I have learnt, after nearly ten years of writing this (and various other) blogs that every so often one should mention cats if one is to maintain a certain popularity among one’s public. Especially as my last post was mostly about folk dancing.

Nothing razzes the masses more than a blog about cats.

I do not currently own a cat although I have had a few in my time – Ophelia was the first: very spirited until she ate a lump of hashish and had to retire to Ireland.

Cardinal Richlieu had at least fourteen cats (Soumise, ,Ludovic the Cruel, Serpolet, Gazette, Félimare, Racan, Rubis sur l’ongle, Lucifer, Ludovisca, Perruque, Mimi- Paillon, Mounard Le Fougeux, Gavroche, Pyramus & Thisbe

Gertrude Jekyll had even more including ones called Tittlebat, Toozle and Pinkieboy (which is the sort of name of which most self respecting cats would heartily disapprove).

St Gertrude of Nivelle is patron saint of both gardeners and cats. I am not convinced that the cats appreciate this fact as much as the Catholic Church.

On other matters I have been to Sunderland for the Britain in Bloom. A double first – never been to either before now. Both experiences were delightful, Geordies (are we allowed to call people from Sunderland Geordies ? Or is that reserved for Newcastle?) are very friendly people: on the Metro people talk to strangers. I had a series of jolly chats with everybody I met: the cab driver was extremely garrulous and had many opinions – not all of which I fully understood. He showed me his firearms certificate, told me about his various rifles, related the story of his landscaping of his girlfriend’s garden (not a euphemism), told me about his dyslexia, his grandfather and his almost mystical control over dogs. All this (and probably more) over a seventeen minute cab ride. I had another cab driver who told me all about his life as well – not quite as interesting but I know a fair bit about his children and the best places to go in Sunderland for a late night pint. The girls who ran the Premier Inn were delightful – and very enthusiastic. At dinner, I fell wildly in love with the charming Lady Mayoress of Sunderland.
We southerners are really very grumpy in comparison.

On the train home I picked a carriage with two parties going on – initially, did not know they were parties as the train left at 8:15 and the drinking had barely begun. The noisiest was a party of lads going to watch Sunderland play West Bromwich Albion. As we trundled through Durham, York, Leeds etc the volume increased until, by about Derby, there was loud, good natured singing*. Then things went a bit bad as they were joined by another very drunk boy ( not a Geordie nor a Sunderland supporter ) who had obviously been having a little party of his own further down the carriage. He then started loudly swearing (mostly about the Pope) as well as singing. This was altogether too much for two Geordie matrons who stood up and tore a sizeable strip off the boys for bad language and general loutishness finishing the tirade with “Your mothers would be ashamed of youse”. There were embarrassed apologies and general contrition all round. Peace was restored and reigned until Birmingham New Street when they disembarked.

The Britain in Bloom beano, by the way, was delightful. Lots of happy people getting prizes for some excellent work in towns, cities and villages all over the country.

Other places I have been since I last saw you include Glasgow, Somerset, Leicestershire, Derby, Bath, Edinburgh, Lincolnshire, Harrogate, Malvern, Lincolnshire, Cornwall and Sezincote (whose autumn colour is shown above)

I am listening to Pilgrim by Steve Earle .

* “He’s got a Carling on his head..” was one chant. This was sung when one boy had a can of Carling balanced on his head so was perhaps less of a chant and more of an observation. It as repeated when the can was passed around and put on somebody else’s head.

Firstly, thank you for the cavalcade of comments on my last Blog post. In spite of what my friends Chris Young (Dep.Ed) and Cleve West say, I wasn’t really begging for comments just musing on my reactions and the essence of why people Blog. However, I am grateful for the nice things, thank you.

I played cricket on Saturday: it is much more exhausting that you might expect and I had thighs that ached until Wednesday. It is not something I do very often (once a year) and again escaped without completely disgracing myself (one fine catch on the boundary and ten runs: although I did succeed in running out the renowned actor Hugh Bonneville which has probably knocked me off the Oscars guest list.) Mark Diacono and Joe Swift were also cricketing this week in the Gardeners World v. River Cottage Test. They had better cakes but their outfits were a bit ropey as you can see here (picture shamelessly stolen from Louise Jolley). I know that the person on the right is probably Toby Buckland and not Mark but, as we all know, they are identical twins.

