I am returned from London after a long and dull day. Forgive me while I do a bit of travel grumbling. It won’t take a minute, I promise.

Right. I am beetling my way towards the station to catch the train to London where I been invited by the delightful Tamsin (and equally delightful but in a different way Adrian) Slatter to sit at their table for the Landscape Institute Awards. All fine, a straightforward and simple journey beckons. But, such complacency arouses the mischief of the Gods and the first problem is that there are absolutely no car parking spaces around Milton Keynes, this in a place designed to be mostly car park. I eventually end up on the far side of Argos, miles away from Platform 4 and in the time it has taken to find a place I have missed two perfectly good trains. I then run to the station and miss another one by twelve seconds. Okay. We re-group, it is not the end of the world. I may miss the canapés and a bit of random mingling. I then get on a train which beetles along for a while and then stops, unexpectedly in Tring (i). And stays there for an unnecessary length of time: we could have got out and visited the Zoological Museum (ii), had a cup of tea and been back in our seats with time to spare. It then made other unscheduled stops at Hemel Hepstead, Watford Junction and Wembley Central.

Honestly, it was as if the train had been possessed by the soul of a newly installed suffragan Bishop eager to show off his new mitre and gremiale in every parish in the county.

Eventually, over an hour and a bit later, we arrived in London’s Euston Station. Signal problems had done for us.

They had also done for my lunch – those of you in sound mind will recall that the original intention of this journey was to have lunch and clap as awards were given to deserving Landscape architects. I was now two hours late and all that remained was a dollop of melting ice cream and the three chocolates that nobody else wanted. I arrived just in time to hear Tim Smit make a very good speech about the importance of beauty and how important language was in things and how one should never use language at work that would not fit into romantic fiction. At the Eden Project they fine people who use managerial language like “blue sky thinking”, “cutting edge”, “outside the envelope” etc etc.

He would have cleaned up at these awards if those rules still applied.

Among the nominees and winners were things like: “A Public Realm Design Guide for Hostile Vehicle Mitigation” or “Resilient Landscapes: What are they and how Useful is it for Landscape Architects to Adopt the Concept as a New Design Paradigm?” , “The Ingrebourne Valley Wayfinding Strategy” and “The Sensitivities of the Coastal Landscapes and Seascapes of Wales to Tidal Stream Developments”. I am sure they are all very worthy but suitable language for Romantic fiction? You would have to be pretty perverse to find any of that even faintly stimulating.

The images did not help much either, various pictures of roads and car parks. It was, I am afraid, an extraordinarily dull way to spend an afternoon which makes me sound fearfully ungrateful, I am not: the company on our table was delightful. It is just that the projects were so obfuscated with jargon and presented so uninspiringly that the minutes dragged. These are the people responsible for our parks and public spaces, our town centres and highways: they have an enormous responsibility (and pretty decent budgets looking at the number of people involved in each project) and opportunity to dramatically improve the ways we live. In some instances they do just that (there was a good scheme at Arnold Circus in London) but it is all about by-ways and access routes and interaction and social engineering: all very important, I know, but not exactly thrilling.

There was not a squat or jot about beauty which  is a great pity. Bring a bit more poetry into the proceedings. And put some life and excitement into your awards please. You (and we) deserve it.

Apart from that I have also been to Haywards Heath to see a garden called Borde Hill, to Devon to see a rather fine thatched farmhouse, to Windsor to talk about hedges, to London to attend the Chelsea Flower Show selection panel meeting and to see Wild Beasts in Oxford (iii).

I am listening to Grinnin’ In Your Face by John Mooney. This time last year I was watching breakfast television.

The moustaches are growing very well as you can see here. We have raised over £9,000.00 in the past three weeks which is amazing. Thank you to all of you who have donated – either your faces or your fivers. We have filmed a Three Men special in celebration:

The picture is of the stems of Rosa laevigata Coopers Burmese.

(i) Which always sounds like a nice place. It reminds me of the sort of bell that rings when you open the door to a particularly interesting shop. Selling sweets or buns or exquisite propelling pencils or long stripy socks. The owner is behind a glass topped counter wearing a brown serge apron. His shirt sleeves are kept conveniently hitched by those metal springy things specifically designed to keep your sleeves out of soup or wet ink.

(ii) Formerly home to the largest collection of stuffed animals in the world.

(iii) The band: not buffalo in Balliol  or warthogs in Wolfson.

