RHS Archives | James Alexander-Sinclair

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

I am not a Catholic but quite enjoy a good mass. Ideally with a generous puff of incense and a bit of Gregorian chant. I also quite like the bit where the priest thumps his chest and pronounces his fault, his most grevious fault. I am borrowing that to apologise for my most grevious fault in not writing this blog for really quite a long time. Nearly a year which really is a bit much even though I am not vain enough to think that anybody is losing much sleep over this. I would be very worried if anybody’s first act on waking was to check to see if there had been any hot blog action overnight. If there is such a person then this is your lucky day…

What has happened in the last year? quite a lot really, far too much to outline here. I do have two thoroughly nice things that have happened this year that I would like to mention. It is a little immodest but hope you will excuse the indulgence.

Basically I have been given two awards both of which come with shiny badges which, as everyone knows, are the best sort of awards. They both come from the RHS, a charity whose work I admire and with which I have been involved for the past decade or so.

Shiny badge number one is because I am now a Vice President of the RHS. There are about twenty of us and we hover about adding tone and being useful where possible. It is quite small and discreet (seen here with a Maynards Sports Gum in the shape of a tennis racket for scale). Apart from the badge I also get tickets to Chelsea Flower show press day for ever (or for the rest of my life – whichever comes sooner.)

The second is even shinier and comes both as a medal for displaying somewhere (currently on my desk ), a certificate and a badge for wearing at important events (currently I have only worn it while being filmed on a hillside in Wales for the One Show – it rained a lot, mostly carried horizontally by a high wind off a hill and it was a bit like being pebbledashed ). “Why have they given it to you?” I hear you ask. That is a very valid point and by way of explanation I quote verbatim from the RHS website…

”The Veitch Memorial Medal may be awarded annually to persons of any nationality who have made an outstanding contribution to the advancement of the science and practice of horticulture.”

So you can see why I am quite chuffed.

The picture is of reflections in a muddy pond (one that we have just cleared and which was rumoured to contain the remains of an old hearse – this proved to be sadly untrue although there was a large steel tank, the carcass of a van and lots of string).

I am listening to Liza Minelli.

Something very annoying has happened. When I say ‘very annoying’ it is not as annoying as Brexit, crowded trains, spilled puddings, Instagram influencers or broken zips but still annoying. The fact is that, while procrastinating about something else, I found myself ferreting around in the backstage area of this website and discovered a blog post that I had written but completely forgot to publish.

I know that this blog has become so infrequent and blogs in general as numerous as gulls round a chip shop that there is not exactly a slavering crowd eagerly awaiting my next post but, it was annoying to have gone through the effort of writing the damn thing to no purpose.

Therefore I am now posting something that is very out of date…

This summer (author’s note: by which I mean 2018) I have attended a lot of flower shows. That may not seem that unusual as I am forever chuntering on here about judging this and swanning around that. This year, however, has been remarkable as I have not only attended all the RHS Shows – plus a couple of international offerings – but I have also designed four show gardens. For someone who purports not to want to do show gardens that is quite a lot…

Admittedly there has been a bit of duplication and I have relied upon the help of some fabulous people but, generally, it has, in spite of a level of exhaustion unbecoming in a gentleman of my vintage, been quite fun and has worked out pretty well. It began at the RHS London Show in April when I was asked to do a sort of reprise of the sound garden I made at Chelsea 2017. I wrote about it here but never got round to showing you the finished article – it basically involved making a woodland floor quiver with repressed desire. I, rather pretentiously, called it the Dryad awakens.

The second garden was at Chatsworth. Again it was unjudged and was a collaboration between me, a theatre set builder called Mark Winrow and some theatre design students from Worthing College. The idea came to me that it would be fun to hide a small but perfectly formed garden underneath an enormous bowler hat (it started as a teacup but moved on quite quickly). The hat would then mysteriously levitate into the air as if by magic every few minutes. At Chatsworth we arranged a rather delightful confection of roses (which smelt divine) and topiary. People were generally charmed and delighted as everybody likes a bit of whimsy.

