Chelsea Flower Show Archives | James Alexander-Sinclair

I gave a talk the other day to assorted nursery people on the loose subject of Social media. One of my points was that if you have a blog on your website then you must update it otherwise it looks as if you do not give a fig. “It is better to have no blog at all than one that seems neglected” I thundered. I then noticed that I had not updated mine since before Christmas so thought I had better do a bit of practising what I preach. In my defence I did write one on my first day back at my desk after Christmas about what total tosh the various New Year guides to garden trends were but then I forgot to post it and the moment has now safely passed.

This blog is over twelve years old now and I have witnessed the bell curve of blogs. When I started we were a small and tight knit band of bloggers: nobody knew we were there – if you remember social media did not really exist in 2006. Facebook was invented in 2004 but Twitter not until after the birth of this blog. People did not spend all train journeys on their telephones as the smart phone did not invade our lives until June 2007. It was a different, possibly more innocent, time. Then there was a surge of interest, blog posts regularly got fifty of sixty comments and more and more people jumped onto the moving train. From that peak blogging has rather faded away as our attention spans get shorter, video became easy and podcasts arrived. Too many things to distract so nobody really reads stuff any longer. I don’t know how many people read this blog as I have never been that interested in statistics, I have nothing to sell and it is mostly a way for me to fritter away time that should be spent more commercially.

Anyway, this particular post is to draw your attention to the RHS Orchid Show and Plantfair which begins on Thursday evening in the Horticultural Halls, Vincent Square: it looked empty yesterday but I am assured that it will fill up with nurseries and gin and stuff. It runs until Saturday evening and is, as the name suggests, stuffed to the gunwales with Orchids of every sort, shape and parentage. In addition there is a slightly less exotic corner where the RHS asked me to do a rehash of the garden I made at Chelsea Flower Show last year. Some of you may remember the garden, it was on the subject of sound and was one of the Radio2 Feelgood Gardens.

Rather than redo the same thing I decided to do a little twist so we are making a leaf strewn woodland floor which will shiver as if the leaves were being kissed by a gentle breeze or disturbed by a restless Dryad stirring just beneath the surface. It is quite odd to build a garden on a table in a hall – although there are many advantages, not least that we are safely tucked away out of the rain.

The leaf moving is under the care of the always smiling Pär, Seb and Rossana who leap around in that annoyingly energetic way young people do tweaking sound waves, tapping on laptops and scooting under the table with screwdrivers and wires as if they were grease monkeys under Cadillacs.

I suggest that you come and see us and the orchids. There will be talks – one by me probably, food, shelter from the weather and, I believe, gin. Entrance costs a fiver for all – this has caused certain RHS members to grumble but it costs quite a lot to put these shows on, money that should be better spent on more useful charitable interests. To ask five pounds is not exactly unreasonable. It is the same as have just paid for a cup of coffee and a pain au raisin in Bicester Village railway station.

I am listening to Glen Miller’s “Falling Leaves” which seemed appropriate. The small picture is of some mud – in which the outside world is covered.

Well that was a jolly jape….. Chelsea Flower Show, I mean. It was fun, interesting and only slightly stressful. At least the garden designing bit was relatively straight forward – the judging bit was considerably more eventful!

Eighteen years ago I did a Chelsea show garden for the Daily Express. This was before it became a complete rag but after its glory days as the voice of middle class post war respectability. The circumstances were strangely coincidental and unplanned – the short version of the story is that we used to rent a room to people wanting somewhere to stay for the Silverstone Grand Prix.
As a result in 1998 I found myself lolling on the lawn chatting to a chap who, it transpired, was the editor of the aforementioned rag.
“You do a garden at Chelsea don’t you?”
“We do” he admitted- they had done one for many years at that point.
“Can I do next year’s?” I enquired
“Okay” he said
And that was pretty much that…
So I did a garden in 1999 which I liked (although the judges did not) and was the last time that the Express ever sponsored anything at Chelsea
Whether this is a coincidence or not is for others to decide although, to be honest, I have a bit of a track record when it comes to prematurely ending things. No television series I have contributed to has ever been recommissioned and there is an argument that I may have killed off makeover television programmes. An act which some would see as a blessing …..

Anyway, fast forward eighteen years and the telephone rings at the end of March(ish).
“Hullo” ring out the youthful tones of Tom Harfleet, Chelsea Show Manager, Head of Shows Development at the RHS and general good oeuf
“Hullo Thomas, what’s up?”
“Would you like to design a Show garden for Chelsea?”
“This year?”
“Yes. Unjudged and sponsored by the RHS and Radio2 “
“Let me think about it”.
“Okay. Bye”
Click.

