‘I have no concept of anyone who's like me. Now, that's either because I'm such an egomaniac that I am sort of completely self obsessed, or … because I haven’t watched enough films’: Monty Don’s consuming passions

What David Beckham was to football, Monty Don is to gardening — but with more skinny scarves. At 70, his ceaseless energy for all that is green and abundant, and indeed for life itself, is still palpable. ‘If somebody gives me something that has a use, I immediately want to go and use it straight away,’ he tells me, eagerly. ‘I think: “Great!” You know, if it was a kitchen knife at Christmas, I'd immediately go and cut something with it.’

The English horticulturalist is best known for Gardeners’ World, the BBC show which is now in its 57th series and which he presents from his garden Longmeadow, in Herefordshire, where he lives with his wife Sarah. Born in 1955 in West Germany, Monty has had a long, very green-fingered career, spanning more than 30 years in television, a 12-year stretch as the Observer’s gardening editor, a 10-year stint as the president of the Soil Association and an OBE.

He has also written copious books, the latest of which is British Gardens — and a collaboration with the photographer Derry Moore. It catalogues their journey visiting our isle’s most beautiful greenery. ‘We did our first book together in 2010 and this is our seventh book together,’ Monty says. ‘We're an unlikely couple, you know? We're sort of two slightly elderly men, although I'm 20 years younger than Derry. He'll be 90 at his next birthday.’

Although he ‘never has favourites’, Wollerton Old Hall in Shropshire was ‘magical on the day’, as was Scampston Walled Garden in Malton. Lowther Castle in Penrith also stood out and Balmoral Cottage was ‘utterly charming’, although Monty did add that if we continued the conversation much longer he ‘would probably name every single garden in the book’.

As he gets older his relationship with gardening hasn’t massively changed, but he does note: ‘It’s becoming increasingly less interesting to me how you do things, and much more interesting what you do and what the result is’.

Monty is, unequivocally, a man that speaks his mind exactly. ‘I don’t have a favourite,’ he tells me when I ask what his favourite painting is; ‘I don't really go to exhibitions,’ he says when I ask for his favourite of those. Other things Monty Don doesn’t have are: an aesthetic hero, (‘obviously’), any thoughts about who would play him in a film (‘absolutely no idea’), and even the slightest concern about some of my questions (‘I don't think it's a very interesting question, to be honest’).

When it comes to things he doesn’t do, they are likewise abundant. ‘I never sell possessions,’ ‘I’m not a collector’, ‘I don’t relax to music — ever,’ and ‘I never lie in’. He doesn’t like weight loss drugs (‘there’s something inherently immoral about it, but it’s quite hard to put your finger on what’), ‘cheffy food’ (‘I just think it’s all about the chef and not about you eating it’), or the state of the world right now (‘let's hope you will make a better world than this current lot — which are just a f***ing disaster — are doing. You can quote me on that.’)

Given that the format of Consuming Passions is that I ask for a definite list of the things that are meaningful to, and liked by, our guests and they answer, you could see this as a set back. However, answering questions, and indeed living his life, exactly how he wants to is, I come to realise, part of the man’s innate Monty Don-ness. And it is that which makes him so likable.

Your aesthetic hero

Obviously, I don’t have one, but I’m trying to summon one up from the aether. Let me say Constantin Brâncuși, because I love the way that he dressed, I love his sculptures, I loved his studio.

An exhibition that has really impressed you

Well, I don't really go to exhibitions in the sense that I live in the middle of the country and avoid cities except for work. Obviously, over the years, I've been to lots of exhibitions, but it sounds a bit tragic, if I name one that was 30 years ago. The truth is, the most impressive exhibition of my life was a Van Gogh exhibition at what is now Tate Britain. Then it was just the Tate Gallery. It was overwhelming. I mean, I couldn't speak, I could barely breathe. I can almost remember the intensity of the experience now.

A possession that you’d never sell

I never sell possessions anyway, but if I absolutely had to I wouldn’t sell this. It’s a stone that I picked up off the beach on Robin Hood's Bay in Yorkshire in 1979. It's almost round, it looks like a cannonball, and it's been with me since then. I wouldn't sell that for anything.

The items you collect

No, I’m not a collector. My wife Sarah is, I’m not. That's not the way my mind works.