This week has been a week of trains and much travelling. My trusty iPad and I have travelled to Dorset (to see a new client), to Tatton Park (to be royally entertained by the RHS) and to Sussex to show drawings to another client. As a result I can give a report on the state of the railways.

Monday

It began badly when I had to stand all the way from Milton Keynes to Waterloo:I rather hoped that some OAP or pregnant woman might give up their seat for me ( I have been on the Telly, you know!) but the modern world is a slough of bad manners nowadays.

The train to Sherborne was comfortable and not too crowded and got a high score. I know this train very well as my parents used to live in Dorset so I would get on this train in order to go and visit them. I remember one visit in about 1977 when I got off the train wearing a red leather dog collar,bronze eyeshadow, PVC trousers, a torn T Shirt printed with some unsavoury slogan and a plastic frog pinned to my lapel. This was not an outfit considered 100% suitable for a weekend in the countryside: I know this firstly, because I narrowly escaped being beaten up in the loos between Tisbury and Gillingham and secondly because the expression on my mother’s face was very telling. This time I was more soberly dressed.

Wednesday

“The train has been cancelled due to vandalism.”

Apparently somebody from the Coventry area had stolen a chunk of cable presumably without electrocuting themselves too badly. Not really a very good start to the day but possibly not as bad as actually being on the train while it was being vandalised .

Eventually a train arrived and very slinky it was: one of Mr Branson’s finest Pendolinos. They are very fast although they do tend to make me feel a little nauseous especially if one is facing the wrong way. I got off at Stockport ( pronounced, according to Helen Yem ‘Stopport’.) And got a cheery taxi to Tatton Park for the RHS Show where we were royally entertained by the RHS. Luncheon was provided and we mooched about the show – the we in this case being my daughter, Stroma, and I: she is very good at working out exactly what does and does not work in a garden.

Parts of it were quite lovely although most of the show gardens were, if you don’t mind my saying, a bit ghastly. Not enough sponsorship and overambitious designs lead to dogs breakfasts. If I had my way then all show garden designers should be forced (at gunpoint if necessary) to simplify their schemes as all decent gardens are based on simple ideas. Of course it is also possible to cock up with some truly dreadful planting: I can’t remember who planted this but it was a very bad idea all round.

Among the highlights was the Euroflowers marquee where there was a sort of floral equivalent of the Eurovision Song Contest. Young Florists (many of them quite camp) from all over Europe were competing. The hot favourite apparently is the Hungarian whose name is Attilla Kiss. We were also keen on the chubby Italian. The arrangements were pleasingly over the top and beautifully assembled.

Matthew Wilson was present. He wore white linen and sleek sunglasses. My heart could not help but skip a beat. Others went a step further: those of you not on Twitter may be interested to see these. This from Mr Mark Diacono and this (more satirical version) from Madame La Sock.

There were a couple of good gardens: the Visionary category included an offering by the always entertaining Tony Smith who found yet another way to create something interesting out of salad: this time involving a stranded alien nestling amongst the Lollo Rosso.

Thursday

Another train: this is becoming a habit.This time I go through London and out the other side to get myself down to Sussex. It is comfortable but generally uninteresting although any journey that involves stations called Wivelsfield and Plumpton cannot be an altogether bad thing. The latter, which was my eventual destination, is the one of the most charming stations I have ever visited. The window boxes are colourful and healthy, the view of the racecourse and Downs delightful and the waiting room has squashy sofas.

People talk in loud voices on stopping trains. But, rather selfishly, often not loudly enough to satisfy the curiosity. For example the people behind me….there was a conversation containing the words Russian aristocrat, colours, birthday, reincarnation,shipping forecast and a big pink suitcase. Fascinating but I am unsure how they are all connected.

On Inter City trains people are generally silent unless they are on their telephones when they talk loudly about busy and important things. I talk very quietly on the telephone in case somebody hears that I am only talking about topsoil and girly flowers rather than international sales targets. If they realise that I am not negotiating a major takeover then I worry that they might take me to the spacious lavatory and duff me up.

Among other news…. my WordPress incarnation of this Blog has been polished further: indeed it is now so shiny that I do not actually know how to make it work. This situation will soon be amended: bear with me please.

I am going on holiday for a week on Friday – which is also, incidentally, my birthday. I will be a boyish fifty-one years old. I will be back amongst you soon. please behave in my absence.

