The news of Desert Orchid's death reached me via the radio as I set off on Monday to drive to the theatre in Northampton. I was blinking away tears most of the way there. I found Clare Balding's contribution to Radio 4's PM particularly affecting. She has a wonderful way with words.

The radio and TV coverage set the tone for an astonishing outpouring of emotion in the newspapers the next day. The most touching tribute of all, I thought, came from the Daily Mirror which cleared its whole front page to say "Farewell Old Lad". Inside, with the economy of language for which the Mirror is known, is said it all in a two-sentence leader: "Desert Orchid was that rare breed, a horse with an appeal beyond racing. Dessie won our hearts as well as races - the great grey may be gone but he will never be forgotten."

I knew Dessie before his glory days began. I knew him as a foal, knew his mother, Flower Child. Having watched him give less than distinguished performances at Chepstow and Cheltenham, I decided it was in everyone's best interests if I stayed away. Like everyone, I was thrilled by his victory in the 1989 Cheltenham Gold Cup; later I drank champagne (from the cup) at a victory celebration hosted by his owner Richard Burridge.

I took the photograph (above) when he visited members of his fan club about ten years ago, near Shrivenham. He is peeping from his little horse box likened by the Queen (I learned yesterday from The Times) to an "ice-cream van". Our last meeting was on the sad occasion of the funeral of Jimmy Burridge, the man who bred him, when he led mourners on a slow march to church through the Nottinghamshire village of Flintham. As with everything in his wonderful life, this was done with utmost dignity.