martin pipe makes my day.

​I am tempted to join the David Pipe Racing Club. I mean really tempted. I am getting on a bit now and the odds of me ever having the money to buy a horse of my own are far longer than any odds a bookmaker would chalk-up for this Covid nonsense to be over by Christmas.
Why the David Pipe Racing Club, you may ask when there are so many other racing clubs. Membership only costs £100 for 12-months starting the date of joining. That works out at £2 per week. I would only need to not to buy the Racing Post on a Saturday and I would be £1.50 a week better off. Looking at it like that, it’s a no brainer, isn’t it?
Of course, I am commitment-phobic, parsimonious and social awkward (even at this advanced age) to the point of being uncongenial and introverted. And I would be in awe of Martin Pipe, one of the truly great men of our sport. Lesser of David, of course, even though he will tower over me. And Tom is a Scudamore, another of the great dynasties of the sport. Talk about walking amongst giants.
For your hundred-quid you get gewgaws like pin badges, the chance of race-day owner’s badge, regular training updates (just like a real owner) videos and information on club runners, with nothing more to pay. And, of course, the big incentive, stable visits.
But I know me. Patting the neck of a horse wouldn’t be enough. I would feel guilty that the Pipe workforce would be doing all the work and for my miserly hundred-quid I get to stand and watch, no doubt asking stupid questions and generally getting in the way. I am still physically able. I would want to help, if only to muck out or sweep the yard. For their sake, it’s good that Wellington is a far distance from Bideford, even if Somerset and Devon are neighbouring counties.
Why this sudden temptation to join a racing club, something I said I would never do as nothing short of actual ownership of a horse would satisfy me? And why do I know so much about the David Pipe Racing Club?
It’s like this. I abhor the re-use of names of horses that through their endeavours on the racecourse have penetrated the consciousness of the racing public. The B.H.A. do not get this. I suspect they never will. When, a few years back, I noticed Coolmore had named a two-year-old Spanish Steps, after they did not acknowledge my letter of complaint, I actually seriously considered going over to Ireland to camp outside Ballydoyle with a placard and a large flask of tea. I wouldn’t have lasted an hour and a half and no doubt I would have been driven back to the airport or the local looney house by the Guarda. But I would have registered my displeasure. I put a hex on Coolmore horses so the last laugh is on me. Think how many Group 1’s and classics would have been trained at Ballydoyle if it wasn’t for my curse upon them?
The O’Brien family, though, are too damn decent to have to live with English curses so I have relented and simply hope the O’Brien boys have very few children between them as there is such a thing as too much of a good thing.
But to return to the point. There is a two-year-old around at the moment called Blowing Wind. Now, for heaven’s sake, what does a horse have to do to have its name die with it. You would have thought a horse so associated with the names of Pipe and McCoy would get a little more respect. The horse, as the fashionable saying goes, danced all the dances, won a hatful of races and ran with honour and distinction in many a Grand National. Not a truly great horse but a horse who provided the racing enthusiast with great memories.
I have ‘campaigned’ on this subject for years. This website is dotted with articles on the subject. All I have to do to get contacts is to write about Spanish Steps and I receive a chorus of agreement with my thoughts. So, I wrote to Martin Pipe to bring this new Blowing Wind to his attention and ask if he could lend weight to my lacklustre ‘campaign’. Last week he telephoned me. It was good that he didn’t knock on the front door otherwise I might have knelt before him. As it was, it was rather difficult to know what to say or how to say it. I’m not good on the phone, much preferring the anti-social distancing of e-mails as they allow me time to gather my thoughts and to chase around my head, the dictionary and thesaurus, the best words to express myself. My brain, these days, often ‘goes down’ like the internet and I find myself looking depressingly at times to come.
And then in the post, I received a package of information on the naming of horses, how to go about naming a horse, a list of the 3,200-odd names that are preserved for posterity. (I know have to go through the list on the dedicated page on this website of random names I have dreamt-up or have come across (it has become an obsession) for any owner having trouble naming a horse can use, to ensure none of them are on the official preserved list. Why didn’t I start by having alphabetical lists?
The name Spanish Steps is still not on the preserved list. I feel another e-mail to the B.H.A. is warranted.
Martin also included in the package details of his son’s racing club. Always sharp as a pin, isn’t he? I have the form here, by my side. My cheque book is the draw. I only have to find it, make out a cheque to the David Pipe Racing Club and I will part of the racing family. I’ve just noticed that for £250 I will receive Gold level membership which includes guaranteed Owner’s badges when the club has a runner. I wonder if for £250 David would let me muck out and sweep the yard. You know, really be part of the racing industry. At least I would be supporting the sport in the hour of its greatest need, wouldn’t I?
And I would have a subject to write about. And my fellow members would get to know about horseracingmatters. I might even meet a friend? It’s lonely sometimes when you are anti-social and downright parsimonious. 
£250 is not even a month’s pension. No-brainer, isn’t it?