Time passes as I consider the situation, weigh up the pros and cons, examine my diary, consult my office and family, evaluate the time required, make lists and generally consider my options. I am playing hard to get…

Twenty minutes later I ring back and say yes. As a result I have found myself designing and sorting a show garden in double quick time. Actually a lack of lead time concentrates the mind admirably and means that there is less time for worry and everything is more spontaneous. The initial plant list consists of me wandering around Hortus Loci seeing what looks good, the hard landscaping is minimal and I found some admirable trees in the back lot at Crocus. The garden’s official title is the Zoe Ball Listening Garden I think it turned out okay.

Actually I am being uncharacteristically modest- it was fabulous: it was a garden about sound where you could see and feel the music but not hear it. There were speakers underwater that made phenomenally beautiful patterns and speakers under the ground that made the earth shake. The visitor put a foot on the gravel and felt a vibration shudder up their leg in a way that was not entirely relaxing. The planting was green and lush – the general idea was to create a mildly sinister woodland glade… Of course no Show garden is a solo effort so my thanks to Rossana, Seb and Pår for sound, to Fiona Silk for drawings and project management and to Humaira, Steph and Frank for planting. Also to all the lovely people who stood on the garden during Show week giving out leaflets and getting hot.

My favourite review of the garden is from the Shanghai Daily who said

“At a garden nearby, cabbages and salads are arranged in neat rows to “recreate the feeling when you stand too close to a speaker stack at a concert — the sensation of music reverberating through your whole body,” said designer James Alexander Sinclair.” Now that would be something….

But all things must pass and now it has disappeared into memory. Who knows how long it will be until I do another show garden?

In 18 years I will be seventy-five so it might be sensible not to wait that long.

I am listening to the rooks in the garden.

This is my Chelsea…

Saturday afternoon. Mooch around kissing people, chatting and looking at gardens. This takes some time but is generally very satisfactory. Out to eat noodles and then back to hotel.

Sunday morning. See above – there is an ulterior purpose to all this. I am not just there to hug people, you know. Apart from that being slightly unseemly in a man of my age I am there to prepare myself and get my eye in for garden judging tomorrow.
At midday we wander into a tent for sandwiches and the Presidential briefing. This is where members of council are told roughly what is expected of them over the next week – no public drunkenness, key messages and that sort of thing. We are also told which members of the Royal family are coming and to which one you have been assigned. Then there is more wandering and hugging before descending on the BBC enclosure for extra lunch and more chat.
Next I go off with Joe Swift and Sophie Raworth to do a short piece about garden selection. This happens on Jo Thompson’s garden and is frequently interrupted by helicopters, trolleys and random announcements. “We are looking for Mr Moby” must be code for something important as they really cannot be looking for the noted vegan 1990s dance music DJ.
I then go and get a haircut, change into a suit and return to give a tour to some potential major donors to the RHS.

Andy Sturgeon’s garden for The Daily Telegraph

Monday
Big day.
6.00 breakfast in the judging office before striding out for a jolly morning. Breakfast is a proper fry up.
Then we judge. It is warm (but not hot), there are disagreements, laughs, volte faces and compromises. There are fruit pastilles, conversations and the opportunity to learn things. It was a very good morning and I think we got the right results.
Then there is the President’s lunch. This is quite spiffy with good food and a speech (by no less than Lord Montagu of Don). I am sitting next to Mary Berry which is always a plus.
Then I take the grands fromages from M&G on a tour of the show gardens before being snaffled by the BBC for another little snippet with Sophie Raworth.
I then go and find cake: this is a tea thing put on for committee members and is one of the best things about Chelsea. Little cakes and a cup of tea away from the hurly burly while the celebrities and journalists are given the heave ho out of the showground.
Then it is time for the Royal visit. I am in command of Prince Andrew (who is a bit tedious) and his daughters (who were delightful). They are whisked around the show flitting in and out of gardens and exhibits before being deposited in a tent with all the other Royals where there are canapés served in terrariums. I have a conversation with the Queen – who is very small- and another with the Dof E about barbecues and the meaning behind my tie – see below- which was stripey and, apparently, the sure sign of an architect. Quite surreal.
I leave and go to bed: the Royals are still going strong.

Tuesday
I have not really been looking forward to this day as this is the day when we have to go round and give feedback to the designers, AKA Punch James in the head day. However, with power comes responsibility etc etc. This is pretty straightforward if they got a Gold medal (or if they are Diarmuid who does not really care what we say) but requires a good deal of both tact and accuracy if anything other than Gold is involved. This is a pity and one of the imbalances I am determined to right before I get chucked off the judging panel.
Silver Gilt is not a failure: Gold should be the reward for flawlessness
Lunch is a cup of coffee and a small biscuit.
Feedback takes most of the day although I finally escape to go and have tea with Lord Alan of Titchmarsh in the Dorchester tea tent. This is an odd experience as we are entertaining a couple of competition winners and the tea is magnificent. Finger sandwiches and then some amazing cakes all served by a host of young men in full soup and fish (as PG Wodehouse used to say) In other words, white tie and evening tailcoats.
I then peeled off to be given the third degree by Monty and Joe in their eyrie high above main avenue. I have no problem with this but 2.5minutes is not nearly long enough to get things answered and explained.