I have been in Cornwall for a week. A week of doing very little in the company of all my children and I have to say that it was in every way delightful. We had multiple simultaneous Scrabble tournaments going on (99% of them won by my younger son Max who has an uncanny ability to do ridiculously high scoring things with just a couple of O’s and an X) and long games of Star Wars monopoly which we found on a shelf (i). There was also heartiness in the form of long walks along Frenchman’s Creek and the coast path, fish and chips on the dock at Coverack, crab sandwiches and ice cream at Roskillys.

We rented a very snappy house next to an art gallery where I did the garden. If you have the inclination to go to Cornwall then I cannot recommend it highly enough. Details here.

End of Kernow Kommercial break. What else can I bore you with? Moustaches are occupying my mind at the moment. As regular readers will have gathered I (and many others) am growing a moustache for November. I am doing this in company of about sixty other gardeners (many of whom are female which is going to be interesting)in order to raise funds for research into prostate cancer. It is very distracting growing facial hair: one finds oneself stroking it in wonder for much of the time. It is a surprise every time you touch your chin to find in no longer smooth and pliant but spiky and rough (but at the same time silky). Part horrible, part fascinating. Very disconcerting. At the moment I am growing a full set of everything with the idea that it will be whittled down at some point over the next couple of weeks. We are raising some decent money though, over £4,000 so far. If you want to give money go here, or, if you just want to gawp at silly pictures go here.

I have also been to London to film this:

We realised that our public was baying for a new Three Men film so convened on Cleve’s allotment to enjoy the drizzle. There is another short film to come very soon.

And now, Ladies and Gentleman, hold onto your hats and grasp the bannisters firmly because……am going to write a bit about gardening. This week we started planting a walled garden we have made. I have mentioned this before but to recap: once upon a time this area of the garden was bordered by one hundred and fifty two very tall leylandii and contained a tumbledown shed, some old sycamores and a collection of very unattractive dog kennels. We have cleared it, surrounded it with drystone walls, put in a very handsome greenhouse and built two sets of steps (one incorporating a tinkly rill). The beds are marked out in spirals-which I think is more interesting that conventionally dull squares and will consist of about fifty percent fruit and vegetables and fifty percent flarze and ornamentals.

The flowery bits I have no problem with, for the fruit I threw myself upon the mercies of my bearded friend Mark Diacono. He is a bit of a novice in these matters but I thought it would be charitable to give the chap a chance. He is, after all, just a rough Devonian more used to ploughing barefoot and drinking cider in hedgerows. This is his list…. (all available, I believe, from Otter Farm)

Peach Fans   Nectarine Fans   Apricot Fans   Morello Cherry Fans Quince Fans

Whitecurrant Fans   Milwall Fans   Redcurrant Fans   Blackberry Fans   Plum Fans

Figs   Apple Espaliers   Double Us   Grape Vines   Stepovers   Asparagus

Pear Cordons   Plum Cordons   Blackcurrant Standards   Gooseberry Standards

Strawberries    Summer Raspberries   Autumn Raspberries    Alpine Strawberries   Blueberries

Yacon   Oca   Rhubarb   Globe Artichokes   Asparagus (ii)

And this is him wandering around spreading the love, I had to keep a stern eye on him as he occasionally went off piste and starting spreading rhubarb where there should be roses and eyeing up beds I had earmarked for tulips as a good place to mass sow kohlrabi or coriander. In order to keep listomaniacs happy this is my tulip list (for cutting).

Tulip Spring Green   T.Philip de Comines   T.Ballerina
T.Burgundy   T. Jacqueline   T.Violet queen
T.Gavota   T.Cassini

I anybody asks nicely I will furnish other lists as they manifest themselves.
This is a really very wonderful project, one of the most entertaining I have ever done. I will, if I may, return to the subject as the seasons progress. I will, in particular, draw attention to any of Diacono’s trees that have keeled over as, judging on past performance at Otter Farm, killing plants is what he does best.

The picture is of a bit of handsome Cornish chain. I am listening to Traffic Boom by Piero Piccioni from the Big Lebowski Soundtrack

(i) Star Wars Monopoly is not a good idea not only because it is a slight abomination in itself but also because it is very difficult to tell which property is which. Of course I now cannot remember what any of them were so have no evidence to back up my claim. Just take it from me: it ain’t right. Like flavoured fudge (qv passim)

(ii) Just to keep you on your toes….

Those of you who know me well will realise that I am quite a good natured fellow most of the time. Content to let life bob along happily while waving at passers by and admiring the view. I am not a chap that tends to get riled very easily but, this week, you find me a little miffed.