A book you found inspiring

Well, there are at least 1000 of those, but one in particular, which, in a funny way, changed my life. When I was 18 I read a book called The Goshawk, by T. H. White, and I was profoundly affected by it. It's a very simple book. It's very short. It’s about how T. H. White attempted to train a goshawk using medieval techniques (this was in the 1930s). By then, of course, nobody was doing that. It was completely the wrong thing to do, which he didn't know, and goshawks are famous for being the most untrainable, certainly of all birds of prey, and pretty much of most species. So it was doomed to failure.

But it's the story of how he did it. And the whole point was that he had this intense relationship with this animal that didn't want to have a relationship with him. I just thought it was a marvellous piece of writing and also incredibly romantic in a very, very self destructive way.

Your favourite painting

I don’t have a favourite, but there are some I love more than others. I love Rembrandt. There's a painting by him called ‘A Woman Bathing in a Stream’. It is incredibly beautiful. No other painter has painted tenderness in the same way. He’s extraordinary. So if I had to choose a favourite painting, that's the one I would choose. She hasn’t got a particularly stunning body, she's not particularly beautiful, it's not particularly bright, but she's hitching up her shift to wade into the water, and it's just exquisite. She's made beautiful by the painting, but that is through his love and tenderness, rather than because she's objectively a great beauty.

The last thing of note that you bought for yourself

Topiary hornbeam balls.

The music that you work to

I don't. I used to, but I find now — in the last sort of five years or so — whether it's part of my hearing going a bit so therefore I have to listen harder — it’s distracting. But when I used to work to music, it was always Baroque music, namely Bach. I don't relax to music ever. What I found was it put me in the right space in order to focus. Almost the opposite of relaxing. I think it's sublime music. I hate background music. I hate it when people put music on at dinner parties and things because I just think that it means that the music has no value, has no importance. It is wallpaper music, and I don't like that. So what I find now is I either want to listen to the music or I want to work, but I can't do both simultaneously.

The last podcast you listened to

I came to podcasts a few months ago. I'd never heard one at all until this year, and I have been listening almost obsessively to The Rest is History, which I think is brilliantly done.

The person that would play you in a film of your life

I have absolutely no idea or interest. It's not something I've ever thought of. What a boring film. I don't know how to answer that question, because I have no concept of anyone who's like me. Now, that's either because I'm such an egomaniac that I am sort of completely self obsessed, or… I just, I don't think it's a very interesting question, to be honest. I know it's not one you’ve devised probably, so I don't know. I don't think I see enough films.

What you’d take with you to a desert island

A sculpture by Brâncuși or Henry Moore, Sarah and my dog.

The thing that gets you up in the morning

The sun streaming through the window. But actually, what gets me up, as opposed to awake, is just a sense that I've got a lot to do. In the garden we always have an 8:30am meeting, and by then I like to have exercised, washed, had breakfast, fed the dogs. So in summer, I normally get up at about 6am.

A hotel you could go back and back to

I associate hotels entirely with work, and I stay in a lot. It wouldn't be uncommon for me to stay in 50 different hotels a year. There's one in Venice that I like, I can't remember what it's called though. It's not very grand, it's not a fancy one, but it's just really central. And what I like about it is that you just walk out the door into a boat. Usually for me it’s all about: is it quiet? Is it reasonably comfortable? Are the sockets where I want there to be sockets so I can charge things? Is the food any good? Is there room service? It's all about function, rather than a lovely place to be. I never spend time off in a hotel.

The most memorable meal you’ve ever eaten

I’ve had lots, I’ve been lucky, but plucked at random: we were filming a series I did in Italy, a long time ago, and on the first day's filming, we shot just outside Naples in a small holding. And the people there said we must have lunch with them. They had this modern house with a very modern kitchen, and they put up tables on a tarmac driveway in front of the house, and we proceeded to have the most delicious meal imaginable. It was nothing fancy.

I can remember it to this day, pasta with lemons and peas, with the best lemon in the world, and these peas that were picked fresh. And he made the wine from his grapes, and they'd pressed the olive oil themselves. The family were all there, and it was just joyous. This is why you have a mouth and you need to put calories inside it. It chimed completely with the philosophy that Sarah and I have which is, you take simple, fresh, seasonal ingredients, you treat them with great respect, but not with solemnity, and you do things simply and sort of just try and get the very best from them. And this was a supreme example of that, and it was the incongruity of the location and the wonderfulness of the food that made it completely memorable.

The best present you’ve ever received

My first dog. For my 21st birthday I received a dog from my mother and a field from my father. The dog was called Gretel, which is slightly odd when I look back on it, and she was a labrador.

‘British Gardens’ by Monty Don and Derry Moore is out now and available in all good bookshops, in store and online.