So it is official.

And I even have the badge to prove it: I am now one of the seventeen members of the Council of the Royal Horticultural Society. Thank you to those who voted, your efforts and trouble are greatly appreciated. The voting numbers are not terribly impressive as out of 370,000 members about 3% found the time to fill in the bumpf. efforts are already underway to change that with electronic voting etc being investigated.

So I can tick that off my To Do list.

I now have to work out exactly what is required of me: I have a feeling that the wheels of change move quite slowly so we shall see. In the middle of the AGM I suddenly thought “Oh shit, what have I got myself into now?” as it is all (committees, meetings etc) beyond my sphere of experience. Still, I am there now so better do what I can. Almost all suggestions welcome. As my first duty I sampled the fudge available in the Wisley shop and found it acceptable but a little soft for my taste.

It comes at the end of a long and rather draining week where I have beetled around the place talking to people. I have addressed the unfortunate public six times in seven days: twice at Coton Manor where I did a day course. As always it was jolly and the garden was looking sensational. It is an unashamedly old fashioned garden with the basic layout remaining more or less as it always has been – although they have jiggled rose borders and added new plantings and features on the edges of the original garden (some more effective than others). What makes it special are some very imaginative and subtle plant combinations masterminded by the owner Susie Pasley-Tyler. It is a ‘plantsman’s garden’ par excellence. This is usually a description of which I am extremely suspicious as it is often an excuse for a spineless array of rare plants arranged like cakes upon a doily with little consideration for the dynamics: eccles cake next to cream horn behind caramel chocolate eclair. This avoids that pitfall: it is a garden all about plants but is still primarily a garden.

My third gig was for the Cottesbrooke Plantfinders Fair which, this year, was a triumph – in spite of a bit of an access hiccup when everybody decided to turn up at the same time on Friday. Some excellent nurseries doing good business, my borders looked tip top and Arne Maynard’s new stuff is growing well and will be a real force by next year. I talked in a nice tent organised by the Telegraph, it was full and seemed to go down well even though the renowned critic and belle viveuse , Ms Arabella Sock, snuck out before the beginning.

Number four was in a large shed at Stoneleigh Park for the Horticultural Trades Association at their National Plant Show. This is a sort of plant beauty contest with competitions about the best new plant and lots of wholesale nurseries exhibiting themselves for the benefit of retailers. There were some good new Dianthus and a few horrors: in particular an orange Alstromeria with variegated leaves. I was the last gig of the exhibition so people were a little bushwhacked. I did a plant version of Snog, Marry, Avoid (or Shag, Marry, Kill for the cruder minded readers).

Number Five was a charity gig in a barn in Buckinghamshire. Slight technical problems at the beginning meant the first ten minutes were spent floundering around talking about anything that came into my head. This turned out to be mostly about when I was washer up in a nightclub and we used to drink the left over half drunk cocktails before the glasses went in the machine.Not really a suitably salubrious occupation for a future member of the RHS council but after a few one didn’t really give a damn. The washing up consisted of a constant stream of hot copper saucepans that were thrown at us by irascible French chefs. We cleaned them and burnished them with salt and lemon juice. They then went back to the kitchens, were dirtied very quickly and thrown back again. Not a lot of job satisfaction but it taught me to respect the plongeurs, no matter where they might be..

Number Six was an auction at the Garden Museum. Various eminences planted up largish pots and my job was to auction them to the assembled worthies. There were pots designed by people ranging from Prince Charles’s Gardeners at Highgrove and Arabella Lennox Boyd at the top end to Ann-Marie Powell and Cleve West at the other. Tom Stuart-Smith produced a single vast lemon tree, taller than himself which is quite an achievement as he is at least 8’9″ tall in his heels.  We raised £7500 towards paying for a new intern: the retiring incumbent is a very clever fellow called Ben Dark whose outstanding blog is here.

Oh, and I had to drive to Dorset for a meeting that lasted an hour. So a bit of a running around week. Next up is Hampton Court where I am judging on Monday  while wearing my shiny badge.

On other matters: the roads around Oxfordshire and South Northamptonshire this morning were teeming with cyclists in Lycra. I am sure that there are advantages to lycra as a cycling outfit – the most obvious being the reduction in inter thigh chafing – but it does nothing at all for anybody with even the slightest bulge to their buttocks. Also, and I speak from a position of ignorance here, surely it would be more comfortable and less sweaty to wear something loose and cottony through which the cooling breezes can blow as you freewheel happily down a hill. Baggy shorts and an Aertex shirt perhaps? Oh dear, I am turning into Enid Blyton, hopefully this is not a direct result of the election. If any of you spot me wearing a fair isle jumper please slap me sharply round the face.

I am listening to Crazy Water by Was (Not was).

The picture is of  an Astrantia.

I have visited the Chelsea Flower Show during buildup and found it marvellous. So marvellous that we made this film to amuse whomsoever needs amusing.