Not about anything of particular importance. I am not ranting, a la Colborn, at the various injustices of life. I am not about to launch into inflammatory political invective or voluble oratory in favour of anything much. I am just a little bit cross.

Why, you ask? (or would if you were polite folk – as I am sure you are – even if you were not even faintly interested). What has nettled you? Why are you irked,Jimbo? (i)

Well, seeing as you ask so nicely I will tell you: it is because of this.

Accuse me of having a ridiculously cavalier attitude to human life if you wish but I really cannot see why every electricity pole in the country has to have one of these. I drove down a lane in Leicestershire the other day and every single pole had a shiny sign, they stood out like livid pimples among the glories of the countryside. They are ugly and garish and I really do not fully understand what they are meant to achieve.

As far as I can work out, there are two reasons why anybody would want to climb a pole. Either to repair something or to nick something. If the former then one must assume that the technician involved is aware that he is mending electricity cables and therefore knows that they should be turned off before the pliers are wielded. If the latter then I think it very unlikely that the sign will dissuade anybody from their dastardly task. I doubt whether many people will climb one just to admire the view. Unfortunately a freak gust of wind removed the sign from the pole on my drive.

This is particularly galling as, while people are beetling around defacing the countryside with signs, I have just been refused retrospective planning permission for this. Which,I think, is a great deal prettier and less obtrusive.

There.

Enough Colborning. Let us instead talk a little about facial hair. Many of you will be already aware of this but bear with me…

I have had a notion which will almost certainly result in general ridicule and sniggering but may also mean that we will raise money to combat male undertrouser cancers (prostate and testicular if you want things spelled out). I, and I hope, many other Gardeners across the length and breadth of the realm will be growing a moustache during November. This is happening under the auspices of the Movember charity which was started a few years ago in Australia.

So. I would like to enlist your help. There are various ways in which you can rally to the cause.

Firstly by donating to the Team. In order to make things simple we would like as many people as possible to chip in a fiver which seems reasonable. Details are here.
Secondly by actually growing a moustache yourself-I realise that this excludes quite a large percentage of the population so have come up with a suggestion. Grow a cress moustache.Or grass, or alfalfa sprouts or anything else you can think of as an alternative.
Thirdly by sending in pictures of yourselves both pre and post moustache for us to post on Facebook (ii) and Flickr for the general entertainment of passers-by. Send offerings to tina@blackpitts.co.uk
Fourthly by spreading the word as widely as possible through your own address book, through Twitter, Facebook, leafletting the high street, flyposting, spamming, skywriting, tethered balloon or threats and cajoling. We are not very fussy. Just get the word out and the fivers flowing, please.
Fifthly by joining the team – this is open to all.
Does that sound jolly? I hope so. Currently I have moustaches promised by his vegetableness Mark Diacono, the noble Nigel Colborn, pruning impresario  Richard Wanless, James Gladwin (who runs the Cottesbrooke Plantfinders Fair), photographer (and father of the Halibut) Jason Ingram and the most excellent journalist,dancer and Bon Viveur Stephen Lacey . All of whom who have properly declared themselves.

Also promised but currently too slothful to sign on the dotted is the steaming bowl of testosterone otherwise known as Matthew Wilson, Tom Hoblyn, Nick Coslett (of Palmstead Nurseries), Joe Swift, Andy Sturgeon, Phylip Statner and various others. I am hoping the list will continue to grow: probably more than our moustaches. We have also raised £75 without doing anything which is a good sign.

I have never even heard of Cleve West.

Also, I am lecturing at the Llanover Garden School: which those of you with even the most basic grasp of linguistics (or Llinguistics if you prefer) will have guessed was in Wales. It is on the 18th October and there are places available if you hurry. I am talking on the subject of Gardening Mistakes and Triumphs. You also get the eminent and entertaining Matt Biggs (he of Gardeners Question Time) who, just for a change, is not currently on a Caribbean cruise.

Final bit of news, I have started appearing on Gardenersclick where I am tarting around with a video camera talking about stuff. The films are mercifully very short and can be found here. The premise is that every so often I make a short film about something interesting around here. And then inflict it upon the public. I am enjoying myself.

The picture is of the Piccadilly Line steps at Kings Cross Underground station. I thought them rather musical.

I am listening to Goodbye Lucille by Prefab Sprout.

(i) Please bear in mind that while I will tolerate being called Jimbo, Jimmy or Jim-Bob in moderation I draw a line at being addressed as Raquel or Nobby.

(ii) I do not actually understand Facebook (although I have seen Social Network) but the page is there and is under the control of Mr Diacono. Complain to him.