With the recent passing of Johnny ‘The Fish’ Ferrand and Graham ‘Brad’ Bradley, racing lost two of its most loved and colourful characters. I was in business with both of them – one more successfully than the other.

I remember one time when Johnny the Fish and I thought the chef of our pub, the Pheasant Inn, was in the small, grotty kitchen. But when we walked in, there was no sign of him. Then we looked behind the serving counter and saw him sitting on the floor, injecting heroin into his arm. The Fish’s eyes got bigger and more watery than normal, he puffed his cheeks out and dryly observed: ‘Well that’s a bit strong… before lunch.’

At St Michael and All Angels church in Lambourn last week, trainer Nicky Henderson regaled us with tales of the Fish.

‘You can imagine how naughty he must have been at Cheam, where the King was captain of his dorm,’ Nicky suggested. The packed church certainly could. For the last quarter of a century, they’d all fallen in love with the kindest and most irresponsible of human beings, while drinking with him.

Before we bought the Pheasant, with the aim of making it the racing pub around Lambourn, I thought he was called Johnny the Fish because he used to be a fishmonger, and he looked like a fish. But I discovered fairly quickly that it was because he drank like one.

The heroes who saved the........

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