atmospheric artwork by his great friend Rigby Graham. All contain wise words from the man himself, casually conversational yet immaculately sourced. They should be required reading for future generations, but what of the man himself?

Trev remains a garrulous, gregarious superstar (well, he is in Wymondham) who promotes his 'babies' with maximum enthusiasm, as every good writer should. Obliging to a fault, he turns up for interminable book signings and radio interviews at the drop of a pen so I was lucky to catch the old rascal at home after yet another local radio broadcast.

An afternoon brilliance of golden sunshine was dappling the old orchard alongside his 18th century cottage in Wymondham as I arrived to find Pam, his beloved wife of 52 years, relaxing in the shade and the great man himself hard at work in his outhouse where he writes 9am-noon, 2.30pm-4.30pm daily.

Descended from generations of carriers, Trevor can trace his family lineage back to 1745.

The Hickmans started off in Uppingham but settled in Wymondham many moons ago, and the cottage where he was born 75 years ago, and in which he still lives with Pam, is filled with myriad volumes and photographic postcards of bygone days.

Many of them thankfully survived the considerable unpleasantness of a few years back when a random rodent nibbled through wiring in the rafters and caused a humungous blaze.

Some vintage editions which had been painstakingly restored by Trevor, using the bookbinding skills he first learned as a callow apprentice of 15, sadly perished in the conflagration. Yet this amiable veteran of the Suez War (who has also been hit by two strokes and, most recently, diabetes) remains gloriously upbeat about the future.

"My 18th book is ready and waiting," he says with glee, pointing to a neat pile of typed sheets in a corner of his workroom. "I can't drive a car after the latest stroke but my wonderful granddaughter Amy Grech, who's studying for her BSc at Sheffield, helps me out."

But back to Stilton, which Big T loves with the same fervency Sir Alex Ferguson reserves for hair dryers. "There are few better things in life than a piece of Stilton and a glass of 10-year-old Port," he confides, smiling broadly. "No pickle, no extras. You eat it straight and you eat it slowly. Mind you, Pam doesn't approve. She reckons it's bad for my health."

He calls Stilton 'the King of Cheeses' but only wrote his first history of the product, in 1995, after completing 30 years of loving research. His latest book is called Historic Cheeses: Leicestershire, Stilton and Stichelton (Breedon of Derby, £14.99) and again he waxes lyrical about the Best of British, though this time there's an uber-topical line about Stiltonians falling out.

Forget the credit crunch. Ignore MPs' expenses. The real crux, d'ye see, is what constitutes your true Stilton. "Government stipulations insisted real Stilton could only be produced from pasteurised milk," said Trevor. "The old Ministry of Agriculture wanted to ban the sale of unpasteurised cheese but a group called the Specialists Cheesemakers Association was formed in opposition." The topic came up recently on BBC1's The One Show.

Thus, locally, we have an excellent pasteurised Stilton out of Colston Bassett creameries in Nottinghamshire while, for lovers of the unpasteurised, there's an equally delightful cheese called Stichelton out of Hickling and a similarly concocted Leicestershire cheese from Hinckley.

All are related, but as for the history of Stilton, Trevor reckons Cooper Thornhill's your man. Thornhill it was who began marketing a cheese made in Stilton, Cambridgeshire, via the stagecoach and trade routes in and out of London in the 18th century.

A pity that Trevor's own village of Wymondham was producing its own brand of blue veined cream cheese for years before Thornhill and friends changed its marketing and manufacture. So Stilton could have been called Wymondham. Some you win, some you lose. Meanwhile Trevor Hickman, as ever, is on to a winner.