Wednesday
Breakfast at 6.00. This involves (obviously) getting up very early and going to the RHS bit – which consists of a series f tents by the Royal Hospital Road. It is from here that judging and organising is coordinated. We (the RHS Garden curators*, sundry bleary eyed council members and perky fundraisers) hang around waiting for sufficient numbers and then take groups around the show for an hour. It is virtually empty except for the cleaning staff, the odd designer watering things and some photographers waiting for the right light.
We all then return for a decent breakfast – including one of those buffets which contain cheese and which nobody really eats. No sooner have they all started tucking in and enjoying themselves that I stand up and ask them for money to support the invaluable work of the RHS. Seems to work quite well: even if it makes some of them choke on their sausages.
I then went back to bed and then went shopping where I bought two pairs of jeans, a jacket and a raincoat. And we got a free pair of socks partly because I wore a tie from T. Burrows on television (I have about a dozen of their ties – see above) but mostly because my darling wife is a red hot bargain striker.
We return for Hayley’s Secret Garden Party which is always jolly. This time my children came which was lovely. The best bit is ending up in the floral marquee with absolutely nobody else there apart from a couple of security guards. It is peaceful and a great privilege to wander amongst plants as the light fades away.

Joe Swift’s birthday – there is a cake made by my very talented daughter – Stromabakes for all your baking needs…

Thursday
See above for the beginning of the day. I was supposed to go on television again but was bounced off by Johnny Ball (bounced: geddit?) talking about maths. My grade one CSE was not considered sufficient qualification for disentangling the Fibonacci sequence.
I also went to an exhibitors’ lunch – which is put on as a thank you to designers, nursery folk and tradestanders – and hosted a mini seminar for potential show garden sponsors.
Finally Joe and I did a turn at a sponsorship event for Horatio’s garden.
I do a lot of talking during Chelsea week.

Friday
Last day. No breakfast. Instead we launch the BBC Local Radio competition. There are four winners (well, three and a team of four) each of whom are designing a garden at Hampton Court guided by Ann Marie and I. God help them. We make a noise on Ann-Marie’s garden and the BBC record proceedings: it is an interesting idea which will be fun to see evolve.

Then we go home. There is nothing better than falling into one’s own bed after a week away: and being woken by birds and not buses.

I am listening to Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ the Boat from Guys and Dolls.

* The RHS Garden Curators are there all week and work unbelievably hard with ridiculously little sleep. And with the added encumbrance of alcohol. It is almost a tribal rite of passage.

Hooray. It is only a month since I last posted here.

I really do not understand spam.

This blog has always had some of the stuff but recently much more has slipped past the electronic equivalent of the Group Four security guards. It used to be very simple – a clamour of sites usually trying to sell me, ahem, ‘augmentation’ pills. Now it seems much more complicated and involves a number of different approaches…
Flattery – this blog is amazing. It has given me an insight into the world that I have not found elsewhere.
Caring: It is important to be under direct medical supervision when dieting. Tea is safer than several small incisions.
Helpful: Your website may be having browser problems: in Internet Explorer they may be some overlapping.
Grateful: This is a cool and useful bit of information.
Critical: This blog is good but it has a lot of spelling mistakes.
Busy; Great information. I have saved it for later
Technical: Your Google rankings are rubbish.
Business like: Would you be interested in doing a guest post on my blog (which was about dumpster rental in Philadelphia).
More criticism: Your content is great but have you thought of changing the layout on your blog to allow more content?
Cheeky: Can you help me stop my blog being bombarded with spam? any tips
Weird: Religion may also be a reason for divorce rates increasing, Today the Hygienitech Mattress Cleaning System is the worldwide leader inn providing environmentally friendly mattress cleaning equipment.
Confusing: I do know what I will be stitching and wearing this spring and summer!
Supportive but confusing: Wonderful issues altogether, you just received a brand new reader. What may you suggest about your post that you made some days in the past? Any positive?

As an example I quote directly from a spam blog comment that appears to want me to buy a jacket – “Insert the yardstick, leaving about 8 inches for the handle. Tape around the sword and handle in moncler paris a figure eight pattern to hold the stick in place. Decorate moncler jackets the handle.”

