I know this is a very dull thing to say but I am jolly well going to say it anyway…

My goodness, how time flies past.

Another year, another Garden Media Guild shindig under our belts. This year, as you may already be aware, Three Men were officiating. We made a short film and then tarted about for a bit which is always a jolly a way of spending an afternoon. As you are also doubtless well aware, Mark Diacono won three consecutive awards which was very gratifying. If you like that vegetably sort of thing.

I managed to stick a piece of paper on his back saying “Kick Me” and noticed Lia Leendertz sharpening the toe of her Jimmy Choos as I left.

There was then the usual drunken shenanigans in the pub where the usual suspects fell over to general hilarity. If you are interested you can watch the whole ceremony (apart from the falling over bits) here. As always it was a very jolly occasion with a lot of moustaches in evidence. Movember is now over and we have raised a shade over £20,000. I am terribly proud of everybody: we exceeded my wildest expectations. At the beginning I just thought it would be quite fun and we could raise a few hundred quid, thank you to all who participated and especially to those who coughed up the cash. I made a short film to commemorate the occasion, the music is by Nick Riddle who snuck into our team with fraudulent bonafides: he is not a gardener but we forgive him because of the excellent whistling and faraway look.

Apart from all this glamorous swanning about at awards ceremonies and growing whiskers there has been work going on: well, if you count wandering around looking at rocks work. These are very big rocks and there are lots of them: the reason is that we are rebuilding a quarry.Let me explain, in one of my gardens is a big scrape in the ground – about 35 feet deep at its steepest – which used to be a quarry. The idea is to make it look sort of quarryish again by reinstalling big lumps of stone which will then be interesting to climb on and could be planted with ferns, trees and general stuff.

So Tuesday found me wandering around a vast site in Oxfordshire choosing monster rocks. I do love this sort of thing, I come over all Tonka truckish at the sight of large diggers and deep mud. Which is quite odd as I have never been very interested in cars, I had Dinky Cars but was never much of a Brrrm, Brrrm kind of child. I am left unmoved by Ferraris and Formula One but get very excited by a large digger and a deep trench. Anyway, we chose a selection of rocks which are now being slowly transported across to Gloucestershire, doubtless much to the annoyance of the traffic on the A44: my apologies if you find yourselves stuck behind a straining tractor.

I have also been to the RHS Garden at Hyde Hall. I had never been before and, now I am responsible in some small way for its upkeep, thought I had better show my face. It is the newest RHS Garden and is very much under development (there is a handsome newly dug lake), lots of trees are being planted, borders hewn from fields, the Dry Garden is being extended and new car parks built. I may not have chosen the best day for a visit as it was markedly chilly. The wind howled across battering the collection of christmas trees decorated by local branches of the WI which stand amongst the borders: I suspect that tinsel will be being picked from trees across Essex for months to come. Still, it was interesting and bracing and we got turkey for lunch. Oh, and the best bit was the live willow weaving. They have groups of pollarded willow in the borders that have been bunched together and tied into various shapes: very effective and sculptural.

Before you go, here is another film: this was made by a very clever fellow called Sebastian Solberg about Jeremy and Camilla Swift’s extraordinary garden in Wales. I arrived there after going to a memorial service (hence spiffy tie) and was immediately sat down and required to spout stuff. It is an extraordinary garden varying from pretty orchards to ruined hovels via high Classicism, steep woodlands, theatres, turtles and the Kingdom of the Moor. It is open for the NGS at some point: but for goodness sake, take a raincoat, it is Welsh Wales, after all.

I am listening to Wild america by Iggy Pop. The picture is of the aforementioned willows at Hyde Hall.

Since we last spoke I have mostly been talking. I know that to some of you this will come as no great surprise: “Huh” you might say “That is no great surprise, the man seldom shuts up with his drivelling and whiffle”.

You have a very good and valid point but let me explain….

When I first started on my journey as a gardener my days were spent very simply in the company of Radio 4 (or loudly, and very pretentiously: Wagner (i) ), the odd Robin and the whirring clunks of my own brain. Then I started employing the odd person and there was chatter but life was still mostly peaceful. Then people started asking me to design stuff instead of just put up fences and that involved pleasing gossip around kitchen tables. Then I was asked to give lectures: more words, more chat, more talk.

All of this still goes on which is lovely. The added extra that is nudging into my life are MEETINGS. In capitals. I spend a lot of time in MEETINGS. Client meetings, magazine meetings, show meetings and, above all, RHS meetings. I even had a board meeting the other day: it made me feel very grown up and slightly queasy at the same time. The saving grace was the supply of very good cakes from Patisserie Valerie.

This week in particular has been very talky. It began at Grand Designs in Birmingham where I made a good start by falling off the stage. In my eagerness to point at something on the screen I fell into a barely concealed void. I felt much like David Douglas toppling into the animal trap (ii). Except that, fortunately, it was not occupied either by a wild bull nor decorated with sharpened stakes. The Grand Designs audience is interesting because they are not really gardeners: most of them are more interested in home improvements, enormous 3D televisions, solar panels or catching a glimpse of Kevin McCloud. That is not to say that they are not appreciative but the questions are more straightforward.”Can I grow roses in my garden?” was one “How do I make a raised bed?” asked another. To those of us who have been doing this gardening lark for a while these seem so basic as to be not worth asking but there are plenty of people who are eager and curious and completely in the dark. The other advantage is that I can be pretty sure that I know most of the answers and am unlikely to be caught out too often.(iii)

Secondly I went to Gloucestershire to give a talk in aid of the Maggie’s Centre in Cheltenham in the company of the journalist, Bon viveur and twinkle toed dance floor diva, Stephen Lacey and internationally renowned garden designer, Tim Rees. Tim has the added distinction of having been my course tutor at the Inchbald in 1984. He is polite enough not to remember the time I fell asleep on my desk and dribbled of the pages of the Gertrude Jekyll’s winter planting guide (iv) nor to recall my frequent absences. The three of us talked and had lunch.