The third was another sound garden variation but this time at the Moscow Flower Show (about which I have written many times) which was a bit more of a challenge mostly because Russians do things a little differently to us. That and the fact that the show collided with the World Cup so the place was teeming with foreign fans and every hotel was stuffed to the gunwales. Fortunately the hard work was not done by me – I sent my amazing sound kids out to populate six small tanks with water and sound. The garden was built by Jonas Egger (who works in Moscow so knew the score) and planted by Jamie Butterworth. I had sent him some images of what I wanted but basically it was designed by text message which seemed to work very well indeed. I was after a very small floaty meadow and that is precisely what he delivered. While all this labour was going on I was absent and only appeared for three days (to do judging and, as previously mentioned, swanning around) to enjoy the garden, absorb a bit of football atmosphere and to bask in the glory.

The fourth was another excursion for the hat, this time at Tatton Park flower Show. This time we planted it with Dahlias, a couple of nice Calycanthus, a good Hydrangea aspera and some various fillers. It was still popular although the hydraulics chose this show to be awkward and it upset the Health and Safety people by smelling of burning at one point. Eventually it became a less exciting version: the garden was still pretty but the hat no longer levitated. Still fun but a bit of a damp squib in the end.

So that was my summer and very delightful it was: I am now back writing this last bit in early March 2019 where, incidentally, the weather has suddenly come over all summery. This too is annoying as people are flitting around saying that it is spring: it most certainly is not and I would be very surprised if we did not drop back into days of freezing rain and icy winds afore long. This is just winter taking a breather.

We are now rapidly approaching the precipice of another show season and I have vowed not to get caught up with show gardens this year.

This may, or may not, be successful.

I am listening to The Year of the Cat by Al Stewart. Quite why, I have no idea.

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.

Sunday:
I am off on a trip…
Firstly, it involves a train from Banbury to Heathrow via Hayes and Harlington. Very simple in theory but, as is the way sometimes with the oft laid plans of mice and men, likely to gang aft agley. It is like dominos- one train is ten minutes late so you miss the next train by nine seconds (after a frantic rush across a bridge and a shove through an oncoming crowd ). This means being stranded on an empty platform at Hayes and Harlington for an hour before finally arriving at the airport.

I am going to Moscow to give a seminar nominally entitled Gardening across Continents with the aim to jazz up the world of Russian horticulture. More specifically to talk to them about show gardens, design and planting and also to talk about an exchange we have instigated at Malvern and about which I wrote in my last blog.

Monday:
It is an overnight flight- not long, only about 3.5 hours – in that it leaves at 10:30 (london time) and lands at 5.00 in the morning (Moscow time). I, however, am far to old and set in my ways for this sort of interruption to my routine. I go to the hotel and go straight to bed.

It is cold out there: about minus 10. This raises a few sartorial dilemmas: I emerged into the street all wrapped up like a bear in a duvet. Coats, hats, Horatio’s Garden Alpaca Socks (available here and a perfect Christmas Gift), gloves etc. I walk five steps and get into a car so hot that you could probably roast a duck in the glovebox. I then go to an equally hot office followed by a sweltering restaurant, another car and back to a hotel room where, in my absence, a diligent cleaner had cranked up the radiator. I flung open the window and welcomed as much icy air as possible. Tomorrow I will not be so thermally aware. The restaurant, by the way, was next to the Bolshoi Theatre and involved crab from Kamchatka (a species of red king crab that has a leg span of nearly six feet) and six different sorts of caviar.

Tuesday:

The reason why I am here: I tootle along to the auditorium of the Moscow Museum where there is a milling multitude of assorted interested parties. I am quite happy giving talks of an hour or so but today I am doing four talks of about one and a half hours each plus a two hour Q&A. It is quite tiring – there is a relay of simultaneous interpreters who do a sterling job trying to keep up with me: they change over every twenty minutes to prevent exhaustion. It is interesting as the audience each have a headset into which the interpreter drips a translation of what I am saying but, like an old fashioned transatlantic telephone call, five seconds after I have spoken which means that timing of jokes and frivolities can be a little tricky. You deliver a punchline, pause for reaction and then, just as you are about to give up, a small section of the audience – those who get the joke – laugh politely.

