She Skipped Happily Through The Ironmongery Department

Whizzy busy this week but things are beginning to fall quietly into place without bloodshed or disaster, although I did drop a large slab of dead tree on my hand yesterday. It still throbs slightly but I am being fearfully brave. I spent yesterday in the sunshine cutting hazel branches as plant supports while listening to an excellent podcast about the History of Rome: a combination of activities that I heartily recommend to you all.
Went to London today for an important Three Men Went To Mow summit meeting. We had suddenly realised that we have live appearances looming at both Grand Designs Live (May 3rd) and at the marvellous Malvern Spring Show (May 6th-8th – which, as Michelle’s relentless counter keeps telling me is now only forty-five days away). We also need to make a special film for the RHS Chelsea Flower Show website. So, after, convening at Joe’s gaff we now have some pretty nifty content sketched out for your entertainment and education.
Other happenings:
I have a nasty case of writer’s block. I am trying very hard to rattle out a piece for a publication that will remain nameless (I don’t want them to go off me) and it is as if I am plucking every phrase from a thick bed of treacle. So I decided to come here and drivel for a bit: it is odd how easy it is to write this blog where nobody is trying to give me any guidance or anything. I can just rattle along and the words flow like olive oil, usually I could go on for ages (sometimes I do) as one thought just merges into another: writing to time and to subject is sometimes sticky.(i)
Three Men Went To Mow have a shiny website. (ii) I was built by my esteemed colleague Mr Cleve West and is a depository for all the 3 Men films, news about live appearances etc. There is a particularly good picture of Joe and I with Rolf Harris of which we are singularly proud. This year we will be endeavouring to have our photograph taken with as many random stars of light entertainment as possible: in particular Gloria Hunniford and Bruce Forsyth. We will also sneak in occasional extra films that will only be available there rather than on YouTube. The first one is up now and I thought I could probably get away with showing it here as well.
On my recent visit to Wisley (documented here and commented on, I notice, by various people who were not on the guest list: one managed, by force of will and possibly witchcraft, to make one of our number stub his toe) I could not help but be impressed by the prominently displayed book selection which, you will notice, includes my entire literary oeuvre – or, as it is singular, it should probably be oeuf. I could not help but notice that the Award Winning author and photographer’s book was conspicuously absent. I did run down a single copy in the end holding down a faulty cistern cover in the staff lavatories.
Matthew Appleby seems to be on a roll in his latest HW Blog I am running UKIP and in the previous one I was cuddling up to Peter Sutcliffe, The Krays and Robert Mugabe. Still, I suppose it makes him happy and if it were any funnier I might laugh. And he does have a remarkably fine looking baby

By the way, does anybody want a part time job? I have need of an assistant to prevent myself from getting snowed under. Jobs include drawing, Vectorworks wrangling, plant hunting, organising etc. It would be good if you lived quite close. In return I will give you some money and the health benefits of my beaming smile. I am as yet unsure how many days or how often.
I am listening to Kids by Ed Harcourt.
This time last year I was lecturing in Edinburgh and communing with Penguins.
The picture is of one of the large bolts that support Hammersmith Bridge.
(i) You will be pleased to know that I have now cracked it and it has been dispatched.
(ii) According to The Garden Monkey it looks like a cut price Gay dating site. Which seems a tiny bit unfair: I would have thought we were at least Grade 2. She Skipped Happily Through The Ironmongery Department Monday, 22 March 2010

Sand On The Toes Of A Wallaby

I am feeling a trifle besieged and it is entirely my own fault. Every year I spend the winter not worrying about things because I have got plenty of time. The, suddenly, it is March and the sun is warm and I no longer have any time at all and everything has to be done RIGHT NOW. No, not after that biscuit but RIGHT NOW THIS MINUTE…

So, I am swamped with plant orders, lake people, pavers, tree planting teams, deer fences, nursery delivery vans and planting plans that I should have completed a month ago but which are still loafing around in my head instead of on a piece of paper.

So I may not write very much this time which will come as a relief to many.

Apart from all this chaos I had two days visiting a very lovely site in Cornwall. It is a long drive but this time I seemed to collect a bus load of slightly deranged people from Twitter who accompanied me all the way (many of you will have no idea what I mean but, don’t worry, it isn’t vital) there. In gratitude for your company and because there was no ice cream, I give you a short film starring the sea at Falmouth and a black dog of indeterminate breed.

I delivered a lecture to a very small part of the population of Surrey at the behest of the wonderful Penny Snell who is chairman of the National Gardens Scheme and who organises monthly lectures with lunch. The title was Contemporary Country Gardens but I am very bad at sticking to the particular subject and tend to wander off in different directions. I think it was roughly to the point and they went away happy.

I have also been to London to do stuff and was struck (not for the first time) by an odd phenomenon. Now, I have never been particularly sturdy-more wiry if you are feeling polite or spindly if you are not. (I was about 7 stone (i) in my early twenties- with yellow hair due to too much Sun in (ii) and lemon juice). Anyway, there is a tenuous reason why I am telling you this. It is to do with the shape of the bald heads of large men when viewed from behind. When walking between underground trains I found it fascinating. They are part potato, part expressively angry baby face and part itchy rhinoceros.  I understand the urge to shave the whole head if you begin to go a bit bald, especially if you are after a hard-man look but if your head looks like a brussels sprout then really those are the times when a toupee is worth the investment: or at the very least a hat. However, I did not think it would be a terribly wise move to tap any of those gentlemen on the shoulder to share this theory so it is likely to remain unresearched.

We went to see Crazy Heart which is highly recommended: Jeff Bridges is fab. Maggie Gyllenhaal is great. One of the faintly interesting side issues is the standard of motel the poor chap has to occupy. I have been in some pretty appalling hotels in my time, I have even written about them (i) at least twice. I also stayed in a very nasty motel in San Francisco once that had very ornate furniture, a bed that shook if you fed it a quarter and filthy windows. My only other American motel experience was in Miami and ended in a man trying to mug me with a ball point pen (ii). I felt for Jeff.

I must do something useful now rather than rambling on – especially as I promised you short and sharp and have failed to deliver on my promise. An experience to which, as the election gets closer, we should all get accustomed.

I am listening to Bungee by Adam Green. The photograph is of  a Crocus. Actually two Crocii planted slightly too close together.

1. For the benefit of loitering Americans: No, I don’t know many pounds that is: maths was never my bag. There are either 14 or 16 pounds in a stone, I think, although I am sure that scientific types (or those who can be bothered to Google it) can help.
2. Sun-In was a liquid that gave you blonde highlights if used correctly. If you tipped the whole bottle on your head then your hair looked like lemon curd and shocked elderly relatives.

(iii) There is a photograph missing from that blog post: it was of a large notice saying “Do Not Smoke In Bed”. there was ample evidence that this generally sound advice had not been universally followed.

(iv) Remind me to give you details another day: also about the man who tried to hold me up in Paris using a chopstick.