But the day was not over: I delivered another lecture on the way home. This time at Armscote Manor in aid of the Shipton Home Nurses. I was the Dan Pearson body double as he was supposed to do it and was suddenly confined to bed with a soaring fever. My halo is glowing so brightly that passing aeroplane pilots have to wear sunglasses.

The next bit of talk was in Wales at the Llanover Garden School where I shared the bill with the redoubtable Matt Biggs who talked about fruit. I talked about Triumphs and Disasters. Another very good lunch. I have been to Wales twice this year and on both occasions the sun shone, the hills glowed, the sheep wandered around picturesquely, the rivers flowed and there was absolutely no sign of any rain at all. I don’t understand what everybody is complaining about and suspect it might be something invented by the Welsh to keep out the English.

I have also laid out a lot of plants and tried to see all my clients as I am about to vanish into partial purdah for a bit while I begin to grow my Movember moustache. If I remember rightly the first couple of weeks are really horrible, I have one lecture to deliver on the 5th November (for the London College of Garden Design where I am championing a potentially iconic garden). I apologise now to anybody considering this as I will look a fright. But in a good cause.

The picture is of a particularly dramatic sunset hitting the branches of a gnarly chestnut. I am listening to nothing as I am in Cornwall loafing around and everybody else is having a Sunday afternoon snooze.

(i) I remember particularly playing the Ride of the Valkyries at top volume while digging a hole in the garden of Florence Welch’s (as in Florence and the Machine) mother’s garden. I imagine it was quite as annoying for the neighbours as Radio One.

(ii)David Douglas discoverer of the Douglas Fir, Sitka Spruce.Lodgepole Pine and others died in Hawaii in 1834 by falling into an occupied pit trap.

(ii) The answer to Question one is Yes.

(iv) I still have the book. With stains. And library label.

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.

This is a bit of a novelty – for the first time I am writing this outside my office.

Instead I am on a small but perfectly appointed train heading from Crewe to Bangor. I am heading off to go and see Bleddyn and Sue Wynn Jones at Crug Farm Plants which is I believe squished between Snowdon and the Menai Straits. An area of the country about which I know nothing – all I know about the Menai Straits is that the name can be substituted for Malay States in the Noel Coward song. As in “In the Menai Straits they wear hats like plates that the Englishmen will not wear…”.

Have just bought a cup of coffee from the most entertaining buffet attendant I have ever come across.

09:55 – Sheep, sea a rather wonderful sea wall built from boulders, a derelict ferry. Rather annoyingly I am sitting on the inland side of the train so cannot photograph these delights for you.

10:04 – Lots of caravans in Prestatyn. Sun has come out and the grass looks extraordinarily green.

10:07 – Rhyl. The Welsh for Lift is “Lifft”

10:17 – Colwyn Bay has a very manky looking pier that was obviously once absolutely teeming with boatered holidaymakers and children bowling hoops. Sadly no longer: without the fuss in Welsh is “dim ffwdan”. The sun has gone in and it looks very dreary. This is Llandudno Junction.

10:27 – There are a lot of stations on this line – Conwy now. I think that there was a castle here that was recaptured from Owain Glyn Dwr by Henry V when Prince of Wales.

10:34 – Penmaenawer (I think) where the trackside bowling green is sponsored by a company called The Butcher (who sell meat).

10:38 – Llanfairfechan has Petatsites growing on the platform.

10:46 – Bangor. Journey’s end. Got a lift to the nursery with a Dutch taxi driver. It is raining. Spent a very interesting day talking plants and planthunting. They are an extraordinary couple who spend three months each year striding up mountains, through valleys and across swollen rivers searching for undiscovered plants and seeds. Their plant list is phenomenal – most of the things I either have not heard of before. Delicious lunch as well.

16:42 – back on my train again but this time in the encroaching blackness so cannot report much on the passing stations. Am trying to make sense of my notes which I need to translate into sparkling prose for SAGA Magazine. I am listening to Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo by the Rolling Stones. The picture is of a Welsh Hill from the train.

We have an unwelcome addendum….

22:43 – this train, due to arrive at 19:45 has just spent the last two and a half hours stranded outside Rugby station. Something happened to the electric line ahead and as a result we have been sitting there without light – except for those glow sticks that people wave a concerts (instead of holding up cigarette lighters). I had forgotten how extraordinarily boring it is to be bored. There was a smattering of blitz spirit among the passengers with some chattering but no communal singing – that needed another couple of hours delay.

22:51 – Virgin trains is giving out free tea for the next 30 minutes (on top of the free flapjack that has already been distributed).

23:15 – Journey’s End. Sixteen and half hours later.

Thank goodness I didn’t drive and let the train take all that strain.