I am listening to Killing Machine by Let’s Go.

The picture is of a Sussex Down – they are called Downs in spite of the fact that they are very obviously Ups. And quite steep Ups in places. Aah, the intricacies of the English Language (i)

This time last year I was writing about Future Gardens and the filming of the first ever Three Men Went To Mow – the latest version of which, incidentally, was filmed yesterday at The Gibberd Garden in Essex.

I am now running precisely a week behind – which is not bad considering.

Last Thursday I went to the very pretty town of Stamford in Lincolnshire. Honeyed stone and winter sunshine – very pretty. The reason for the visit was to get together with Nigel Colborn to thrash out the meat behind our nascent stage show called Green with Envy.

Think of us as the horticultural Ant and Dec.

The plan is to perform a hybrid lecture/advice session/anecdotal moment show at theatres around the country. There will be stunning photographs, jokes of dubious taste, much rushing around, sound gardening advice and general disobedience.

The audience will be reluctant to go home at the end of the evening.

At least that is the plan…

We already have bookings and the whole thing begins on the 1st March at the Arts Centre in Stamford – hence the need for rehearsal.

It will be fun for both audience and performers – hurry now and book your tickets early to avoid dreadful disappointment.

The dates so far are:

March 1st: Arts Centre, Stamford – www.stamfordartscentre.com

March 20th: Garrick Theatre, Lichfield – www.lichfieldgarrick.com

April 18th: Bacon Theatre, Cheltenham – www.bacontheatre.co.uk

May 2nd: Forum 28, Barrow in Furness – www.barrowbc.gov.uk/Default.aspx?page=120

May 3rd: Lowther Pavilion, Lytham St Anne’s – www.fylde.gov.uk/Category.aspx?cat=1452

June 27th: Ludlow Festival

I am listening to the very smug Nigel Havers reading his autobiography on Radio 4. The picture is of the River Welland looking picturesque in Stamford.

I know that I have, again, been horribly neglectful of this blog. Nearly two months since my last confession. Apologies to those that noticed. In the intervening time I have been doing various things that have now lost their immediacy and probably do not deserve your full attention. I have also, because it is August been pondering stuff – not in a terribly deep and world changing way, just because I have to fill my brain with something while staring out of windows or waiting at traffic lights.

Here is a short list in no particular order-

The most important is that there is a new episode on intoGardens out for your amusement and delectation. You have never heard of intoGardens? my you are so out of the loop. Go, now and get an iPad and download it immediately. You will find wildflowers, bees, food, weeds, ponds as well as Monty Don reading from his book and sundry other things to make you oscillate with pleasure. There are also new magic parcels on the iPhone App. What? surely you have not missed that as well? My goodness you are about as hip as the Venerable Bede. It is now also available for Android phones as well. For all the details go here, now.

Why do I often end up sitting next to very large men on trains who take up more than their allocated space? They somehow overflow the seat with wavelets of excess which make me feel squeezed and small. Is it acceptable to get up and sit in another seat or is that a terrible faux-pas likely to unleash deep anxiety ?

Matching ties and hankies (or ‘Pocket Squares’ as I believe they are called in the trade). I think this is probably okay if the tie pattern is relatively understated. Polka dots perhaps. It is not acceptable if the tie is a kaleidoscope of mauve and green. Many years ago I had a blue and white Paisley pattern shirt with matching tie (for formal occasions) and cravat (for casual engagements). The cravat was fastened with a gold ring. I think my mother bought the combination in Guildford. I looked like a miniature member of Manfred Mann.

Transparent white gauzy trousers which allow people following you up the escalator to know not just the colour of your underwear but the exact seams on your gusset.

Bricks – this may seem like a dreary subject to many of you but I have long been interested in bricks. The names, for a start, are interesting Stafford Blue, Common Flettons, London Mixed Stocks, London Yellow Stocks, Waterstruck bricks, wirecut extruded, cherries etc. Some people take this much farther than a random thought and there are places on the internet populated by people obsessed with bricks. Interestingly somebody once told me that there are two products in particular that are uneconomic to transport very long distances. One was bricks – as they are so heavy that you cannot get enough on a lorry – and the other was lavatory paper because it is so bulky.

I wonder who discovered cheese. Obviously it was due to some sort of accident when the milk was left unattended. Like Alfred and the cakes.