Or: We spend about $40 on gas for personal use per week, putting $20 per week in our vehicles. His car gets better miles per gallon than my jeep, but I drive less than 5 miles to and from work everyday. If I would run low on gas, I would plan to either borrow his vehicle or ride my bike to work, however, that hasn’t happened yet..”

Another: – “But traditionally, those children borne by legal wives and concubines and those who were adopted are all designated and ranked differently, indicating their order of significance and influence.”

Attached to the various comments are links trying to sell me everything from ice cream makers, cartoons, Instagram followers, travel bags, vibration platforms,pressure washers, YouTube channels, ceiling fans, nudie jeans and, of course, ways to enlarge those areas that need enlarging.

How does this sort of thing benefit anybody? I am sure that somebody, somewhere is making money and I understand that if you sent a million people an email (net cost pretty much zero) and two buy something then you are quids in but how does bombarding a blog such as mine with a modest readership work? Especially as most of it gets caught in a filter – at the time of writing there are 3,632 such messages wriggling in my spam folder gasping their last.

I am bamboozled.

On the same subject when was the last time you actually ate some Spam? as in the proper stuff named as an acronym of ‘Spiced Ham’ or ‘Shoulders of pork and ham’. (Although it might not stand for either of those things – nobody in the know has ever said). When a hungry child at boarding school I would eat pretty much anything and one of the luncheons provided was a slice of spam with some lettuce, half a tomato and ready access to a bottle of salad cream.
A few years ago, an older, less hungry and (perhaps) wiser person, I decided to try spam again. It was horrible: those intervening years of restaurants, excellent home cooking and occasional puddings had ruined my tastebuds. No longer would I be excited by the flabby rubberiness of a slice of processed pork.

Life is full of such disappointments.

I have not, you will be relieved to know, spent all of my time worrying about spam. I have also been doing busy things the most exciting of which was flying off to Glasgow to look at the site for the new Horatio’s Garden at the spinal unit in Southern General Hospital. I have written lots about it on my Crocus Blog here so will not repeat myself.
What else? Oh. I bought a house, a rather nice house that will hopefully be both nicer and more habitable by the summer which is when we hope to move in. I have also helped finalise the show gardens for both Chelsea and Malvern Spring Festival and planted two and a half gardens. And some other stuff which I will not go into as most people will probably not have got this far anyway as they would have been put off by all the drivel about spam.

I know I would have left by now.

I am listening to You Can’t Outrun ‘Em by Jenny Lewis. The pictures is are of some very handsome Gloucester Old Spot pigs – a little tasteless perhaps when talking about spam but there you go.

More than a month since I last wrote this blog. Ooops.

Odd how sometimes one has lots to say and other times the conversation dries up a bit and we lapse into a convivial silence for a bit. I then worry that I should be blogging while you sit back and enjoy the peace.

I also have a mild problem in that (whispers) this is not the only blog I write and sometimes one of the others snaffles the ideas. Yes, I am a blog bigamist, I am faithless and feeble of will, I will chase after any old blog shaped skirt that winks at me to the detriment of this old and faithful thing. Unspeakable and caddish behaviour but, in my defence, (which is a pathetic defence) I am going through a mid life blog crisis and will attempt to mend my ways.

At times like this I think the snappy checklist school of blogging is what is called for: in no particular order except the order in which they tumble from my head.

1. Last month was the Garden Media Guild Awards at which I won nothing although the sibling of this blog (see above – the use of the word sibling makes my unfaithfulness somehow worse) was shortlisted. I fear that there may be a drift away from self-indulgent nonsense blogging towards fact and useful stuff about gardening. Such is the way of the world.

2. Chelsea Press Launch. On the same day I compered the press launch for Chelsea Flower Show 2013. It was in the Connaught Hotel (thanks to the kindness of M&G) where each person was provided with a little tin of mints: to be perfectly accurate two tins of mints: one from M&G and one from the Connaught. Small tins of mints are obviously the absolute bees-knees of corporate gifting.

3. I returned to the Connaught after the GMG Awards thing. Many repaired to the pub, some hastened home and others simply lay down in the nearest doorway and slept. I thought that what the afternoon demanded was not a hot, sweaty and loud pub but ridiculously expensive cakes and small sandwiches to the sound of a harpist. We were an exclusive and generally delicious band of cake eaters – The Connaught has an exquisite entrance with a narrow revolving door. A proper one with brushes on the floor and room for no more than one person at a time.

4. I drove to Devon in the worst of the rain. Usually I am sweetness and light to my fellow man, always happy to give the benefit of the doubt and lend an umbrella to a stranger (i) but the odd moment of schadenfreude is always satisfying. Picture this: early morning, skiddy roads, grey skies, rain and general dullness. Everybody trundling along carefully avoiding accidents and driving too quickly through large puddles lest we soak pedestrians. Everybody? no, not everybody one person (sex unknown but the smart money is on male) in a low slung BMW is driving like a jerk. Swinging around, overtaking badly, all that stuff. We approach a large flood. I drive in, he drives in behind me. I drive out…….. Oh dear. I am alone.

