48 hours to kill a dream; Julian Wilson sounds off-every fortnight.

Byline: MR ANGRY

An open letter to Howard Wright Dear Howard,

You and I have enjoyed a companionable relationship over many years, going back to your early working days in Doncaster, Halifax and Sheffield.

Admittedly, our interests and pursuits have not always coincided - you lived by Timeform, while I live with Raceform' you support Doncaster (cloggers) and I, Swindon Town (silky skills)' I admire John Redwood - and suspect you do not.

But we have muddled along with scarcely a cross word. Now, sadly, a great wall of Berlin proportions has arisen between us in the shape of 48-hour declarations.

Allow me to tell an anecdote concerning a young man, who grew up in Berkshire and on April 9, 1954 was taken for the first time to Newbury races. Infatuation, ridden by Bill Rickaby, won the Greenham Stakes, and Lester Piggott, drawn 35 of 38, was beaten half a length in the Spring Maiden Stakes. The day has always remained imprinted on the young man's mind.

When, in 1966, he was lucky enough to buy his first racehorse, it became an ambition to own a winner at Newbury. The years passed with the youthful dream unfulfilled. There was a placed horse in 1977, and a near miss on August 16, 1997, but the hoped-for success remained elusive for 40 years.

Then, two weekends ago, two ideal races, one on Friday and one on Saturday, appeared to be at the mercy of a particular horse of the owner's. After considerable thought the Friday race was chosen. The jockey was booked, guests invited and success anticipated.

It was not to be. Overnight, 30mm of rain fell and the meeting was abandoned, waterlogged, at 7.45am.

"Ah well," said the owner's friends, "he can run on Saturday instead."

"Oh no, he can't," said the owner. "We now have 48-hour declarations, so he can't run at all." The owner will never fulfil his dream. All of his horses are to be sold.

Of course, Howard, this story, and stories like it, are nowadays far from isolated episodes. They have become commonplace. And why? Because of an ill-conceived scheme to collect a few Australian dollars from TAB shops on Bondi Beach, and for the sale of UK pictures to the US for a couple of hours a week.

Howard, I am aware that your international friends and contacts have been persuasive in arguing the benefits of 'selling the product', but as you know, this potential income will not flow directly into UK coffers without substantial deductions en route. Meanwhile, while more than pounds 40 billion is gambled a year in the UK, potential Group-class juveniles raced for an owner's first prize of pounds 2,026 at Newmarket last Saturday.

If the mathematics of your mentor, the late P Bull, can make sense of that, Howard, then Mr Angry will grow a grey beard.

Yours, as ever, Mr Angry