Phonecards – I was casually gazing at a telephone box the other day while waiting for a tractor to cross the junction and remembered the Phonecard. A green plastic card that supplanted the search for 10p bits that preceded making a telephone call. You could buy them in newsagents for a pound and I believe that they became valuable currency in prisons (up there with tobacco, stained copies of Razzle and Ketamine). They probably don’t exist any more.

The summer has been rather lovely: warm and peaceful. My parents-in-law have a venerable swimming pool that was installed during the long hot summer of 1976 (a summer I spent not revising for my A Levels as it was too nice and I preferred to lie under trees snogging and being pretentious). We are fortunate that we live very close so I have swum almost every day this summer. I am not a very good swimmer and get exhausted quite quickly – I would be rubbish at rescuing struggling damsels and floundering pets – but made the effort and it has to be the most boring form of exercise ever invented. There is nothing to look at and nothing to divert the mind. Dull, dull, dull. At least if you are bicycling or running you can watch the world go by or listen to the radio. I do about five lengths before I give up. I also try and swim naked as often as is decent, no idea why but it adds a frisson.
Maybe I am a closet naturist: I will have to discuss it with my friend Cleve West who often goes on naturist awayaday weekends.

“Miss Stevens , I must say you’re a girl in a million”
“That’s a routine compliment but I’ll accept it.”
Cary Grant to Grace Kelly in To Catch a Thief. And her reply. I worry sometimes that I spend too much of my life thinking about Grace Kelly.

The RHS more or less closes down during August and there are no committee meetings or anything. Oddly, I have rather missed it and was pleased to be going to Vincent Square to select the show gardens for next year’s Chelsea.

I have a new Olloclip. This is a fiendishly clever little lens that goes on an iPhone and means that you can take macro pictures of whatsoever you might wish. Like the rather vulgar picture above of a pouting dahlia and the other one a bit further up of an Eschscholzia californica (which, incidentally, has to about the most difficult plant name on the planet to spell).

I have had some quite good lunches.

So the Duchess of Cambridge has given birth, how marvellous for all concerned. My only worry is the naming of said baby: personally I have been advocating Prawn as the perfect choice because, and I am sure this does not really require explanation but people have been giving me slightly blank looks when I hazard this opinion, he will then become King Prawn. Alternatives include Crimson. Kong, Burger and Speech.

So that is probably enough random drivellings for one day. I am listening to Gillian Welch singing By The Mark. The picture is a bee sitting on a Succisella.

There is not a huge amount of gardening in this post.

I have spent a fair bit of time since I last wrote laying out plants amongst some very serious mud but there is nothing really worth showing as one muddy site looks, in my experience, much like another. Here, to prove my point, is one of my muddiest sites and it is, I think you will agree, an uninvigorating spectacle. I am now confined to the office after a routine shoulder operation (nothing even slightly life threatening or dramatic, I’m afraid) so I cannot drive for about a week which is unfortunate as, finally, all my bulb orders are arriving on clients doorsteps all over the country and really I need to go and plant the little rotters as soon as possible. And before any smartypants expresses amazement that I might be planting anything. you are right, I will be scattering bulby goodness in the appropriate places for others to come along and do the actual digging.

I do not often spend much time watching breakfast television (honestly) but while sitting waiting to escape from hospital the other day I realised that the batteries of both my iPad (i) and telephone were dangerously low, I had finished my book and read the newspaper so there was nothing left for me to do but watch whatever was on. I have, however, discovered the secret behind presenting breakfast television.

Two people on a sofa; both in shot but only one of them talking (obviously). The interesting bit is not what is being said, nor the person who is actually saying it: the interest is the person who is not actually speaking but has to project a supportive and appropriate impression purely through the medium of facial mime.

For example: a light item about art = a gentle smile and slight eyebrow lift.

A piece about inadequate social services = slight sympathetic tilt to head and almost imperceptible headshake of disbelief meaning “What is the world coming to?”.

A snippet about food = enthusiastic smiling (although not so enthusiastic as to upstage partner).

A joke = slight affectionate lean to one side and look of platonic love.

Economic news = neutral expression and barely discernible furrowing of brow. Eyes wide.

