Alan Titchmarsh has a nose for tranquil places.
THE VIEW FROM HEREALAN Titchmarsh is now officially the most popular person in the world. He is proliferating at such a rate he’ll soon be a 24-hour rolling channel in his own right.
He is a very wonderful man. How lovely, too, that he has touched the Island with his presence.
He was, of course, at Chelsea Flower Show with the BBC, where his introduction to the closing programme provided a particularly revealing vignette of his godlike status.
There he was, strolling between the crowds (or "riff-raff" as he called them when the show opened to the public) as he made his opening spiel to camera. The people parted as he advanced, then stood transfixed, just staring in awestruck wonder.
It was fantastic. It was like that bit in the Bible when Moses parts the waters of the Red Sea.
His preview introduction was in sharp contrast, though no less impressive. With no riff-raff to bother him, he stood in solitary glory in front of the Royal Hospital and delivered this interesting information.
"For 51 weeks of the year, Sir Christopher Wren’s Royal Hospital, Chelsea, stands serene on the banks of the River Thames, home to the world-famous Chelsea Pensioners. As one of the Hospital’s Commissioners, I have the rare privilege of seeing this place at its tranquil best, peopled by those redoubtable men in scarlet.
"But for one week each May, the hospital throws open its gates to the greatest flower show on earth …"
And so he continued, while the riff-raff reflected on the well-deserved good fortune of this Royal Hospital commissioner in being privileged to see what other mortals cannot and swan around the place for the 51 weeks when it’s at its tranquil best.
But surely he wouldn’t have wanted to be misleading by implying the riff-raff can only visit the Royal Hospital for one week in May, while he can go any old time he pleases?
Unfortunately, this was precisely the implication. He will doubtless be delighted, therefore, if I just set the record straight.
The Royal Hospital, Chelsea, is open to individuals throughout the year (except during the flower show, when it’s complete hell trying to get in.)
Anybody can stroll along. Excluding bank holidays, it is open seven days a week during summer but closes on Sundays from October to March. Entry is free and includes access to the Great Hall, the Octagon and Chapel, the courts, grounds, museum and shop.
You don’t have to be a commissioner to enjoy this place at its tranquil best.
OK, Alan? Now you can return to your godly duties.
Oh, just one other thing, dear. We would love to hear about all your important positions but please don’t start rattling them off every time, or we’ll be here all night.
I'd like to forget about Fabulous and the boys
THEO Walcott isn’t going to the World Cup. Nor am I. That, however, is where the similarities between me and Mr Walcott terminate.
Oh, except we’re both devastated. He’s devastated he won’t be there, while I’m devastated the wretched thing is on at all.
You just can’t avoid it. I know all about the England team without actually wanting to.
The players are mostly called Cole and the captain spends his time in bed either with an injury or a team-mate’s ex-girlfriend and there’s an Italian called Fabulous in charge.
With any luck we might make an early exit but not before they’ve kicked the ball uppy-downy, uppy-downy, for hours on end, with only a few measly goals, or sometimes none at all, to show for all this uppy-downy stuff.
I am deeply depressed. I went into my favourite garden centre to get away from it all at the weekend and was greeted by a notice saying "Be part of the World Cup fever with our range of plants from around the world!"
So cheer up, Theo. Come to the Island and buy a cactus.
It’s just like being right there with Fabulous and the Coles and those useless captains.