I am now off again to visit the show again. While I am there I will be flouncing around in front of a camera for the BBC Red Button. This is the television coverage for connoisseur. There will be a series of films: some with me, some with the formidable Christine Walkden and some with Toby Buckland. This is available all the time for people with satellite and cable televisions or after about 7pm every evening if you are on Freeview. Apparently the French Open tennis takes priority which is a bit rich if you ask me. All you need to do is press the Red button on your remote control.

I will be wandering around the Great Pavilion expostulating on plants and nurserymen and will be on an endless loop on Tuesday and Thursday. I think, details are here.

Other things have happened but I have not got the time to tell you so that may have to wait until my next blog. By which time I will have realised that they were not that exciting anyway and they will have been overtaken by other stuff. Such is life…

I am listening to Pushing the Envelope open by DJ Z-Trip and DJ P (i)

The picture is of an Allium Christophii.

(i) I could be the only potential RHS Council member who has this song on their iPod. That may, or may not, be a plus point in the forthcoming election.

You may be relieved to know that I not only survived Grand Designs but enjoyed myself. We did a Three Men Show Live on the big stage on Sunday. A large proportion of the Grand Designs audience are there to look at patio doors and thermally insulated windows and not gardens, as a result they had absolutely no idea why we were there or who we were but those who watched seemed to giggle a bit. I then did a cookery demonstration where I learnt to grill sea bass and a risotto with condensed milk. I then had to eat lunch with three strangers. It was the best meal I had had all week.

I have now moved on and am writing this from Malvern (i) where I am ensconced in an hotel room of a much higher standard than last week in the Novotel. As always I have had a very jolly few days (one more to go) with gardens and plants and Joe Swift and authors and the Director General of the RHS and sheep and wildlife experts and Matthew Wilson and long life cupcakes and a baby hedgehog and slightly tough roast beef and Chris Beardshaw and a scattering of delightful bloggers and tweeters and Mike Dilger and a mummified grass snake and a fantastic Hungarian cafe band from Haringey.

Malvern is always a corker. I am now off to eat curry (ii) but, before I go……

I have an announcement of great import and seriousness to make.

If you are a member of the RHS then, later this month the June edition of The Garden will flop, exhausted, onto your doormats. Attached to this august journal will be a leaflet.

Do not, please, chuck it directly into the recycling bin but stay your hand and settle down somewhere to comfortably browse.

Okay?

Right. In your hand you are holding the necessary bumpf for the RHS Council elections. You will soon notice that among the candidates for election is one James Alexander-Sinclair.

Me.

Yes. I am standing for election to the RHS Council. This is a body of seventeen people whose job is to help run the joint, advise on its future direction and to generally rally round and keep the society on track according to the charter which says, and I quote, “The encouragement and improvement of the science, art and practice of horticulture in all its branches”.Your gut reaction will be to say “What? that crusty old load of reactionary buffers?”
Things change and that conclusion would, in my humble opinion, be wrong because, actually, the council consists of a number of dedicated and interested people all with an abiding interest in gardens, gardening and the future health of the RHS.

So that is what I would like to do should you mob choose to elect me.

I have written quite a few pieces knocking the RHS for being slow to change and narrow in it’s outlook. I then thought that, rather than jeering and throwing rotting fruit from the sidelines, really I should try and see what I could contribute to actually make things change. Hence this candidacy.

The RHS has many facets. The publicly obvious stuff like running world famous flower shows and large gardens in four corners of the country. The less visible things such as trialling plants and offering courses and education for Gardeners. And the largely unsung stuff such as complicated scientific research into plant pathogens, bugs and diseases. All together this is a vital organisation working for gardens and Gardeners in this country. This is why it seems odd that, when I stand up in a lecture and say, “How many of you are members of the RHS?” not everybody puts their hand up.Often it is only about half the audience. Everybody who has a garden should go the the RHS as a first stop: from the novice gardener in their first house to the experienced gardener stumped for a plant for a problem place. We need more members and need to communicate what we do to as wide an audience as possible.

I have been gardening for (and this quite a depressing thought) slightly more than half my life. It has given me enjoyment, friends, knowledge and reasonable living (riches beyond the ken of man were never really on the agenda) for most of that time and I feel that, at the very least, I ought to give back a bit. It should also be very interesting, illuminating and (I am assured) fun.

So, and I apologise if I sound a bit like a shiny suited Parliamentary candidate, I would ask you to fill in the form on the back of the leaflet and send it in, it would also be nice if you chivvied any of your friends and relations who are also members to follow suit. If you feel that this is not enough and direct action is required, then you may, if you insist, camp outside the RHS Headquarters carrying placards and chanting.

Just do it quietly. And don’t pick the flowers.

I am listening to birds chirruping contentedly in the wooded slopes of the Malvern Hills.

The picture is of a very old and gnarly sweet chestnut.

(i) In the spirit of open disclosure I must declare that this is not completely accurate. I wrote most of it in malvern but have now returned home and have spent today picking over Cleve west’s leftovers at Crocus. I am now listening, not to birdsong but the mellifluous tones of the first lady of France, Carla Bruni, singing J’en Connais. On reflection the birds were better.

(ii) Curry was eaten in the company of Mike Dilger: wildlife expert from the One Show and all round cheeky chappie. A jolly evening.