It is fascinating to watch: after a bit you can turn the sound down and guess the story from the facial expressions. Sadly by the time I worked that out, it was over and I watched the appalling Jeremy Kyle interviewing some really, really unsavoury fat people about their sex lives. The audience was very young and wore a lot of foundation. Then there was a programme about buying run down houses with corner bath units at auction.

Amongst other things: I noticed Anna Ryder-Richardson who, if I remember rightly I last saw in Changing Rooms, giving away £25,000 worth of Christmas food from Lidl to anybody who can correctly guess how many sorts of cheese there are on a Quattro Formaggio Pizza (Clue: 4, 5 or 6).

And a bloke from Eastenders urging me to sue people through injurylawyers4U (“100% Lawyers, 100% 4U”). He was wearing a very badly fitting suit. I know that I am fearfully middle aged but I get very grumpy about things like 4U or CUL8R or tooth grating Twitter expressions like Peeps or Tweeps. My children give me a hard time for writing Okay instead of OK in text messages. I am no luddite and am determined not to turn into a less eloquent version of Nigel Colborn so will leave it right there…

Other news, the very excellent Mr Christopher Young has been promoted to the Editor’s chair at The Garden. This was achieved through the rather unpleasant process of putting Ian Hodgson and Chris into a room with various interviewers: only one of them could survive. Like a sort of corporate Gladiatorial contest: the Murmillo against the Hoplomachus. My congratulations to Mr Young (Ed) and my best wishes to Ian.

There is fine article in the English Garden about a garden I made: it is on page 51, one of the few pages in the magazine without a picture of the grinning face of Mark Diacono.

I am currently listening to Just Travelling Through by The Thrills.

The picture is of an impertinent Kniphofia (there has been just too much stuff about vegetables here recently)

Two years ago I was watching St Trinians.

(i) Particularly annoying as I was near to the end of the excellent Battle of the Bulge. Starring Robert Shaw (with blonde dye job), Henry Fonda, Robert Ryan and Telly Savalas. And lots of tanks.

I am back in Birmingham airport where the cost of car parking is positively criminal. I have written before of my troubled relationship with this airport here. Today I cruise through security and am off to Belfast. I h
I am here to sticky beak the new Horatio’s garden at the Musgrave Park Hospital. It is designed by the excellent Andy Sturgeon and is edging its way to completion of the hard landscaping. There are pods and greenhouses and a huge entertainment area where film nights, Boccaccio games and disco dancing are being planned. I have an Uber driver called Adonis – no obvious connection to the devastatingly handsome young man from Greek myth who died in the arms of a weeping Aphrodite

From there I get on a very swanky train (accompanied by a vegan flapjack of dubious quality) that runs from Belfast to Dublin. It is fast and comfortable and generally uneventful. Tipped out in Dublin I then wend my way to a hotel which looks marvellous on her website but whose reality does not come up to snuff.

It is squeezed between a railway and a canal and all the rooms are in the basement and therefore underwater! I fling open the curtains and instantly regret the impulsive gesture as the curtain falls from the pole. The view is of a ten foot wall dripping with water. It has shiny cushions the colour of Quality Street Brazil but chocolates, mould on the walls, rust in the bathroom and a carpet that feels as if it contains a layer of Parmesan cheese just below the surface,

As if that was not enough it is noisy and the restaurant has been closed for six months which comes as a bit of a surprise as that was not announced on the website. So no food except for a tantalising vending machine that doesn’t work – I am millimetres from a Boost Bar, some Dairy Milk (and incidentally, some shampoo and s bumper pack of Durex – anyone who regards this place as a romantic location requiring condoms is, in my opinion, both misguided and a little perverse.)

I wake indecently early and wander around the canal as the sun rises. The locks are spectacular in the gloom but it is very busy – trains whizzz by, there is an aqueduct and the M50 above my head. Bargees are waking up, swans mooch and a collection of very sturdy Irish rats scutter around. I get an email from Booking.com inviting me to review the service – I am waiting until I feel very curmudgeonly and then I will let rip.

Finally we (Matthew Lee, the head gardener in Belfastand I) drive off in search of breakfast which is fine – although the sausage is a little flaccid which is never ideal. We like a bit of turgidity to our bangers.

Fortified we go off to deliver the David Robinson Memorial Lecture to 250 students. All goes well and we lunch and trot off to look at various research and teaching projects – mushrooms, hydrangeas, peat substitutes and vegetables.

