Alan Titchmarsh, writer and gardener, is a thoroughly decent chap, Jane Powers discovers. Just don't say the wrong thing about his new novel ...
When I meet Alan Titchmarsh, he's just as you see him on television: pleasant, smiling, enthusiastic and immediately friendly. Easy to be with. In other words, consummately professional in what must be the 50th (100th? 200th?) interview to publicise his new novel, Rosie.
So, it is as unexpected as a smack in the gob when halfway through our little chat Britain's most cheerful chap gets annoyed. Very annoyed. And upset. In a ham-fisted and horribly ill-judged attempt to be honest, I've said the wrong things about his book, and have upset him. But far worse is that in doing so, I have uncapped a deep well of angry resentment towards what, I suppose, could be called the literary establishment. Reviewers, it seems, don't take his books seriously; they are afraid to give themselves up to his unabashedly feel-good stories about normal, decent folk. Instead, claims Titchmarsh, they prefer to "revere" books about "dysfunctional minorities".
Although I can't agree, I try to mollify him, and sympathise with his lot. Both my parents, I tell him, were writers. He pounces: "So you're coming from that as from a normal stance? You see, it is impossible for you to judge an ordinary novel!" And so it goes, ding-dong, ding-dong. Until, as suddenly as it started, it's over, as he realises that perhaps it's not that wise to let loose in front of a tape recorder. Soon he's back to thwacking me companionably on the leg, and I'm back to ... well ... giggling politely.
His novel - which revolves around an eccentric, but young-at-heart granny and her painter grandson - is number four in the British best-selling fiction list at the time of our interview. Surely popular acclaim (and lots and lots of dosh) is recognition enough?
"You don't just toss off a book, it is part of your soul. With fiction, you set down your innermost thoughts and your hopes, and I suppose in a way it is dispiriting when people think that it's ... it's kind of too goody-goody or unrealistic. But if it's the way that you happen to see life, it's legitimate."
And after meeting Alan Titchmarsh, I think that perhaps that is how he sees life. He is that extraordinary thing - an ordinary man. He is the rare embodiment of normal, decent folk - ploughing his own furrow, as best he can, as fairly as he can, without cynicism, and with tremendous energy. He is a man who gets on with things, rather than wasting time worrying if he can do them.
His output is stupendous. Regular commitments include at least 18 newspaper and magazine columns a month (for the Daily Express, Sunday Express, Radio Times, Gardenlife and BBC Gardeners' World magazine), public speaking engagements and other personal appearances. He has written over 30 gardening books, presented numerous television programmes, including the garden makeover show Ground Force (for six years), and Gardeners' World (seven years). Since 1998 he has published four novels and an autobiography, Trowel and Error.
Last Wednesday he appeared on our television screens as the presenter of the BBC's British Isles: a Natural History, an eight-part series looking at the development of these islands over three billion years. Ever the enthusiast, he had his face transformed into that of a Neanderthal man (a four-hour make-up operation) and he wandered around London to test the theory that heavy-browed early man was not dissimilar to modern man. "No one paid me the slightest bit of attention," he told the Daily Telegraph.
Which must make a change from his usual life, where he is constantly recognised and accosted by the public. "I've been on telly since 1979, but when Ground Force started about 1997, it was really kind of, whooooff!, you know, BBC 1 and all that. I found it quite difficult, because you know I don't walk down the street making royal progress" - and he waves regally and mouths "hello" to the left, turns and hellos again to the right. "I'm just a bloke and I'm quite quiet and private when I'm not on. I'm not anti-social ... But I am a contrast. Broadcasting is gregarious, and writing is solitary, and I need both."
And does he never get fed up with people continually importuning him with their wretched gardening problems? "No, that's what put me where I am. The reason I have a reasonable lifestyle is because that's what I do. I'd be an ingrate if I had a go at them. Which isn't to say that I'm not quite relieved when it stops sometimes."
Titchmarsh admits that, at last, in his 50s, he has become more extravagant: "When we first got married, we hadn't a bean. And I grew up being very economic. Father plumber, mother housewife. 'No debts, don't borrow things, only spend it when you've got it.' Sound fiscal advice from a mother who had pots with 'insurance man', 'gas' and so on. Now for the first time in my life, I'm very lucky to be very comfortable, and I can treat myself to nice things. I bought a nice car, a Jaguar, an XK8 convertible."
He also has a flat on the Isle of Wight, and a boat for "pootling about on the Solent". Home is a Georgian house in Hampshire, which he moved into two years ago with wife Alison and daughters Polly and Camilla. It is just two miles from his previous house, the so-called "Barleywood" (not its real name) that featured so much in Gardeners' World.
"We'd been there for 22 years, and we wanted an older house. We've always wanted a Georgian, but never thought that a) we'd be able to afford it, and b) that one would come up where we wanted it. And," he adds, "I did want to do another garden. I'm only 55, I've got one more garden in me!"
The soil is "slightly better than in the last garden, which was chalk, clay and flint. This overlies chalk, and it is not nearly so flinty. It's okay. I've lost the urge for rhododendrons. If I want them I can grow them in pots." His taste in plants is "catholic. I've got roses, I've got Melianthus, grasses, and I've just planted a magnolia. I even put in a couple of echiums this summer to see if I can get away with them. I've a warm, south-facing patch against the house."
The garden, which is about two acres, is rather formal: "It suits the house. And the older I get the more I enjoy the formal, the more I enjoy the line. Proportion and line in the garden, I think, are the most satisfying things. Almost more than colour."
He loves the glossy shapeliness of clipped box. "I have quite a lot of clipped stuff: cones and balls in box, and in yew. And I've laid this "York" paving. You can get this stone from India now that is like York sandstone; it's slightly thinner, much cheaper, but you can't tell the difference if you get the buffy coloured one."
The whole process of gardening is a pleasure for Titchmarsh. He especially likes taking cuttings: "geraniums, or something easy like penstemons. There's a great thrill to rooting something that is tricky, but frankly I like rooting stuff that is easy, it keeps encouraging me. And I still like mowing; I still like making stripes. I don't mind the fact that I have to do it again next week."
He admits, with a good-natured sigh, that yes, he does enjoy order, and is "fairly" organised in the rest of his life. Tidy office. Tidy desk. "I enjoy being tidy," he declares. "I do enjoy it ... but artfully tidy, not prissy." Nonetheless, he insists that he would love to stop people from being so "control-freaky about their gardens. Gardeners get into such a mind-set that they can often only see what's going wrong. We expect now as a race to be in charge of things, we don't expect other things to defeat us, and that is so unrealistic. Nature isn't neat."
But nature could do with some help from gardeners. "The more people you can get growing things, that's the thing, the bottom line: growing plants. It's the sharp end of conservation and stewardship, if you like. I'm a great believer that we are custodians of the landscape, and that's a big thing. If the British Isles are a patchwork quilt, and you look after your patch and all the patches join up ... That's my big mission."
Rosie is published by Simon & Schuster (£ 16.99 in UK)