A reputedly responsible newspaper is trumpeting Alan Titchmarsh as one of the world’s sexiest men. Aye, and my name’s George Clooney (I’m often mistaken for George, by the way).
Anyway, who else, short of Stevie Wonder, knows the secret life of plants apart from our sex bomb telly gardening guru? He alone can stroll into the Royal Botanic Garden and have a blether with them.
I’m not at all green-fingered, not even on match days when I’ve green-fingered and two-fingered at the players, but Titch for me has been as welcome as greenfly and he’s back on the window box with Love Your Garden (ITV Tuesdays).
He and Prince Charles, another avid planter, are buddies horticulturally. “He calls me a friend, which is extremely nice of him,” froths Titch, who calls a spade a spade.
For Titch, who is 63 and could pass for 62, life certainly isn’t a bitch. Granted, he can grow a mean lettuce, but would you give him the freedom of your cabbage patch?
While he dreams of an OBE, I’m sure I told you how the trumpet player got rid of the weed in his garden – he rootititoot. Hoe, hoe, hoe.
Say what you will about the Italians (second best at football, first in fish suppers) but they’re famously parental and Philip Contini, Valvona & Crolla heid bummer, was deliriously happy, smiling wider than Leith Walk. Daughter Francesca had just produced his first grandchild at the ERI, Alfonso. She is manager of Vin Caffe in Multrees Walk.
So don’t hang about, Alfie. Tell us what it’s all about?