Back at the airport I realise that I am very tired indeed. I eat noodles and chocolate and watch the rain battering the windows. We trail into the plane and I write this and watch That’s Entertainment 2 while we wait for a takeoff slot – it might take a while as one runway has been closed due to boisterous weather.

Buckle up people, it may well be a bumpy ride…..

The picture is of a rogue dog rose shaking its hips and I am listening to Lucinda Williams’ “Wild and Blue’.

Many months ago Joe, Cleve and I went to Wisley at the behest of the RHS to chunter on about vegetables. The result has finally been released as part of the RHS Grow Your Own campaign. Quite how many people will be inspired to start scattering courgette seeds by seeing this film I am not at all sure. Probably millions: it may even result in golf courses being ploughed up and turned over to strawberries and the verges of the country’s motorways strewn with healthy berries. It can be seen on the RHS website or right here (right now (i)). As a special Blog readers only offer this version is very slightly different (ii), it is, as it were, the directors cut so you will be able to brag to your less privileged friends about how very special and different you are. It is accessible only to you lucky readers by using this super secret link.

The animation and rather superior filming and editing is thanks to my elder son Archie and Robin Reeder.

In other places:

Speeding is a bad thing: I have learnt this in great detail having spent four hours in a sparse conference room at a golf centre just outside Milton Keynes. It is a bit like being put in detention but more interesting. I learnt about various Highway Code things which I had forgotten and other fascinating facts. For example: in an accident the box of tissues sitting on your parcel shelf acquires the density, speed and velocity of a flying house brick. The same would, presumably, be the case for a nodding dog. We did not cover furry dice on this occasion: an omission I hope that we will not come to regret.

It has been pretty much the last week for many Tulips. At least I think so as the sunshine is doing them absolutely no favours at all. I have been beetling around the place checking on the little loves before it is too late. One client has just gone away for three weeks and is likely to miss every single one so I thought that the only decent thing I could do was to go and appreciate them on his behalf. I love the overconfidence of tulips.

I have also been massively appreciating the Bluebells. We live next door to a deciduous wood which produces the most exceptional Bluebells through which we walk every morning. There is also some rotter who, in previous years, has driven a Quad Bike through the wood squishing flowers like grapes beneath a steam hammer. This is not generally considered a good thing to do.

Oh, and while I am on bulbs I might as well show you some Anemones from a couple of weeks ago.: these are under a huge beech tree in my mother-in-law’s garden and are always amazing.

The coming weekend marks not just the wedding of Young William and his thin fiancee it is also the beginning of Grand Designs Live in London. If you would like a ticket then please ask soon or else it will be too late and then you will be sorry. The show runs from 30th April right through to the 8th May culminating in a live performance by Three Men Went To Mow. There will be free garden consultations and many people demonstrating kitchen equipment. I am present on the 2nd, 3rd,6th,7th and 8th if you wanted to bring me freshly baked cake.

This short life is bejewelled with small diversions: in particular accidental website visiting. The first time this happened was way back in 1995 when many fewer people had access to the internet. My brother was one of those: I remember sitting looking at this new phenomenon accompanied by my small children. The film Babe (cute pig, grumpy farmer, evil baddies etc etc) had just come out so we decided to try a babe related website.

For your future reference, this is a big mistake if one is trying to protect the innocent minds of small children. Good idea if your life is short of silicone enhanced naked humping.

These little incidents keep happening: one of my favourites is when I am ordering oil. The supplier is called yobco and their website is co.uk. Every time I put in yobco.com and every time I am pleasantly surprised. Go and look for yourselves and marvel at the attractiveness of the photograph and supreme dullness of the layout. Also had no idea that there was a place called Holidaysburg and now wish to visit especially after seeing the picture of the skyline on Wikipedia

The main picture is of Quince blossom.

I am listening to My City of Ruins by Bruce Springsteen.

(i) If I may borrow the words of Mr Fatboy Slim.

(ii) It is only slightly different, but it is definitely shorter which has to be a good thing in anybody’s book.

I have returned from Asia.

It has been a whole month since I last wrote (or even looked at) this Blog which feels quite weird. We are slowly getting reacquainted: she (this blog) is a bit miffed about the neglect and has remained unimpressed by my travellers tales. She also thinks I have got fatter. I will have to work extra hard to get back in favour.

