it is christmas day. happy racing to one and all on the day some sort of normality returns.

​I am one of those miserable sods who rarely wishes anyone on meeting or passing a ‘merry Christmas’. But now with Christianity under attack by the wokish militia and the unelected mouthpieces of the anti-freedom and anti-free speech movement, I am forcing myself to wish all and sundry a merry or happy or peaceful Christmas. As an alcohol-free atheist I should be pleased to see a division of faith belittled and marginalised but I am not. I believe in the sanctity of liberty, freedom and peace for all, with everyone having the right to believe in what they believe in and to live their lives as they see fit. I may believe all religious adherents to be wrong but I accept they believe I am wrong to reject religious faith. Live and let live.
Today is Christmas Day. I dislike Christmas Day. No racing; no Racing Post. I do not care for celebratory events; I crave normality. I find contentment in normality that I have never find at parties or events or in a throng of people.
While children went to bed last night in anticipation of gifts overflowing the following morning, I will go to bed tonight excited by what gifts the racing gods have in store for me at Kempton Park and Leopardstown tomorrow, Boxing Day in Britain, St. Stephen’s Day in the Republic of Ireland. In light of the present destabilising slow creep of religious censure, I would prefer if we dropped the term Boxing Day and went with the more religious overtone of St. Stephen’s Day. Though I would prefer it if the country referred to the day after Christmas Day as ‘King George Day’; would that not be a glory of sporting statement?
If you think me a sad specimen of humanity for finding more joy in a horse race than in Christianity or gift-giving, I ask you think otherwise. Without horse racing, the sacrifice of those who work this day and every day caring for the horse, the owners who dip deep into their bank accounts to give us horses to race, the mental struggle of trainers, the breaking of bones and dreams by jockeys, and everyone who give their time and effort to make sure the daily life of the sport continues in sequence, I would have given up on life a long time ago. I have lived through the golden age of the sport, from the first televised Grand National – this a lie in 1960 I did not even know the sport of horse racing existed – or at least my first Grand National, which I believe was Nicholas Silver, to the heady ding-dongs between Denman and Kauto Star via Persian War, Night Nurse, Sea Pigeon, Spanish Steps, Red Rum, Desert Orchid, through to Frodon, the last equine love of my life. Without horse racing I would have nothing; with horse racing I have everything I wish in life.
Except the money to fully immerse myself in the sport as an owner. Perhaps the Lotto will bring me that joy.
My greatest fear is not the prospect of whatever disease or illness will remove me from the world but that my last years will witness the demise of the sport. I want my ghost to wander the country from racecourse to racecourse, to witness what my corporeal self will miss as my body moulders in the ground. How could the I of me that is left lie still in my shroud if some ethereal part of me could not watch or know the outcome of the Cheltenham Gold Cup or whether the latest ‘could be anything’ horse develops into that rarest of equine superstars, the next Arkle. To me, horse racing represents the great Earthly unknowing. Which horse will win the King George tomorrow? Which trainer will be champion this year? Who will win the Lincolnshire National at Market Rasen tomorrow? Will horse racing ever achieve the knowledgeable governance it deserves? 
I am out-of-kilter today as my life has no routine, no normality. Tomorrow I may achieve my kind of happiness if controversy or tragedy does not attach itself to the sport. I hate that. The death of a horse ruins the day as the intrusion of politics ruins everything for everyone.
I will get through the day as it is the only way of arriving at tomorrow. Merry Christmas to one and all and a damn fine St. Stephen’s Day also.