Lord Allen Was Supposed to Start Today – Instead He Took One Look at the BHA and Thought, “Absolutely Not”

Lord Charles Allen was supposed to start today. June 2nd. A date circled in biro on the BHA calendar and probably accompanied by the words “try not to implode.” But instead of riding in on a white horse to sort out British racing’s bloated mess of governance, he’s done the modern equivalent of arriving at the door, peeking through the letterbox, and quietly tiptoeing backwards into the hedge.

Instead of cracking on with reform, Allen has announced he’s delaying his arrival to “better inform his vision for the sport,” which is a bit like an estate agent announcing they’re postponing your house move to develop a more comprehensive understanding of the plumbing. Admirable, yes, but also a colossal red flag.

In BHA terms, this is the bureaucratic version of a false start in the 2000 Guineas—only with less athleticism and more confusion over whose job it is to feed the horses.

Vision Statement: Please Check Back Later

In his statement, Allen says he “looks forward to starting his new role once these [meetings] have concluded”. Which raises an interesting existential question: can meetings about your new job become your new job if you never actually take the job?

It’s reminiscent of a man buying a chainsaw to “better inform his decision” about chopping wood, only to spend the next six months attending Timber Symposiums in Davos and staring at oak trees with growing anxiety.

The sad irony is that Allen may actually be the first person in years to genuinely think about the job before doing it. Most previous chairs have leapt in headfirst with plans for reform, only to find themselves sunk knee-deep in horse muck and contractual obligations to four competing prize money agreements and a disused betting shop in Wolverhampton.

Ralph Beckett, former president of the National Trainers’ Federation, put it rather delicately when he said: “Anybody going into that role is not going to grasp hold of the role straight away.” In racing terms, this is equivalent to whispering “You’re going to die out there” as someone mounts a particularly frisky Shetland.

From Boardroom to Barnyard: Allen’s Growing Realisation That This Is Not Granada TV

To be fair, Allen’s CV is hardly short of big-stage leadership. He’s chaired Granada, EMI, Endemol, and Virgin Media, and he once helped London land the 2012 Olympics—an event that, despite involving thousands of high-maintenance stakeholders and Boris Johnson, was somehow less chaotic than trying to work out who in British racing actually holds the reins.

But even with that pedigree, Allen appears to have met the BHA board and thought: “This isn’t a sport. This is a Punch and Judy show, only with fewer puppets and more strategic reviews.”

According to the BHA’s soothingly bland statement, Allen has been “engaging in an extensive round of meetings with stakeholders.” Translation: he’s been locked in rooms with aggrieved trainers, defensive racecourse execs, and owners who think “collaboration” is a French cheese.

What he’s learned, presumably, is that British racing isn’t governed—it’s contained. Like a fireworks display managed by ex-bankers and steeplechase romantics, where everyone insists they should be in charge but refuses to fund the fuse.

Meet the BHA Board: A Strategic Hydra of Mutually Suspicious Appointees

If you want to know why Allen hasn’t shown up yet, just take a gander at the cast he’s supposed to chair. The BHA board is ten-strong and meets eight times a year, presumably because ten arguments a month would be exhausting even for hardened civil servants.

• David Jones, Interim Chair, a role that combines the authority of a substitute teacher with the permanence of a mayfly.

• Brant Dunshea, Acting CEO, which in racing governance terms is basically a high-stakes game of Where’s Wally? with bonus legal liability.

• Raj Parker, Regulatory Independent, aka the conscience of the group, assuming anyone still has one.

• A smattering of Member Nominated Directors—David Armstrong, John Ferguson, Charlie Parker, Wilf Walsh—each representing a powerful sub-clique of the sport who believe they’re underpaid, underappreciated, and unfairly expected to behave like grown-ups.

• And then the independents: Kyrsten Halley and Tara Warren, brought in to offer "fresh perspective," or more specifically, to sit through heated arguments about levy distribution while wondering what went wrong in their careers.

This is not a boardroom. It’s Celebrity Gladiators: Quango Edition, with all the sharp-elbowed diplomacy of a Conservative Party WhatsApp group.

Summary Minutes: A Rosetta Stone of Evasion

In a rare show of supposed transparency, the BHA now publishes summary board minutes—delicately redacted snippets that make Soviet communiqués look like tabloid gossip. They read like someone listened through a wall and jotted notes in Morse code:

“The Board discussed important strategic matters. Agreement was reached. Some Directors voiced concern. Further engagement will be required.”

Translation: Someone screamed about prize money. Someone else threatened to quit. Nobody budged. Meeting adjourned for coffee and plausible deniability.

You wouldn’t “summarise” a racing form guide this way unless you wanted to guarantee bankruptcy. But in governance? This counts as radical transparency.

If He Ever Starts, Expect the Great Resignation in Euphemism

Now, if Lord Allen does eventually show up—armed with a strategic vision and perhaps the unshakeable optimism of a man who’s never tried to align British racing’s stakeholders—then buckle up for the passive-aggressive press releases.

Because nothing clears a room faster than a competent chair.

The moment Allen starts asking awkward questions—like “Where is all the money?” or “Why do we have 147 working groups to decide the colour of the tote bags?”—you’ll see the boardroom empty quicker than the Royal Enclosure bar at 6pm.

Expect statements like:

“Director X has chosen to pursue an exciting new opportunity in the world of artisan oatmilk strategy consulting.”

“Director Y is stepping down to spend more time with their unquantifiable synergies and a Shropshire-based innovation collective.”

“We thank Director Z for their commitment to stakeholder engagement and wish them well as they transition into a more reflective phase of their career involving bees.”

Because no one ever gets fired in this game. They simply "pivot towards passion projects," preferably in sectors with no trainers.

Racing’s Future: Still Galloping Nowhere in Particular

Meanwhile, the horses will keep running, punters will keep betting, and the great machine of British racing will sputter onwards—powered by nostalgia, television rights, and 17 slightly contradictory Excel spreadsheets on “engagement metrics.”

And Allen? If he’s smart, he’ll delay a bit longer. Maybe forever. Because trying to chair the BHA is like volunteering to host a family reunion where half the relatives think the others are stealing the silver, and the other half want to replace the cutlery with NFTs.

But if he does show up and manages to survive? Well then, we may finally get a boardroom that doesn’t just strategise, but functions.

Until then, British racing remains exactly what it has been for the last decade: a sport of supreme athleticism run by a committee of metaphorical Lemmings, marching proudly into the sea of irrelevance, briefcase in hand, PowerPoint slides at the ready.