On my return I was surprised to discover that certain people have been encouraging other certain people to scrawl poetic graffiti all over this Blog. Part of me was delighted by your offerings while another part (the more literary and culturally sensitive part) cringed at the lack of scansion and slightly dubious rhymes. I somehow think that, when the time comes, a new poet laureate will not be selected from among the ranks of garden bloggers. And stop encouraging Selina, she is supposed to be working (she has also just found my private stash of chocolate digestives)..

Fortunately I am in a very forgiving mood as I am much refreshed, slightly tanned, overly excitable, mildly jet-lagged (at least I was), sad that it is all over and yet pleased to be back. All in all the healthy signs of a thoroughly delightful time. I could go on for ages telling you about the trip but very soon you would all glaze over and wander off in search of sandwiches so I will be brief.

I have visited four countries – China (well, Hong Kong), Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos.

I have travelled on nine aeroplanes, three trains (including one sleeper shared with some Germans), two buses, one jeep, a lot of Tuk-Tuks (not all of whose drivers knew where they were going), three ferries, two canoes, approximately fourteen taxis (two of which tried to overcharge me), one tram and two bicycles.

I have seen temples, mountains, rivers, museums, forests, waterfalls (impressive in the monsoon, alas this is the dry season), lasers in Hong Kong Harbour, bears (both Sun and Moon), history, markets, turtles, statues, iguanas, elephants, forests burning, coffee plantations, some very adventurous lavatories, the filming of a Vietnamese gangster film, some men with very hairy moles, an exceptionally gorgeous airline stewardess, mines (exploding not open cast), butterflies, prisons, palm trees and a lot of noodles.

I have stayed in a number of hotels ranging from the very basic to the deeply luxurious.

I have had men waiting in the arrivals halls at Saigon, Hanoi and Heathrow airports carrying signs with my name mispelt in thick marker pen. This has fulfilled a major life ambition of mine.

I have failed to see the sun rise over Angkor Wat (it rained) or set over the Mekong River (we missed it). I have been very hot and very wet.

I have eaten rather a lot. Although I refused the skinned cat and sauteed rodent.

So, back to normal life, I suppose. Clients, gardens and all that kerfuffle.

The picture is of a very lovely blue water lily. I am listening to Angie by the Rolling Stones.

PS I am thrilled to have received this comment on my Crocus Blog; “Very much liked your writing style and would be interested to have a follow up! http://www.ladyboysheaven.com” I have referred them on to Mr Diacono who has a soft spot for that sort of thing. Did I tell you about my Crocus Blog? It is new and shiny and in depth and full of fascinating stuff about things. Sally Nex is snuggled up next door to me which is very warming.

I promised you new and possibly momentous news and I do not wish to disappoint the two blokes and a dog who hang around here waiting for something to happen.

It is very exciting. Although I have been fearfully disorganised/busy and should have published this on launch day a week or so ago. I feel a bit like the chef expounding about the flavour of the cake just after everybody had been distracted by the girl emerging from the top.

But I am going ahead anyway so please clap politely…

The news is a brand new, shiny and pretty innovative thing called intoGardens. It is a mixture of many things – sort of like sphinx or a manticore or the telekines, but much prettier. And with fewer bolt on animal parts.

It is a mixture of App and magazine,website and game. It is something completely new and ridiculously gorgeous – and, although I must admit I am occasionally prone to exaggeration and the odd flight of fancy I do not think that in this case I exaggerate unduly. However, I will admit to a certain pride and parental bias.

We have fabulous pictures, writing (from good people such as his excellency, Nigel Colborn and her magnificence Jean-Ann van Krevelen), gardens (one underwater, a couple in England and another in Elba), some fruits (including Mr Diacono), practical help (of both vegetable and ornamental varieties), soap operas, video content and audio book extracts. And you can buy stuff directly from within the App just by hitting a button. Whoosh.
Or Whoooooooooooooosh if you have a slow Internet speed.

It moves and talks and sighs romantically at you over lowered lashes.

This is, of course, not a solo effort as I have inveigled various gullible types to contribute and help out. Most notably Tiffany Daneff who is the editor, Ubinow (the developers) and Archie (my elder son) who is in charge of making sure all the assembled stuff is assembled in the right order. My thanks to everybody and, in particular, to the rest of my extremely tolerant family.