The main purpose of the day was to drum up some entries for the Malvern/Moscow exchange so many participants brought sketches and ideas which continue to flood in – it will be a good thing and you should all come to the RHS Malvern Spring Festival to see what happens.

I have no idea why there is a chicken on the lollipop stall

We retire to a Chinese restaurant where all the waitresses are dressed up as members of the Red Guard which seems like an odd thing to celebrate. They jazz up their khaki uniforms with very red lipstick. The food is delicious and we then troop off to Red Square where there is a bustling Christmas Market and a skating rink – which was sadly barred to us as it had been booked for some spiffy private party for Prada (I think). We posed for many photographs – for that is one of Russia’s favourite national activities and Valenkis (felt snow boots as worn, if I remember rightly, by Solzhenitsyn in “A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovitch”) were bought for me. The snow is light but the air is a strange dry cold which seems innocuous at first but then gives you a headache and seeps into the bones.
It is fun and I dance with a group of people dressed as Christmassy Cossacks.

Wednesday
And home again – first breakfast in the hotel, an early cab through the appalling Moscow traffic, second breakfast in the Aeroflot Executuve lounge (hmmm.) Third breakfast (strictly speaking an early lunch*) on the aeroplane as we fly through clear skies over miles and miles of snow dusted birch forest. Then an equally fabulous approach to Heathrow all along the river from the Thames barrier. Every landmark is clear and glinting in the sunshine – I can even pick out my mother’s flat.
Then four trains and home again.
The time difference may only be three hours but I feel as if I have been pushed slowly but steadily through a mangle .

I am listening to Slow Movin’ Outlaw by Waylon Jennings.

The picture is of the Bolshoi theatre.

*Russians have a very charming way of saying lunch. ‘Then we will have a lunch…” pronounced larrrnch. Sometimes it is a “friendly larrrnch”.

This may well be the shortest blog I have ever written.

It is not about President Trump. Nor is about the John Lewis advertisement, Christmas, Autumn leaves or kittens. I have not spared a thought for stewed fruit, the drawbacks of triple cooked chips or small kittens let loose in a wool shop.

Instead it is to draw your attention to the fact that I am giving a seminar in Moscow on 29th November. It will, I presume, be a bit chilly but with luck it will also be stuffed with happy Russian designers, nurseries, horticulturists and students. I also hope for a smattering of potential sponsors because it is all about preparing for next year’s Moscow Flower Show.

The show, which I have judged since its inauguration five years ago, is generally marvellous but needs a bit of a shove to get it to the next level. So two things will happen – I will do quite a lot of talking and looking at show gardens old and new to give inspiration and encouragement to the assembled masses.

Secondly we will talk about a very interesting new exchange programme where one design from a Russian designer will be chosen to be built at the RHS Malvern Spring Festival. The delightful folk in Malvern will give the lucky person a grant and will help in every way they can. The finished garden will take its place centre stage amongst the other gardens in early May.

As a reciprocal arrangement one of the gardens from Malvern will be chosen to be built at the Moscow Flower Show (29th June – 9th July 2017). The equally delightful people in Moscow will also give a grant and turn somersaults to help a British designer exhibit at their show.

It will be an adventure for both parties.

So that is my intention. Why am I telling you this? because I want the word spread near and far so that we can have a seminar buzzing with ideas and excitement and you might just know a Russian designer who might like to attend.

The details are here – in Russian.

Likewise, one of you out there might fancy a bit of a jaunt to Moscow – a city which is indefatigably energetic. So if you fancy taking a garden there then the first thing you should do is apply for space at the RHS Malvern Spring Festival (11th-14th May 2017).

I am listening to Temenuschka Vesselinova playing a Mozart sonata.

The picture is of some cedar cones.

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.

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.

I have never really gone for paganism.