5. Lectures: I seem to have given a load of lectures over the past month or so – at one I was described as “not as buff as Chris Beardshaw” which as good a thing as any to have as an epitaph. I know my place and I no longer have buttocks so taut you could bounce 2p pieces off them.

6. I have a newish car. I am unnecessarily thrilled by the little extras and left cold by the important bits. The engine size, mileage per gallon or resale value is of very little interest to me. I am, however, very excited by the fact that my telephone plugs into a little USB thing in the glovebox. That there is a button that shuts the boot automatically. That something beeps when I reverse anywhere near any solid objects – the closer you get, the more frantic the beep, this is particularly useful to avoid incidents such as this. All this and an entire picnic table in the back seat which I will never use.

7. I have laid out a lot of plants in various parts of the country. Sometimes in truly horrid weather. I have got an interesting project in Sussex at a garden called Borde Hill. We have just replanted a narrow border which is romantically named Paradise Walk. It has been stripped and replanted with a spatter of herbaceous stuff. There are Monardas, Kniphofias, Zizias, Geranium Rozanne and many other jolly things. I would show you a picture except that a patch of mud covered wityh pots is not a terribly inspiring sight. Instead I urge you to visit Borde Hill next summer and see for yourselves.

8. That is probably enough for the moment, other things have happened but if I tell you everything you will never get round to eating poultry and flatulent vegetables.

Next time I blog there will be a new Episode of intoGardens in the App store. It is a thing of extreme beauty and deserves to be seen by every iPad owner in the world. My problem is that I do not know all of them so would very much appreciate any help you might be inclined to shovel my way. Spread the word please, people and I will be forever in your thrall.

I am listening to a slightly stroppy ticket collector on the Euston-Manchester train. The picture is of the window of Scott’s Restaurant in Mount Street looking festive.

Happy Christmas to all and thank you for reading my tosh once again.

(i) This may be the reason why I have no umbrellas

I have, like many people, recently returned from the Chelsea Flower Show (i).

I was, briefly, on television although have not yet seen much of it: except a bit of Tuesday’s programme where Christine Walkden says (and I quote) “I just want to stroke it and stroke it and dream away about hot, passionate nights”. I don’t know why this came as a bit of a surprise, but it did. I like making television very much but do not like watching myself: it is a vanity thing, I suppose, I always think I look too old/beaky/grey etc

I have now slept enough to be relatively confident that I can string a few words together without dribbling so am reasonably confident that this post will make some sense.

My Chelsea was exciting and a bit different as it was my first year as a member of Council so as well as the usual schmoozing and kissing people on Press Day I got to be very grown -up and important guiding VIPs round the show early in the morning in order to keep the donations to the RHS flowing. This has disadvantages as, if you are wearing a badge, people assume you know where the loos are and take the opportunity to complain about the crowds.

I spent quite a long time looking at the show gardens and I think it is time we had a revolution.

When I first came to Chelsea the planting was mostly Rhododendrons and large rocks. I’m sure there were other things but that is the memory I hold, there were exciting things going on in the tent with Beth Chatto and Carol Klein doing interesting stuff but that had not yet spread outside to the show gardens. At the time we were on the cusp of the garden design revolution when everybody suddenly became garden designers rather than gardeners. I remember thinking about training courses for Garden Design in about 1984 and the only one I could find was a ten week stint at the Inchbald School of Design (I signed up but did not turn up as often as I should). There were only a few designers in those days (John Brookes being the grand fromage) and the whole idea was treated with a certain suspicion.

“And what do you do, young man” I was asked on one memorable occasion (I was quite young in those days hence the mildly patronising form of address: better than “Sonny”, I suppose)

“I’m a Garden Designer, Sir” (I was not only young but terribly polite having been taught that it was always a good idea to call older men Sir: especially if one had designs on their daughters)

“What a strange idea” he replied “does anybody actually want their gardens designed?”

A few years later this became a superfluous question as the explosion of television programmes meant that everybody had some idea of design and how it works in gardens.

Anyway, back the point (or as close to it as I am ever likely to come), the Revolution. Since the days when the Rhodendron reigned the style of planting in Chelsea gardens has changed from shrubby to a much lighter, prettier feel. Initially this was viewed with some suspicion (ii). This idea has now become more mainstream and there is a slight sense of sameness as you walk down Main Avenue. Part of this is because there are only so many plants that are available at this time of year and partly because that style makes gorgeous gardens that work well at Chelsea. Sponsors demand Gold Medals and that does not lead to designers taking risks. I have suggested before to the RHS (and will do so again) that it would be very exciting if, every so often, Chelsea was moved to September: new colours, different plants etc. I am unlikely to succeed in this endeavour.

