Blogging from Blackpitts Garden...

I almost forgot...

I promised those of you who have little to do an exclusive photograph of the young, extra flexible Cleve West - burnished thighs and all. I will post that picture today along with the new episode of Three Men Went To Mow so you can see how he has easily retained his chirpy looks as the years pass.

But before we get to that I have other, gardeny things to report. In particular a really, really, really, really tiny garden I have been doing in London. It has been unbelievably troublesome and (due to various building errors - beyond the control of both I and my excellent contractors) has had to be redesigned a few times and virtually rebuilt once.

Some may remember that I wrote about it here - apologies for missing comments - and here - with plant list. I visited again a month or so ago and you can see how very tricky it was to work in: too much stuff, builders overflowing, scaffolding etc etc. I am used to a bit of space.

Anyway, I was there on Wednesday and it is very nearly finished and those plants that have remained unmolested by the rebuild have done really well. There are also some very sexy cedar fences and benches if that is more the sort of thing that floats your particular coracle.

While in London I had a particularly jolly lunch courtesy of the RHS. I spent much of the time trying to organise a musical collaboration consisting of eminent garden types. Both Andrew Wilson (chief judge - like Len Goodman but more beardy and with shinier shoes) and Stephen Anderton (Times journalist)

can sing. Jekka McVicar apparently plays the guitar and was in a successful band once. Joe Swift can play Smoke on the Water on bass guitar. I reckon Adam Pasco would be good on the accordion and Alys Fowler would shake a mean castanet. Watch this space.

Me? I can’t play anything except Three Blind Mice on the recorder. I was chief chorister at school once but that was when I was twelve and biology has rather put paid to my rendition of Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring.

After lunch we went to look at huge vegetables at the RHS Autumn show. There were handsomely girthed leeks and - to continue a new series - I caught another noted Blogger molesting fruit. At West Dean it was Emma Townshend sidling up to a vast tomato and this time I found Mark Diacono snorting a melon. I really do despair sometimes...is nothing safe from these people?

My favourite class at the RHS Show was “Class 100: A Collection of Six Kinds of Vegetables. I dish of each. This class is open only to those amateursd who do not employ a gardener more than one day a week”. Do you think that anonymous referees conduct random checks to make sure that the gardener only comes on Tuesdays?

Anyway, you don’t want garden stuff, you want Cleve West and his legs so who am I to disappoint.

This is Cleve, post perm, indulging in some hot baton action. It is a little known fact that Cleve has written a fine, though as yet undeveloped, sitcom about life on an allotment. Production companies should be beating a path to his door. Elite Athlete, Gardener, Scriptwriter, Presenter, Fashion Icon, Gold Medal Winner etc, etc. Let’s hope that he, at least, is free of vegetable bothering tendencies.

Below is the latest episode of Three Men went To Mow. It was filmed at Cleve’s fabulous allotment: or cluster of allotments to be more accurate as his empire encompasses quite a large part of Bushey Park.

I am listening to I’ve Changed My Address by Diana Krall. The picture is of some particularly fine Sempervivums. As I get older I am feeling increasing drawn towards alpines.

His Balenciaga Clogs Were Stylish But A Little Impractical

Tuesday, 20 October 2009

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