If you happen to have an iPad you should download it (for a mere £2.99) and if you don’t then there is a film of what you are missing here. You are missing a lot.
It will be published quarterly for the moment. We also have impeccably groomed Facebook and Twitter feeds

I am sitting on a bus travelling between Seattle and Vancouver while watching a film called Too Many Crooks which stars Terry-Thomas, Sid James, George Cole and Bernard Bresslaw. Terry Scott (as in Terry and June) has a short role as a plump policeman and Nicholas Parsons is a Tax Inspector.

(i) The backyard musical was a popular genre in the 1940s. Most of them starred Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland. Tupically a bunch of kids need to raise money for some good cause. They are let down by some impresario at which point one of them says “Hey, I got an idea. Let’s do the show right here!”

There is then much rushing around transforming the horse barn/old shed/school hall/whichever into a theatre and then they put on a show which is received with tumultuous appreciation and it all works out just fine. In Strike up the Band , for example, which culminates in a Busby Berkeley Conga.

There may be some chaste kissing as well.

At intoGardens we hope for all these things.

About

Where did that fresh-faced lad with trowel and dibber go?

James Alexander-Sinclair FSGD is one of the foremost garden designers in the United Kingdom. He has designed gardens from Cornwall to the Western Isles and from London to Moscow. He is a full member of the Society of Garden Designers. He is also an award winning writer, a compelling speaker, frequent broadcaster and served ten years as a member of the Council of the Royal Horticultural Society. He is an RHS Vice-President and was awarded the Veitch Memorial Medal for outstanding contribution to horticulture in 2022. He is the RHS Ambassador for Garden Design and a Fellow of the Society of Garden Designers.

He has had a regular column in Gardeners World magazine for the past fifteen years. He has also written features for The English Garden, The Daily Telegraph, Financial Times, The Garden, Countryfile, House and Garden, The Garden Design Journal, Gardens Illustrated and many others. His blog has been going since 2006 and he has contributed to many other blogs both in this country and abroad. He won Garden Media Guild Journalist of the Year 2019 and Blog of the Year in 2009 and 2013.

He is one part of the legendary (that may be quite a strong word but it is always good to be positive) Three Men Went to Mow. James, along with Joe Swift and Cleve West, has made several films for YouTube covering many aspects of gardens and gardening. They are not terribly serious.

He is occasionally let loose on television: highlights include presenting series three of Small Town Gardens, contributing to Gardeners World, the BBC coverage of all the RHS Flower Shows and as a judge in the BBC2 series, The Great Chelsea Garden Challenge. Most recently he helped judge the (very flamboyant) Netflix series, The Big Flower Fight. In 2022 his work featured in a dedicated episode of The Art of the Garden which was broadcast on Sky Arts.

James is also a well known figure on the shows circuit. He comperes awards ceremonies (including the Society of Garden Designers, the Garden Media Guild, the RHS and the Association of Professional Landscapers) and conferences, has run quizzes and auctions for the Garden Museum and hosted talks theatres at the RHS Malvern Spring Festival (every year since 2004), BBC Gardeners’ World Live, Hampton Court and the Chelsea Flower Show.

He has given talks in Russia, China, Canada, Europe and the USA as well as at garden societies the length and breadth of this country.

He served a decade (2011-2021) as a trustee of the Royal Horticultural Society. James is an accredited RHS Gardens judge and is a member of the RHS Gardens Committee, the Community Action Group and the Shows Advisory Group.

Internationally, James helped to set up the Moscow Flower Show in 2012 and has also judged gardens in the USA and China.

“I was never a childhood prodigy: one of those at the sound of whose toddling footsteps roses would preen and daisies turn their heads in expectant glee. I stumbled upon gardening by accident and there is seldom a day that passes when I am not thankful for that accident – just think, I could have stumbled upon tax accountancy or estate agency but instead I was fortunate enough to become a gardener. I discovered that I not only rather enjoyed it but also was not totally incompetent and thus I spent the following years turfing, laying slabs, erecting fences and doing lots and lots of digging.

Nowadays my life has various strands: I spend most of my days flitting around making delicious gardens for some very charming people in the most beautiful corners of the country. Most of the time it as blissful a job as anybody could wish for – even though there are very, very few rich gardeners: so, rather than doing it for the money, I do it because I have an urge to leave the bits of the world upon which I am let loose a little more beautiful than they were before I arrived.”