Don’t get me wrong, I adore this sort of thing. I love the planting and can easily swoon over a cow parsley. But part of me would really like to see something radically different. I am not quite sure what or how but things cannot remain the same for ever and we need somebody clever and innovative to chuck a bomb in the works.

Anyway, we will see.

Amongst other happenings: I went to lecture at Wisley. Apart from the fact that I was appallingly late it was fun. The audience were mostly Wisley staff so therefore the audience age was about half my usual average.

I have also been on a bit of a garden trawl, making sure things are in order. This is one of my favourite gardens: a courtyard full of plants.

I am listening to Gabrielle singing Rise. One of those anthemic songs that made you sway and lifted the soul for a bit. Until you got bored of it when it seemed trite and overdone. Short shelf life, popular music.

The picture is of a very dramatic Centaurea at Cottesbrooke: where, incidentally, the Gardeners’ Fair will be happening on the 22-24th June.

(i) When I say recently I mean over a week ago but it was recent when I wrote the first sentence of this post. Blogs seem to be written in bursts at the moment.

(ii) I say this as an early adopter who scraped a Bronze Medal a decade or so ago by planting what I called a Tameflower Meadow – lots of herbaceous stuff amidst a matrix of Stipa arundinacea. Pretty but a bit light horticulturally – I was terribly cavalier with my plant positioning as I was more excited by colour and shape. I spent most of the show standing on a caged hedge haranguing the punters as if by explaining the point of the garden to each and every visitor the world might change. Either that or I just enjoyed showing off. My next door neighbours had rocks and rhododendendrons.

This will, I believe be a very short blogpost as time is pressing but I thought I had better write something lest there is concern for my continued existence. Especially as today I managed to reverse my car into hearse. Fortunately it was only occupied by the living (although I suppose that the dearly departed would not have been that bothered) and all was fine.

I have recently returned from the Malvern Spring Show which was, as always, a great pleasure.

It did not begin well as on the first day, Thursday, there was nothing but mud and drizzle. Almost every grassed inch of the showground was squelchy underfoot: I worried that if it carried on like this then if any of our heavier visitors remained still for more than a couple of minutes they would sink slowly and inexorably into the fertile soils of Worcestershire. I spent that Thursday acting as Rachel de Thame’s less glamorous stand-in for Gardeners World. Which was fun if a little damp. The rest of the weekend was mostly sunny so I spent a jolly time frolicking with Carol Klein, Joe Swift and Terry Walton. All ring mastered by Katie Johnson. This is Carol looking even more glamorous than normal.

Prior to that was Grand Designs at the Excel centre. When the weather is as vile as it has been there are certain advantages to being incarcerated in a large shed for hours with no access to daylight or fresh air. My thanks to the various designers who turned up and worked fearfully hard. Much harder than I did: I gave two lectures, one with Cleve West and one about which I had completely forgotten until five minutes before so had to run the length of the Excel rearranging slides on my iPad as I wove in and out of crowds and hot tub suppliers. I hope nobody noticed my woeful unpreparedness. I also gave two cooking demonstrations (fortunately accompanied by Mark Lloyd as left alone nobody would have learnt anything). Lamb Wellington with steamed vegetables followed by Chocolate Fondant if you really want to know.

After a few days of normal work and a quick visit to the showground where everybody was terribly busy and the rain fell: I did, however, manage to sneak a quick Three Men film for your elucidation.

I am now off to Chelsea to do a mixture of television things and being-an-important-RHS-council-member things. It will be interesting to see how the two blend together. For example all my fellow councillors are on Royals duty tomorrow ushering the Queen and others around the show with respectful gestures and loyal greetings. I am stalking them with a television camera.

I will see you all on the other side (of Chelsea, not the Styx: I am not allowing my hearse reverse to make me morbid.)

I am listening to a remix of John Cougar Mellencamp singing a little ditty about Jack and Diane (two American kids growing up in the heartland). It is still pretty dreadful in spite of the remixing.

The picture is of a beech leaf. Grateful to have it as there are precious few flarze around in this garden right now. I am hoping that the promised Chelsea sunshine will sort out the situation by the time I return.

It seems like ages since I wrote a proper Blog.

Not only does it seem like ages, it is ages. Since before the Malvern Show which is now fading comfortably into the rosy sunset of memory (fobbing you off with shoddy YouTube films is not quite the same – although I realise that it gives the more sensitive among you a bit of a rest from my drivellings).