Not that I am particularly squeamish but have never really found the time to indulge in unspeakable acts with goats or whittle arrows from mistletoe. I have never danced naked at Stonehenge (in fact my entire experience of naked dancing has been a bit limited: which will come as a great relief to all). Spells, chants and hexes have never been in my repertoire. Although I don’t mind a bit of drumming and I am pretty good on Greco-Roman pantheistic mythology.

However, I have welcomed in the summer by celebrating the ancient festival of Beltane on the Isle of Colonsay. The idea is, obviously, another one of those mayday things: in this case the moment when stock is released back onto the hills for a bit of free ranging. Being pagan (and Scots) it also involved fire: last year’s celebration got a little out of control as a sizeable chunk of island heather caught fire. This year was quieter and involved six teams of two climbing to the tops of Colonsay’s six highest hills and waving burning torches around. All this began with an alarm clock playing Iggy Pop’s The Passenger at 3:30AM (i). This is not a hour when anybody should be awoken: in certain circumstances it is okay to go to bed at 3:30 but not to get up. It plays havoc with one’s body clock.

We then climbed a hill in the teeth of a brisk wind and lit the torches. It was rather a marvellous moment to see the other beacons twinkling in the distance while the sun slowly rose. Here is a picture. The two bright dots are other team’s torches.

I then went back to bed.

I have mentioned Colonsay on these pages before and urged you all to visit (there are cottages and a small hotel for your comfort). Typically none of you listened and that is your loss as the weather was truly sensational: especially in comparison to the drearily continuous rain that has beset the south. (ii) As a result I have a slight suntan and you do not.

Show season is now upon us: I am writing this in a conservatory, inside an exhibition hall within the Excel centre. It is Grand Designs Live and I am running my own personal design studio populated by very industrious newly qualified garden designers dealing with the varied problems brought to our door by visitors to the show. So far I have dealt with a small terrace, an overgrown hedge, a bit of woodland, some very narrow borders, a large shed, somebody whose plant knowledge only stretched to marigolds and a sloping terrace. I have also delivered a lecture about vegetables (along with Cleve West) and done a cookery demonstration (lamb wellington with steamed vegetables followed by a chocolate fondant).

All in a day’s work.

Thursday I go to Malvern to frolic and tart around in the theatre there: this year, for a bit of variety, I am also doing a bit of stuff for Gardeners’ World (to be broadcast, presumably, on Friday). Which is nice. A thought must be spared for the landscapers, organisers, nurseries and designers at Malvern because the build-up has been thoroughly miserable with rain every day. Plants are reluctant to flower (Cleve West’s beech hedge has arrived at Chelsea devoid of any leaves: a naked hedge) and it has been very tough. I hope that there is at least some sunshine over the weekend. Go along and be nice to them all.

I have had a request for a better picture of my rather fine fruit cage, it would seem churlish to refuse.

While we are on the subject of fruit: I went to a fascinating orchard the other day. It was at the East Malling Research Institute in Kent where I was on an RHS Council jolly. There were fruit trees trained in all sorts of interesting ways: goblets, espaliers, cordons, things that looked like small huts and these fabulous serpentine shapes. Hatton Fruit Garden, it was called, open once a year for the National Gardens Scheme. You should go if you remember.

That is very probably enough for the moment from me.

I am listening to the infernal rumble of people shopping for home improvement items.

The picture is of some very young grapes.

(i) This has long been my alarm setting of choice. I find it strikes just the right note of urgency and cheerfulness. If it was an animal I imagine it to be a very reasonable minded opossum. Probably quite mature for its age

(ii) Warning: weather can change frequently. The value of your investment in weather can go up and down.

It is a well exercised fact that, if you want to get a lot of blog comments, then you should either write about Cats or the Royal Horticultural Society.

In the last couple of weeks there has been a fair bit of stuff about the latter following on from the Show Garden Judging Review Forum last Monday. I know a fair bit about this as it is the first committee I have sat on since I joined the RHS Council last June. In fact, top be perfectly accurate it is the first committee I have ever sat on – if you exclude the Contemporary Arts Society when I was at school. But as that was just two of us sitting around smoking Gold Leaf and fantasising wildly about how we could get David Bowie to come and give a private concert so it is not really the same.

