My Animals and Other Family

by Clare Balding

  I had no intention of working in racing and left Cambridge wanting to be a writer. A chance meeting with the BBC radio racing correspondent Cornelius Lysaght led to a voice test for Radio 5. The following week, I started as a freelance reporter on racing. I became a trainee sports reporter for a new station called 5 Live, which started in 1994. I had a screen test for television a couple of years later and, when Julian Wilson left, I took over as the BBC’s racing presenter in January 1998. I have been doing the job ever since.

  My grandmother died in 2010, at the age of ninety. Her last words were to her doctor, who had withstood her decline with admirable patience, as he urged her to sip from a glass of water.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Trying to drown me?”

  I keep a postcard from her in my desk drawer. It says, “I’m sorry I said you were talking nonsense.” It was the only time, to my knowledge, that she ever apologized for telling someone they were an idiot.

  I ride rarely now, and I am often asked if I miss it. It was a huge part of the first twenty years of my life and may yet be a huge part of my later life, but these last twenty years have been dedicated to a career that is stimulating, exciting and rewarding. Deep in my heart, I know my working life would not be what it is had I stayed at home.

  I have learned not to take too much notice of those who disapprove of my lifestyle choices, because I know that I was not designed to be part of the crowd. If I am different, I make no apology, and I hope that others will have the courage to be themselves and stand up for what they believe in, fight for those who need protection, love who they want to love, and be proud of it.

  Alice and I have been together for ten years and counting. We had our civil partnership in 2006. My parents adore her, and my father even accepts that she is better than he is at golf. My nephew Toby asked me the other day, “You and Auntie Alice are married, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, effectively, we are,” I replied, deciding that, at three years old, he was a little young to understand the finer points of how civil partnership and marriage differ.

  “Can women marry men as well?” he asked.

  “They can if they want to, and most women do. But not all.”

  He stared at me with big blue eyes and smiled. “I love Auntie Alice,” he said.

  “I know. I do too.”

  As I write this, Archie the Tibetan Terrier is asking for his evening walk. We live our days according to his needs, but I would admit that his needs suit us very well—a long walk in the morning, a shorter one in the evening. Breakfast in the morning, and tea at four o’clock on the dot. He sleeps on the bed at night and the sofa during the day. He is thoroughly spoiled and he is far from perfect, but he is part of the life that Alice and I have carved for ourselves. We wouldn’t have it any other way.

  My parents’ wedding—Grandma talks to dad; mum talks to the dog (© London and County Press)

  Candy, my protector

  Me and Dad

  Me (aged eighteen months) with Mill Reef

  Riding Mill Reef at two years old

  Valkyrie was part of the family

  I was sure that Andrew, like me, would rather sleep with the dogs

  I never really wanted to share Valkyrie

  Me on Percy with Andrew, looking cold

  My favorite jacket and Andrew’s best hat

  “Do you like my dog collar?’”

  Andrew and I riding shotgun on Valkyrie, with Mum and Dad smiling on

  With my friend Flossy

  Dad with Bertie upside in the snow

  Dad jumps Bechers Brook right where he should on Ross Poldark (© Kenneth Bright Photography)

  Grandma sitting in state with the Sporting Life

  Grandma holding Noon with Andrew on Triley Rosette; me on Volcano (© Srdja Djukanovic)

  Andrew and I were mad for sports

  The aloof killing machine, Bertie (© Paddock Studios)

  Me with Grandma’s whippet, Dusk

  Mum with Ellie May, Stuart and beautiful black lurcher Barney

  Volcano

  Frank understood me

  Lily

  Making it onto the lacrosse team (I’m in the back row, second from right)

  Andrew on Raffles; me on my beloved Frank

  Park House Stables, Kingsclere (© London Aerial Photo Library)

  Andrew and me in jump-jockey colors knitted by Grandma

  Quirk and I grew up together

  Me on Stuart with Mum (© Srdja Djukanovic)

  Andrew thought if he pouted he’d look thinner

  Me kissing a reluctant Pot Luck

  Mad Henry

  Lochsong (Scully) and Quirk (Dad) were inseparable (© Daisychain Photographic Productions)

  Quirk could fly, when he felt like it (© Peter Ayres Photography 1986)

  I had a few fans when Respectable Jones won at Chepstow. Well, two fans

  The Queen Mother at lunch in our dining room

  My first ride in a race—beaten in a photo finish

  Interview in the Racing Post (1989)

  Grinning after first ride on Mailman (© Michael Haslam Racehorse and Stud Photography)

  Laughing with surprise as Knock Knock (25–1) wins at Kempton (© Lesley Sampson)

  Knock Knock was a pretty boy and he knew it (© Fiona Marner)

  Me at Waterlow Park, Goodwood (left)

  Song of Sixpence (© Michael Haslam)

  Winning the magic Mini, my first car

  Who could ever say boxers aren’t the most beautiful dogs in the world?

  Attempting to build bridges with Princess Anne

  Winning my weight in champagne. For once, the scales are tipped in my favor

  At my skinniest to ride at Ascot

  Respectable Jones: relief in victory

  Andrew walks the course at Chepstow with me

  I finally get to Cambridge

  The beautiful grounds of Newnham College (© Keith Taylor / Alamy)

  Acknowledgments

  The idea for My Animals has been working around my brain for many years, and I’d like to thank Lee Durrell, who gave me permission to flip the title of Gerald Durrell’s great work and the confidence to go for it.

  I have never written a book before, partly because I was scared and partly because I kept telling myself I didn’t have time.

  It turns out I did have time and I loved doing it. The breakthrough moment was finding “the key,” and thanks to the gorgeous Dawn French for that—reading her memoir, Dear Fatty, made me realize that I could tell stories, sad or funny, without being tied down by chronology or the need to share every detail. She used letters; I have used animals as the way into each chapter.

  When it comes to the practicality of actually writing, I have been very lucky to have the kick up the backside I needed from Nicola Ibison at James Grant Group, who went on and on about it so much that it was easier to write than to tell her I wasn’t. She hooked me up with the dashing and charming Ivan Mulcahy, who went through every comma of the early chapters and was there whenever I needed him. I like to think that I’ve helped him acknowledge and open up to the love of his life—a bichon frise called Charlie.

  At Penguin, Joel Rickett has been an absolute joy. He is kind, consistent and patient; I take his advice because he makes things better. Sarah Day did a brilliant job with the copyediting, and many thanks to Gill Heeley, who has drawn the wonderful illustrations for each chapter.

  Most of all, I would like to thank my family. Mum: for reading an early draft and, despite me giving her three vetoes, not using any of them. Dad: for saying I would never get it finished on time, which made me so angry I made sure I did. Andrew: for being quietly excited about it. My sister-in-law Anna Lisa: for being loudly excited about it. Alice: for encouraging me, motivating me, list
ening to me and reading every page at every stage.

  JJ, Toby and Flora: I hope you enjoy reading about your daddy and Auntie Clare and that you have a childhood as fun as ours, but maybe without the stealing!

  Thank you to all the animals who have filled my life with happiness and love—especially Frank, for understanding me. Archie and Itty the cat have both watched me write, and I like to think they’d enjoy reading this, if they could. Walking Archie was essential, because it gave me space and time to think.

  Finally, thank you to you for reading this.