Malvern was marvellous as always with jolly japes and the pleasure of visits to a good Indian restaurant in the town with both Matthew Wilson (i) and Mike Dilger. It was mildly disarming at first because we seemed to be climbing the stairs into somebody’s flat: not only that but passing the sort of wallpaper one finds in mid range suburban brothels (apparently).

Since then we have had the thrills of the Chelsea Flower Show (hooray for Cleve) where I loafed about doing some light filming for the BBC Red Button which was great fun but has now also vanished into the murk never to be seen again. I also rode on Diarmuid Gavin’s pink flying podulator: sadly it was very dull because we had to sit on a garden bench wearing seat belt so, rather than enjoying panoramic views and swaying gently, it was more like travelling in the lift at a high rise florists.

We also found the time to make this: which, should you be watching without any prior knowledge of British television, will make absolutely no sense at all.

[youtube clip_id=”WFDcIIcR6-k”]

I have also been to the Lancashire and to Suffolk,written some stuff dangerously close to deadline, interviewed a fashion mogul for the Financial Times (nothing to do with gardens-I don’t know why me either but it was fun), got very wet (ii) and set out an unnecessary number of plants (many of them leftovers from Chelsea gardens). The week before the show is a good time to visit Crocus as there are all sorts of interesting things lying around that the likes of Cleve and Luciano have rejected. I had to keep ringing up and asking whether they really wanted quite so many Gillenias or Dianthus cruentus. Top discovery was a yellow version of Rosa mutabilis which I had never seen before: very lovely.

Have you all voted in the RHS council elections? If not you have until June 24th. You can vote for up to five people out of seven. The result is announced on July 2nd at the AGM. I am hoping that it will be a little like the results part of the Eurovision Song Contest but I suspect that, in this regard, I may be disappointed.

On a different note: one of my more perverse amusements is to read things that I know will annoy me. Articles in the paper about minor celebrities and their life and death struggles with cellulite, opinion pieces in the Daily Mail, snippets of religious bigotry: you know the sort of thing. Into this category fits Anne Wareham’s book, The Bad Tempered Gardener. I was half considering ignoring this publication as I may be about to make myself quite unpopular in certain circles but, to concur with the author’s quest for honesty and openness in all things, thought I had better come out with an opinion: for what that is worth.

I skimmed this book as a manuscript before publication when Anne asked me for a quote , there it is slapped on the front cover “at once entertaining, opinionated and deliciously annoying”. (iii) I have now read it again between hard covers and stick with my original quotation. At times this is an amusing , entertaining and often touching book, it is undoubtedly opinionated and sometimes it is really, really annoying.

One of my problems is that I am, obviously, part of the great conspiracy of garden writers against whom Anne rails therefore my opinion is obviously suspect as most of us are, apparently, guilty of dishonesty. I happily write for many of the garden magazines and am responsible for many of the things that Anne despises for example I have written pieces about plant collections and old fashioned gardens and rather liked them all.

At the outset, however, I must emphatically state that I thoroughly and whole heartedly approve of Anne’s life work. Her dogged mission to elevate the status of gardens from a popular hobby to an art form is laudable: I would love to see garden design elevated beyond the fluffy but my argument is in the way she goes about this crusade. Rather than persuading people she seems determined to ruffle the danders of almost everybody as she goes along. This is not usually considered to be the best way to gain converts.

By the time you get to the end of the book you are fully aware of all the things that the author dislikes (too many plants, gardening, turning compost heaps, editors, show gardens, television producers, garden visitors, plants, nurseries, vegetables, mowing and almost every garden, whether public or private, in the country.) The truth seems to be that Anne does not really enjoy many gardens or any sort of gardening and yet continues to force herself to do both. I am not sure why as it seems to give her so little pleasure. It is almost an act of penance like supplicants walking across stony ground on their knees: a penance that must be served in order to gain true enlightenment.

What we do not really know is what she likes: apart from her own garden, the Veddw. It is difficult not to get a bit depressed by such relentless grinding down of almost everything and it means that many of the best points are a bit lost amongst the moans.

But we persevere because we know that, at heart, the principle is sound and we will her to convert people to her way of thinking. But there is a pervading feeling that we, the readers, are being disapproved of if we do not agree with everything – without question. There is a slight sneer to the tone of the book towards anybody who might dare to disagree with Anne’s very rigid view of the world or whom she feels unworthy of receiving the message..

The best bits of the book are when she writes about her own garden in Wales: this is obviously a place about which she feels passionately, here is a labour of love into which she, and her husband Charles, have put a huge amount of energy, artistic flair and intellectual rigour. At times she is unnecessarily defensive and there is rather to much protesting her round hole/square peg position but she is obviously as comfortable as she finds it possible to be when she is at home. And yet at the same time she wants people to come a criticise her garden, to tell her to change things and point out where she has gone wrong. This is not a puppy I am prepared to whip, if this garden is the only place where Anne is happy then that is good enough for me. After all that is why almost every other person in the country gardens, to make them happy.