The idea was to look at the Judging Process (with particular emphasis on Chelsea Show Gardens) and suggest a few variations and changes. Nothing major as the process is pretty damn effective most of the time. People get very excited by this sort of thing: actually, to be perfectly accurate, a few people get agitated while the vast majority of both the general population and the membership of the RHS glance over briefly and then resume normal life. Most gardeners are more interested in plants and pests than they are in the intricacies of show garden judging but those of us who are interested are very vocal and opinionated.

This is a good thing.

The next step was to hold a Forum where the exhibitors could have their say: they, after all, are the people who do all the work so the RHS should be listening as much as possible. Anyway, read more over at ThinkinGardens where Victoria Summerley has written two good pieces and various people have commented. One of the things that strikes me is that there is a lot of “they should do this” and “they should do that”. Who do we think “they” are? The RHS is a charity and their management and running is divided very clearly into two parts: the executive (those who are professional and are paid salaries to run the joint) and the voluntary. The seventeen members of council are volunteers: as are the show garden and plant judges, plant committee members, guides and volunteer gardeners. If you feel strongly that something should be done, then why not volunteer? there is nothing stopping you if you are a member. If you want change (and I think that the vast majority do) then get stuck in! It is quite fun being a pillar of the establishment.

As I am becoming so lousy at writing regular blogs we have now moved on from the above forum and have had another, very long, meeting to sort things through. Results to follow in March but the process will always be under review. The truth of the matter is that no judging system will ever make everybody happy all of the time. If you win a Gold medal then it is wonderful. If you don’t then the whole thing stinks and the judges are nothing more than corrupt lackeys of a moribund organisation.

Amongst other committee news: I had my first Gardens committee meeting at Wisley and have also sat on the Hampton Court Gardens selection committee and the Digital Strategy Review. It is quite time consuming this Council business: but only because a lot of things are interesting and worth spending time upon. The best lunch was at Hampton Court selection although the Wisley sandwiches were perfectly acceptable – especially combined with a slice of cake in the company of two of my very favourite women: Ms A.Sock and Ms AM Powell.

As an antidote to all that sitting in overheated rooms I have a collection of diggers in my life. Persistent readers of this blog will perhaps remember that I come over all Tonka Toy when I have large machines to play with. I am not really allowed to drive the things (i) but my role is to jump up and down excitedly shouting “Over there, Over there” or “Deeper, Bigger,Wider” (ii) We have dug a canyon on one job and are just starting on a rather fine pond on another. I also have electricians running around talking about wattages and cable loadings, most of the time I have absolutely no idea what they are going on about.

Most exciting unsolicited press release of the week regarded the appointment of a new Managing Director for some printing company. His name is Lladislav Sloup.

What else? Not much the “It” about which various people have written is progressingwell and becoming more gorgeous by the minute. I could do with some money if anybody has any to spare. I have been to Devon and Lancashire to talk to clients and everything else just keeps on rolling. I think the best thing would be to post this rather than twiddling my thumbs waiting for something remarkable to happen about which I could blog.

I must also confess to very unChristian feelings towards Robert Peston. I am sure he is terribly nice and kind to animals but his vocal arrhythmia gives me the pip.

The picture is of a pure white Crocus.

I am listening to Last Train To Clarksville by the Monkees in memory of Davy Jones.(iii)

(i) In the glorious days before the invention of the hi-viz vest I did drive diggers. I had a fine old time but was occasionally a little haphazard. I rolled one down a hill (with me in it). Knocked one of my colleagues into a water filled trench and punctured a main drain (with slightly unsavoury consequences).

(ii) This latter exhortation makes me sound a bit like a 1970s porn star (or what I would imagine a 1970s porn star might shout) so I try not to do it on the out breath or while suggestively licking my upper lip. Digger drivers tend to look unsympathetically on such behaviour.

(iii) Whose wife, I notice, was ten years younger than his elder daughter.