Reg Little talks to Michael Heseltine about his plans for life after politics

Michael Heseltine leans back in his chair and contemplates life outside the political jungle.

Ten days after announcing his decision to stand down as Henley's MP at the next general election, Tarzan is ready to disclose his real heart's desire now that he knows he will never become Prime Minister.

"What I would really love to have," he says dropping his voice almost to a conspiratorial whisper "is a prestigious gardening magazine." It's true that Hezza is leaving the House of Commons after nearly 35 years. But sitting in front of me is the man who had once swung the Commons Mace like a battle axe, brought Tory conference audiences to near-frenzy every year and then had the bad manners to deliver the fatal blow to Margaret the Terrible.

The very idea of him lounging around reading garden magazines at his country home near Banbury, seems strange indeed.

But suddenly that familiar steely glint is back in his eye. "And don't you worry. I'll get one all right."

When Mr Heseltine speaks of buying a magazine, even one specialising in his favourite pastime, he's not of course going on about a quick trip to W.H. Smith.

Mr Heseltine buys big and buys titles. The former Deputy Prime Minister has been busily acquiring new publications for some time now, as well as creating plenty of new magazines of his own.

For since being unceremoniously kicked out of office with the fall of the Major Government, Mr Heseltine has thrown himself into business almost like a man possessed.

Not many reach the heights of British politics, while building a 150m fortune from nothing along the way. But Michael Heseltine seems intent on doing it all over again as far as business is concerned.

You sense he could not get back into the chairman's seat at his publishing company Haymarket fast enough after nipping out 30 years ago to reorganise the country. For Haymarket staff, it must have been like a Hurricane Hezza blowing in from Westminster. "It is wonderful to be back," he says. "I have never known a time of such opportunities in the media world."

Almost with glee, he rhymes off his recent acquisitions. He has just bought the Gramophone magazine (where his son Rupert now works), launched his motor racing monthly F1 in 17 different countries and has in no time become a major player in electronic publishing, with the launch of Revolution and The Net.

"I suppose there have been 40 new titles since I came back. We are looking to double the size of the company over the next five years."

But at 67, Mr Heseltine comes close to suggesting that the life of your run-of-the-mill back-bench MP is not exactly over-taxing, no matter what they tell us innocent voters. He says: "That phase of my life is over. I find it difficult to spend time in the House of Commons because I am simply not the kind of person who likes to sit around waiting for votes. I am a very active person. My contribution in the House would effectively involve a great deal of hanging about. It is just not in me."

The elder of his two daughters Annabel said she wept at news that her father was quitting the Commons. But for Mrs Anne Heseltine, who has twice seen him recover from serious heart trouble, any sadness was mixed with relief.

Soon he will have his autobiography to promote aptly titled Life In The Jungle.

He makes it all too clear that looking back holds about as much attraction for him as a dinner party hosted by Ken Livingstone with Bernard Ingham (Mrs Thatcher's old press secretary) as guest of honour. "It's not me. I'm into the future, not sitting back regurgitating all that. But it's done now."

Will he finally confirm the famous story how as a student at Oxford he mapped out his career on the back of an envelope. His old friend Julian Critchley says next to the1950s he scribbled "Millionaire", next to the 1980s "Cabinet" and 1990s "Downing Street". Mr Heseltine shakes his head: "I do not agree with that. I do not think it happened. It doesn't ring true to me."

He is equally dismissive of the widely held belief that his every move, his ever utterance, since the 1960s was carefully calculated to take him closer to Downing Street. "Look," he says, "I loved what I did. I never sought preferment and stayed in most of my jobs longer than most people and I reckoned if I was promoted it was because I did the jobs well. I never did all that cosying up and flesh pressing. Maybe I should have done."

Another book is planned on his "manic" passion for trees and his famous arboretum at Thenford House, on the Oxfordshire-Northamptonshire border. There are now 3,500 varieties of trees and shrubs, collected from all over the world, covering some 50 acres.

The man who toppled Thatcher during one of the most innovative careers of modern times appears deadly serious in his belief that he will be remembered for his spade rather than a blood stained knife.

"I think that I will be remembered for those trees," he says. " A 100 years from now those trees will still be there." He pointedly looks down at the mountain of papers awaiting his urgent attention. Haymarket not history is what now matters. The words, reviews and judgement that really interest him are the ones that sell.