This is definitely a book you should read: just be prepared to hurl it from you in exasperation every so often.

I am now off to spread plants across the Cotswolds before girding my loins in readiness for five days frolicking around the NEC for Gardeners World Live next week. I am on compereing duty with all the usual mob of notables. Come and say Hullo if you are in the vicinity.

I am listening to Come With Us by the Chemical Brothers. The picture is of Helianthemum Henfield Brilliant.

This time last year I was moaning about RyanAir.

(i) Dining in the company of MW can be disconcerting as middle aged women queue up to gaze, awestruck, upon the full majesty of his ruggedness.
(ii) Isn’t it odd how we grumble about drought and long for rain but, when it comes, we get bored of it very quickly. Especially when one has become unused to such things and leaves one’s waterproofs draped over the dustbin.
(iii) The full, unedited quote was “There is a rumour, hopefully unfounded, that Anne Wareham is actually not bad-tempered: just a bit miffed. This book bounces all over the garden world colliding with almost everything from magazines to established horticultural techniques. It is at once entertaining, opinionated and deliciously annoying. She may never work again but we are left in no doubt what she thinks.”

I have visited the Chelsea Flower Show during buildup and found it marvellous. So marvellous that we made this film to amuse whomsoever needs amusing.

I am now off again to visit the show again. While I am there I will be flouncing around in front of a camera for the BBC Red Button. This is the television coverage for connoisseur. There will be a series of films: some with me, some with the formidable Christine Walkden and some with Toby Buckland. This is available all the time for people with satellite and cable televisions or after about 7pm every evening if you are on Freeview. Apparently the French Open tennis takes priority which is a bit rich if you ask me. All you need to do is press the Red button on your remote control.

I will be wandering around the Great Pavilion expostulating on plants and nurserymen and will be on an endless loop on Tuesday and Thursday. I think, details are here.

Other things have happened but I have not got the time to tell you so that may have to wait until my next blog. By which time I will have realised that they were not that exciting anyway and they will have been overtaken by other stuff. Such is life…

I am listening to Pushing the Envelope open by DJ Z-Trip and DJ P (i)

The picture is of an Allium Christophii.

(i) I could be the only potential RHS Council member who has this song on their iPod. That may, or may not, be a plus point in the forthcoming election.

Went to London to speak at the RHS Shows Launch.

This is a press junket in order to announce the highlights of all the flower shows from Cardiff in April to Tatton Park in July (not forgetting the monthly shows in London). I was speaking, briefly, about the Malvern Spring Show which is a particular favourite of mine.

Others talked about their gardens at the various shows, nurseries explained their new varieties etc,etc. The whole thing lasted over two hours which was a little on the long side – my buttocks were thoroughly anaesthetised by then.

Highlights to look forward to (or not) include: my energetic friend Chris Beardshaw is doing gardens at Malvern (rural crafts), Chelsea (homage to Hidcote Manor) and Hampton Court (education and green spaces for children). He is also moving house and his girlfriend is having their second child. Lunatic man – as I have often told him but he is incapable of sitting down (I think he sleeps with his eyes open while suspended from a coat hanger). He showed 117 slides.

An American lady called Lesley doing a Chinese garden at Chelsea.

Jinny Blom and Laurent Perrier doing something that could be rather lovely. I didn’t like her very white garden last year very much.

Claire Whitehouse is designing the Centrepoint garden at Hampton Court.

There was also a presentation by Marshalls (the paving stone people) who are sponsoring Chelsea for the next three years. At the Garden Writers Guild thing in November (see archive) I expressed a light hearted concern that it was a bit odd having Marshalls when the RHS were campaigning so hard to protect front gardens (for sound environmental reasons) from being paved over while seeking lots of money from the company most likely to benefit from that very paving.Anyway that caused a very minor furore – which was quite exciting for about 20 minutes. Their presentation went some way to allaying suspicions – they are sound on ethics having refused to import Indian sandstone from quarries where child labour is used. (Although the cynical would wonder where those children have gone – the next quarry down the road, probably – and what Marshalls are doing to help make up the shortfall in their families’ incomes).

There was a lot of stuff about Sustainability. A good buzz word. A bench made from sustainable sources uses wood from trees that are are replaced by newly planted ones – therefore creating a sustainable chain of supply.What, exactly is a sustainable paving stone, do you think ? I’m sure that I will bump into someone from Marshalls somewhere and they will tell me. In the meantime I have just specified that only Marshalls Indian Stone should be used on two jobs of mine so I am trying to do my bit to support their ethics.

I am listening to Red Beans by Professor Longhair and the picture is of a lonely January rosebud.